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[yrsonpurpose]

CHARLES LECLERC Qualifying // Canadian GP 2023

[pucksandpower]

Brake Balance

Charles Leclerc x mafiosa!Reader

Summary: something about the brake issues that Charles had to deal with in Bahrain just seems off … so you take matters into your own hands while your boyfriend is none the wiser

Warnings: depictions of violence and minor-character murder

You make your way through the paddock of the Bahrain International Circuit, weaving between team members and mechanics as they go about their pre-race routines. The energy in the air is electric, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first race of the season later tonight.

You flash your paddock pass at security and head into the Ferrari garage, eyes scanning the organized chaos for the familiar mop of brown hair.

There he is, sitting in his red race suit that matches the iconic color of the Ferrari he drives, focused intently as his mechanics make some last minute adjustments. You walk up behind Charles and place your hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?” You say playfully.

Charles reaches up and removes your hands, a smile breaking across his face as he turns in his seat. “Ah, mon cœur! My favorite surprise.”

You lean down and kiss him softly. “How are things looking for today?”

“Good, good,” he nods. “The team had to change the left front brake duct exit deflector earlier, just as a precaution. But I’m feeling optimistic, the car has been solid all weekend. I think I might even be able to challenge Max for the win if everything goes to plan.”

His confidence makes you smile. Charles has been working so hard, both physically and mentally, to start this season strong. You know a win today would mean the world to him.

“I’ll be cheering the loudest when I see you on that top step today,” you say.

Charles grins. “We’ll see. Still have a race to get through first.”

You lean in to give him a quick kiss and head to the back of the garage so you’re out of the way. The mechanics are in full focus mode now, choreographing their dance around Charles’ car with practiced precision.

Charles goes through his usual pre-race routine — sips of water, reviewing data on the screens, and loosening up his muscles. He’s the picture of calm, but you know him well enough to see the coiled adrenaline thrumming just under the surface, ready to be unleashed once he settles into the cockpit.

The time comes to head out to the grid. Charles pauses before he puts his helmet on, meeting your gaze. You close the distance between you and cup his face in your hands, kissing his lips sweetly. Then you take the helmet from him and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips over the smooth surface where his would be.

“Be safe out there,” you say softly.

He nods, face disappearing behind the tinted visor, and climbs into the Ferrari. You watch as the car pulls away, weaving between other vehicles making their way to the starting grid. With a deep breath, you head deeper into the garage and take a seat next to Charles’ performance coach, Andrea. He hands you a headset so you can listen to Charles’ radio during the race.

“Let’s hope for a good one today,” Andrea says.

You nod, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fit the headset over your ears. On the monitors, you see Charles lining up on the grid in P2 after the formation lap, Max Verstappen’s Red Bull beside him on the front row in P1. The lights go out and the cars leap forward, engines roaring to life. Charles gets a good start, but Max keeps the lead through the first few turns.

The pack of cars higher up on the starting grid stays bunched up through the first few turns, but then you notice Charles starting to fall back little by little. His lap time slows as Max opens up a gap in front.

“The car doesn’t feel right, something with the front end,” Charles says. Your brow furrows in concern.

Only a lap later, George Russell in the Mercedes overtakes Charles on turn 4. Then Perez in the other Red Bull breezes past not long after.

“Come on Charles, stay focused,” you murmur under your breath. But things only seem to be getting worse. Carlos battles with Charles and eventually gets by, which frustrates you to no end. Charles fighting his own teammate for position is the last thing you want to see.

“Something felt very wrong with this set, the fronts were locking up like crazy,” Charles reports over the radio. Your heart sinks. Andrea shakes his head, equally perplexed.

The issues continue to persist. “What’s going on with my front left?” Charles asks, audible tension in his voice. “I just cannot get out of front locking. Everywhere ...”

Xavi, his race engineer, replies calmly, “We have temperature imbalance, higher front left.”

“How much is the imbalance?” Charles asks.

“Around 100 degrees.”

You grimace. That kind of discrepancy could make the car undriveable. Sure enough, Charles continues to struggle. It’s clear he’s fighting with the car now rather than racing the drivers around him.

“My car is fully going to the right when I am braking. With this I cannot fight, it’s dangerous,” Charles says, frustration seeping into his tone. You chew your lip anxiously. The rational part of you wishes Charles would just retire the car before he gets himself hurt trying to wrestle with it. But you also know that’s never been in Charles’ nature — he’ll keep fighting until the very last lap, no matter what.

Lap after lap, Charles battles to keep the car under control. “I think we can forget about driving now. It’s pulling everywhere,” he finally concedes. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’ll pull into the pits and call it a day. But no, your boyfriend is never one to simply give up. After the radio, through sheer force of will, Charles somehow overtakes George to reclaim P4. You can only imagine how hard he must be having to fight to keep the car in the track.

In the end, it’s a disappointing P4 for Charles while his teammate makes it on the podium in P3. As Carlos is lead to the cooldown room with Max and Checo, you watch Charles, frustration etched across his face as he tugs off his helmet and balaclava. He doesn’t even glance your way before the mechanics descend on him to start looking over the car.

Clearly the brake issues have cost him any chance at challenging for the win today. Most other drivers would have given up even trying to reclaim P4. But not your Charles. Never your Charles. Your heart aches for him.

Charles gets led away swiftly for the usual post-race weighing and interviews. You know from his body language that he’s utterly deflated by today’s results.

While the reporters pepper him with questions, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts. Enough is enough — something is clearly not right with Charles’ car and you want answers.

Your finger hovers over the call button as you contemplate who to reach out to. The last thing you want is for Charles to have to fight against his own machine again. A solution needs to be found immediately, and you know just the person who can help.

With a determined nod, you press call and lift the phone to your ear, ready to get to the bottom of these brake issues once and for all.

***

The phone only rings once before a gruff voice answers. “Boss?”

“Hello, Gianluca,” you say. “I need you to do something for me.”

You go on to explain in detail the brake issues Charles faced during the race, how the problems started right after they replaced the left front brake duct exit deflector.

“I don’t think it was just bad luck,” you say. “Something seems off about the whole situation. I want you to look into it, see if anyone on Charles’ side of the garage could have tampered with his car.”

Gianluca is quiet for a moment. “Sabotage, you think?”

“Possibly. I just … I can’t shake this feeling that someone meant for this to happen to Charles’ car. He truly thought he could at least try to challenge Max for the win, then suddenly it’s like he’s driving an entirely different machine. Too much of a coincidence for my liking.”

“I’ll look into it boss, don’t you worry,” Gianluca says. “I’ll go through the team with a fine tooth comb, see if anything seems out of the ordinary. If someone did intentionally compromise Charles’ car, I’ll find out who and how.”

You let out a breath. “Thank you, Gianluca. Let me know as soon as you learn anything. Charles can’t afford issues like this again.”

“You got it. I’ll be in touch.”

The call ends and you lean back against the garage wall, gaze fixed unseeingly out across the pit lane. Your mind turns over the events of the race, Charles’ baffled frustration over the radio. He’s worked too hard for too long to have valuable points stolen away by something like this. If there is sabotage afoot within the team, you’ll get to the bottom of it.

A few days later you’re back in your study after flying home from Bahrain. A knock at the door interrupts your work and you call for them to enter. Gianluca steps in, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

“Boss,” he greets you. Wordlessly, he steps forward and places a thick manila folder on your desk. You flip it open, eyes scanning over photos, documents, even what looks like stills of CCTV footage. Gianluca remains silent, allowing you to take it all in.

“I went over every inch of security camera video from the Bahrain paddock and garage,” Gianluca finally says. “And I found something.”

He leans over your desk and flips to a page in the folder, tapping a finger on a freeze frame showing one of Charles’ mechanics.

“This is Tomaso, one of the brake technicians,” Gianluca explains. “I noticed him acting strange all race day. Fidgety. Nervous. He was trying to hide it but his body language gave it away.”

Your eyes narrow as you study the photo. There is a shifty, almost guilty look about the man as he glances over his shoulder.

“I watched him like a hawk after that,” Gianluca continues. “When the team went to change the brake duct exit deflector, that’s when I saw it happen.”

He flips to another page, this one showing screen captures of CCTV footage in the Ferrari garage a few hours before the race start. You can make out Tomaso slipping the replacement deflector into his pocket before taking out another piece and installing it in Charles’ car. Your blood turns cold.

“He tampered with the part,” Gianluca confirms grimly. “There’s no doubt in my mind he switched that deflector with a compromised one. Sabotage, just like you suspected.”

You sit back, shaking your head in disgusted disbelief. “Why? Why would he do this?”

Gianluca shrugs. “Hard to say for sure. Could be someone paid him off, wants to see Charles fail. But what I know for certain is that he meant to damage Charles’ car.”

You drum your fingers on your desk, thinking hard. This level of betrayal from someone Charles trusts, it’s unthinkable. An affront you won’t let stand.

“You’ve done excellent work, Gianluca,” you finally say, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for getting to the bottom of this. I’ll handle it from here.”

Gianluca nods. “Of course, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He turns and leaves your study, closing the door quietly behind him. You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled under your chin. Your expression is stone, but internally your thoughts roil with anger. Tomaso will pay for this, you’ll see to that.

Charles has enough challenges to face without sabotage from his own team. Your resolve hardens — you won’t stop until justice is served and he can race with full confidence again. The treachery ends now.

***

After Gianluca leaves, your mind turns over what to do about Tomaso. The team flew straight from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia to prepare for the next race, so he’s out of your reach for now. Still, you won’t let him slip away that easily. You pick up your phone and call a trusted associate, instructing him to organize a surveillance team to keep constant eyes on Tomaso until you arrive in Jeddah yourself.

The days crawl by painfully slow as you wait to confront the saboteur. You resist the urge to call Fred Vasseur and have Tomaso removed from the team immediately — better to handle this yourself. Finally, it’s time to fly out for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Upon landing, your associate meets you at the airport.

“We have eyes on the target,” he reports. “He’s currently at the hotel bar, quite intoxicated.”

You nod curtly. “Good. Let’s pay him a visit.”

You’re led to the hotel and pointed towards the bar. Sure enough, there’s Tomaso, stumbling drunkenly out the door into the night. Now is your chance. You follow him down the street, waiting until he turns into a shadowy alley to make your move. In a flash you have him by the collar, shoving him against the brick wall.

“What the hell, let me go!” Tomaso slurs, trying to shove you off. But drinking has made him clumsy and weak.

“I don’t think so, Tomaso,” you reply coldly. “We need to have a little chat.”

His eyes widen in fear and confusion. You press on before he can respond.

“Let’s see, Tomaso Barbieri, born May 5th, 1992 in Turin. Moved to Maranello in 2021 to begin work as a mechanic with Scuderia Ferrari. Parents Lucia and Giacomo Barbieri, both schoolteachers. Sister Cecilia studying abroad in London.”

As you rattle off details about his personal life, Tomaso’s eyes grow wider and wider.

“What the hell, how do you know all that?” He stammers. “Who are you? Does Charles know the ugly truth about his girlfriend?”

You fix him with an icy stare. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know exactly who you are, Tomaso. A mechanic for Ferrari … and apparently a master of espionage and sabotage in your spare time.”

Tomaso’s eyes dart wildly, still trying to make sense of the situation in his inebriated state. He attempts an unconvincing laugh.

“What are you talking about man? Sabotage? I think you’ve had too much to drink ...”

Your response is to slam him hard against the wall, causing him to grunt in pain. You lean in close, anger simmering in your eyes.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Tomaso. I know what you did in Bahrain, switching out the brake duct deflector to sabotage Charles’ car. Did you think you could get away with it? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”

Up close, you can see the color drain from his face, eyes wide with fear. He tries to retain some composure.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats weakly. “I would never sabotage Charles’ car, I want him to win ...”

You slam him against the wall again, cutting off his lies.

“I said, enough bullshit!” you snarl. “We have you on video. We saw everything. We know you pocketed the real deflector and installed a defective one instead.”

He is trembling now, any hint of drunkenness replaced by sobering fear.

“Please,” he whimpers pathetically. “I’ll do anything, just please let me go. I made a mistake ...”

You shake your head in disgust. “A mistake? You betrayed Charles’ trust and tried to ruin his race out of what? Jealousy? Greed?”

Tomaso says nothing, eyes downcast in shame. You take a breath and continue in a low, menacing tone.

“Here are your options. One: you go directly to Vasseur first thing in the morning and resign from Ferrari immediately. You will leave the team and ensure you are never so much as in the same country as Charles again. Two: I deal with you myself, in a much less pleasant manner. The choice is yours, Tomaso. What’s it going to be?”

He meets your steely gaze again, jaw clenched. “I can’t just quit,” he says hoarsely. “My job is my life. You might as well just kill me.”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “I was afraid you’d say that. Very well.”

In one swift motion you draw your gun from its concealed holster and press the barrel firmly under Tomaso’s chin. He recoils in terror, plastered back against the wall.

“Last chance,” you say calmly. “Walk away from Ferrari and never look back, or your days end tonight in this alley.”

Sweat drips down his brow as the gun digs harder into his throat. His eyes are saucers of fear, flitting between your steely gaze and the weapon poised to end his life.

“Well?” You ask after a long silence. “What’s it going to be?”

Tomaso swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against the gun barrel. When he speaks, his voice is a terrified croak.

“I … I won’t quit. I can’t.” He closes his eyes in resignation, awaiting his fate.

You click your tongue in disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

Your finger tightens almost imperceptibly on the trigger …

“Wait, wait!” Tomaso cries out, hands raised in desperation. “I’ll do it, I’ll quit! Just please, don’t hurt me!”

You pause, gun still aimed steadily at his throat. “And why should I believe you now?”

He swallows hard, eyes brimming with tears. “I swear, I’ll resign first thing tomorrow. You’ll never see me near the team again. Just let me go, I’m begging you!”

You consider him coldly for a moment before lowering the gun. Tomaso sags back against the wall in relief. But you’re not done with him yet.

“Who paid you?” You demand. “Who put you up to sabotaging Charles’ car?”

The blood drains from his face again. “I can’t tell you that. They’ll kill me, and my family ...”

In a flash the gun is back at his throat, your grip like iron on his shirt collar.

“I assure you, I can do much worse than they ever could,” you say menacingly. “Now give me a name, or you can say goodbye.”

Tomaso shakes uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. You can see the internal struggle, debating which is the lesser evil — defying you or those he conspired with. Finally, he slumps in defeat and leans in close, voice barely a whisper.

“It was ...”

He utters a name directly into your ear. Your eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing again. You release Tomaso and take a step back, processing this new information.

“I see,” you say slowly. You nod over your shoulder and two of your associates emerge from the shadows.

“Get him out of my sight,” you order. They grab Tomaso roughly by the arms. He sags between them, the fight gone out of him completely. You fix him with an icy stare.

“My men will escort you to the airport,” you inform him. “You will be on the first flight out of this hemisphere. And you are never to go near Ferrari or Charles again — don’t even think about trying to contact the team to explain yourself. As far as they will be concerned, you simply resigned. Am I clear?”

Tomaso nods wordlessly, defeated. The men begin dragging him away towards a waiting black SUV.

“Oh, and Tomaso?” You call after him. He glances back warily. “If I ever see or hear of you so much as setting foot in a paddock again, you won’t get a second chance. You’ll simply disappear. Permanently.”

The color drains from his face one final time. Then he is shoved into the back of the SUV, the door slamming shut behind him. You watch impassively as the vehicle drives off into the night, carrying the saboteur away for good.

Or so he thinks.

Unbeknownst to Tomaso, you have contacts everywhere, including at his destination. The second he steps off the plane, thinking he’s escaped your wrath, your local associates will be waiting. And his life will be ended swiftly and permanently, as promised. You don't make idle threats after all.

Betrayal of this magnitude must be punished, no matter how far Tomaso runs. The message will be clear — cross you, and nowhere on Earth will be safe. You've given the order, and your associates are nothing if not ruthlessly efficient. By the time the sun rises, there will be one less threat to Charles’ success. The sabotage ends here and now. You'll see to that personally, no matter the cost.

For a moment you simply stand alone in the dark alley, processing everything. This is bigger than you initially realized. Tomaso was clearly just a pawn, the sabotage orchestrated by someone higher up the chain — someone with enough power and influence to scare a man into risking his career and life.

Your jaw clenches as you think about Charles being targeted like this, not only being robbed of a deserved finish but also put in danger as collateral. Well, it ends now. The shadowy orchestrator thinks they can get away with playing games in the dark? They’re about to realize just how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Now that you have a name, you can start unraveling the web, tracing every thread back to find where it leads. And when you do find the spider at the center? You’ll make sure they can never endanger Charles again. For good.

Satisfied with this plan, you straighten your dress and exit the alley onto the brighter streets. Time to put your considerable resources to work. Phone records, financials, travel records — you’ll dig through it all, leave no stone unturned.

And you have a feeling the name Tomaso gave you is only the first thread. This goes deeper. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve dealt with far more dangerous criminal elements before. These shadow games don’t scare you. You’ll keep following the threads until you reach the source, uprooting the entire enterprise in the process.

By the time you reach your car, your phone is already buzzing with incoming calls and updates from your associates. They know the drill by now — when you give the word, they mobilize into action immediately, utilizing the full extent of your influence and power.

For you, they’ll tap every resource, call in every favor owed. Because you protect what’s yours at all costs. And Charles? He’s under your protection now, whether he knows it or not. So for his sake, you’re going to find the ones trying to undermine him, and you’re going to tear out the threat root and stem. Permanently.

Let them keep playing their games for now, oblivious to the axe hanging over their heads. They’ll find out soon enough that nobody crosses you and gets away with it. And when that time comes, no mercy will be shown. No loose ends left to unravel.

Time to remind them exactly why your reputation precedes you in certain circles, why your name is uttered only in hushed whispers. They’ll regret the day they dared threaten someone you care about. You’ll see to that personally.

With your jaw set in determination, you climb into the idling car. Time to go hunting.

***

Two days after dealing with Tomaso, you make your way through the Jeddah Corniche Circuit paddock towards the Ferrari motorhome.

Your stiletto heels click along the pavement and you glance down, frowning slightly at the flecks of blood still staining the pointed toes of your red soles. Such a shame about these Louboutins, you really love this pair. But a bit of blood is a small price to pay for protecting Charles, especially after personally dealing with the orchestrator who had been paying Tomaso off.

You had tracked them down and made sure they could never threaten Charles’ success again. Subtly, you crouch down and wipe at the stains, managing to remove the worst of it.

Satisfied, you straighten and continue on your way. The familiar bright red motorhome comes into view and you sweep inside, immediately spotting Charles standing with some team members. His face lights up when he sees you, excusing himself to rush over.

“Mon amour, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss seeing you race for anything,” you reply, pecking his lips sweetly.

Charles takes your hand, leading you to a quiet corner where you can talk. “I missed you so much while you were away,” he says. “But I’m so glad you’re here now.”

You smile and stroke his cheek. “Me too, darling. But I’m here now and I’ll be cheering the loudest for you all race.”

Charles’ grin falters a bit. “It’s been a strange few days actually. Tomaso, one of my mechanics, just up and quit in the middle of the week. No explanation or anything.”

You school your features into a look of surprise. “Really? That’s so odd.”

Charles nods. “Very weird timing to just resign like that. But maybe it’s for the best if his heart wasn’t fully in it anymore.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” you agree. “The team is better off without any negativity.”

Before Charles can reply, Andrea enters the motorhome. “Charles, time for some quick physio before the race.”

Charles sighs but nods, giving you a swift kiss before following Andrea out. You watch him go fondly before making your way trackside to the Ferrari garage. The mechanics are in race mode, voices terse and movements precise as they make final adjustments on Charles’ car.

You stay back, letting them work, thoughts drifting back to everything you did to get to this point. A small price to pay to ensure Charles can race with a fair chance again.

Finally it’s time for Charles to get in the car. You approach as he’s putting on his helmet and balaclava, stealing a tender kiss that he returns happily. Then you lift the helmet and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips softly over the smooth surface where his lips would be. Your ritual.

“Be safe out there,” you murmur. Charles squeezes your hand, then lowers himself into the cockpit. You watch tensely as the car pulls away, the lights of the circuit glittering against the dark night sky.

In the garage you pace anxiously throughout the race, listening to the radio chatter. Again Charles qualified P2, behind Max Verstappen’s Red Bull. But this time, you have no sabotage to worry about. The Ferrari proves fast and consistent all race, not quite keeping pace with the Red Bull but allowing Charles to maintain P2 smoothly.

The SF-24 doesn’t have the speed to challenge Max, but there’s no issues, no sudden grip loss or components failing. Your shoulders finally uncoil with relief as Charles crosses the line to take P2, securing a podium finish.

The garage explodes into cheers and applause as Charles pulls into parc fermé. He’s beaming as he climbs from the car, pulling off his gloves and balaclava. You run over to the barriers and throw your arms around him ecstatically as soon as he nears.

“I’m so proud of you!” You exclaim. Charles hugs you back tightly.

“Thank you, mon cœur,” he says warmly. “It felt good to finally have a clean race again.”

You just smile knowingly, heart bursting with joy at seeing Charles on the podium where he belongs. During the celebrations, he keeps meeting your gaze in the crowd, smiling and pointing down to you in the crowd of red. As he sprays champagne with Max and Checo, he looks utterly elated and at peace. No frustration or disappointment, just the satisfaction of a hard fought race with the result he deserved.

Afterwards, in the privacy of Charles’ room, he takes you into his arms again. “I don’t know what changed or why, but the car just felt right this weekend,” he says. “It makes me so optimistic for the rest of the season.”

You stroke his face gently. “You deserve it. All your hard work is paying off.” Inside, you allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. Charles doesn’t need to know just how much work went on behind the scenes to get here. He only needs to focus on driving his heart out, and securing the championships you know he’s destined for. The rest is simply details.

“Thank you again for being here,” Charles murmurs, pulling you close. “Having your support means everything to me.”

You rest your head on his shoulder contentedly. “Always, my love. I’ll be right by your side.” And you mean that with every fiber of your being. No matter what happens going forward, whoever tries to interfere or stand in Charles’ way, they’ll have to go through you first.

You won’t let anyone toy with Charles’ performance and safety again. The lesson has been sent — Charles is untouchable now. Dare to threaten the success that is his, and you’ll come for what’s theirs.

But Charles doesn’t need to carry that burden. He just needs to keep his head held high and drive his heart out. You’ll handle the rest. It’s the least you can do for the man you love more than life itself.

So as Charles holds you close, you silently promise to always shield him from the ugly underbelly that lurks beneath the glitz and glamour of Formula 1.

He gives so much of himself already in pursuit of greatness. Let others vie for power and influence through dirty tricks and mind games. That’s not Charles’ way, which is why you’ll ensure he remains untainted. For him, you’d walk through fire without a second thought.

So really, what’s a little blood on your Louboutins in the grand scheme of things? A man like Charles Leclerc deserves that and so much more. And you’re going to give it to him, no matter the cost.

Let them keep playing their games in the shadows. Little do they know, you’ve already checkmated them all.

[no-144444]

persistent perstering- c.leclerc

Day 13 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Ferrari drivers are persistent. You’re not looking for love. Too bad he is. 

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You liked your job. Ferrari was a good place to work. You’d befriended many of your colleagues, you enjoyed the travel, and though your work was challenging, you felt good. You were the assistant strategist who, granted, usually had better strategies than your boss, but you bite your tongue to keep his massive ego alive. If you could slap him in his dumb fucking face, you would. You liked being in the garage, well, you would if it weren’t for one thing. 

Charles LeClerc. 

Ferrari’s number one, Prince of Monaco, il Predestinato, King of Monza, the Ferrari driver. 

He was a pain in the ass. He followed you around like a love-sick puppy, he hung on every word you said, laughed too hard at all your jokes, talked too much, and he wasn’t exactly your type. 

Well, no one at that moment was. You’d imposed an iron-clad dating ban on yourself when your last relationship ended badly. You weren’t interested in the Monaco dating scene, and even if you were, you wouldn’t start up again with Charles LeClerc. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

“Morning!” You called out to Carlos. The humid air made every piece of clothing you owned too warm, so you were in a vintage Ferrari cropped-tank. You loved your team, even before working there. Behind Carlos, was Charles, not that you knew that. Carlos smiled, coming over to you. 

“How are you doing?” He asked with a smile. 

“Fucking hot,” you chuckled. He nodded. “It's mad weather.”

“I know what you mean,” he nodded. “Charles’ here could barely stand getting out of bed.”

Charles stepped out from behind him with a bright smile. You smiled back politely, and somehow didn’t notice the way his jaw dropped when he saw you. 

“Ready for tonight?” you asked them both. 

“Ready,” Carlos nodded. “And hoping that you’re doing my strategy.” 

You chuckled and followed him into the paddock, Charles tagging behind you both. “Sadly no, but I will be on stand-by for drinks afterwards, first round on me if things go wrong?”

“First round on me if things go right,” Carlos nodded. 

“Well, good luck today,” you smiled. “Can’t wait for the sprint!”

“Thank you,” Carlos smiled and left to go to his side of the garage. 

“Feeling ready for today?” you asked Charles, trying to be polite. 

He nodded. “How bad can it be?”

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Very, very bad. Extremely bad. Awful. 

Sprint went like this; 

Lap 2: Charles Engine failure into the pits for a 20 second stop.

Lap 8: Carlos crashes with Norris 

Lap 16: Charles into the barriers. 

Double DNF with the feature race tomorrow and quali tonight? Yeah, you’d all be getting fined for staying late. 

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You sat at your desk, looking over the strategy for tomorrow, disheartened at your prospects. Quali had ended 2 hours ago and Charles and Carlos were starting at the bottom of the grid, and it was your job to get them back up into at least the top 10, if not the top 5. Finally, the ball was in your hands in terms of strategy and no matter what, they were going to listen to your calls. The team had all left 30 minutes ago, the cars were fixed with no upgrades and some understeer, but they were drivable. 

“Heading home soon?” Charles’ voice rang out through the empty garage. 

“Nope,” you sighed.

“You’ll work yourself to death,” he sighed. “What are you looking at?”

“Strategy is in my hands tomorrow,” you blurted out. “And I’m fucking freaking out,” You let out a sad chuckle as you felt all of the pressure on your shoulders get heavier and heavier. “I don’t know what to do now. Austin is always a fucking ordeal, and with teh Sprint and you tow trashing the cars we’re so fucked, and they’re finally giving me the chance I’ve been asking for and if I fuck it up they’ll never promote me, even though they know it’s less than ideal circumstances.” 

You took a deep breath as your eyes watered. He placed a hand on your shoulder. “It’s alright,” he whispered. “You can cry.”

You groaned, covering your face. “I don’t want to cry.”

He chuckled softly. “I think you might need to.”

You shook your head, taking deep breaths and wiping your eyes. “No, I-I’m alright.” 

Your breathing quickened. Your heart raced. Your mind clouded. Your ears rang. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

This couldn’t be happening, not in front of your colleague, not in your workplace not-

And then his lips were on yours? His hands in your hair as you sat there stoic and frozen with anxiety, he fucking kissed you. 

WHAT A CUNT. 

You hastily pushed him off and gathered your things, hoping he would just leave you alone. He rushed out apology after apology until you finally turned to him and screamed. “Leave me the fuck alone Charles! Not everyone is in love with you, alright? I’m Carlos’ friend, not yours! I tolerate you, because I fucking have to, because it’s my job, and because I’m a fucking professional! If you cannot extend those same respectful luxuries, don’t come near me Charles. Just leave me alone!” 

He stood there, shocked, as you stormed off to your hotel room. 

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You walked into the paddock the next morning with your head held high and a plan for the strategy. You knew what you were doing, and the only time you’d have to see Charles today would be on your screen in a car driving more than 300 kilometres an hour. Perfect.

When you got to your desk, there was a small note on it with a bouquet of your favourite flowers. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Dear Y/n,

I am so sorry about my behaviour last night, it was unacceptable. I panicked and I wasn’t sure what to do, but I know now that was not the way to go about it. I am so incredibly sorry, and I promise to leave you be from now on.  Sorry again, Charles. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

A part of you felt bad, another didn’t. I mean, working with F1 drivers, you were used to tall egos on shorter men, with very little to back them up other than their money. You were sick of it, and to be honest, Charles just got the brunt of your anger because he was close to you, and he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

And I mean, it was a pretty good kiss. But no, he’s a dickhead, right? 

You huffed at your own stupidity. No way you were letting a man get you this confused about what you wanted. You didn’t want…? You wanted…? Fuck, what did you want?

“Hi,” Charles’ sheepish voice came from beside you. You whipped your head around to meet his eyes. “I just wanted to apologise in person as well. I am truly very sorry about last night, I put my own feelings above yours and took advantage, and I am deeply ashamed. I promise-”

And then your lips were on his?

How the tables turn.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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[beiasluv]

forbidden fruit | Charles Leclerc

a/n: new to the f1 communityy 😬 apologies for any term or idea i got wrong. female!reader. no proofread! enjoyy 🤍

summary: the princess of mercedes and the prince of ferrari, what could possibly go wrong?

“y/n! y/n! she’s in her last turn! leclerc’s trailing behind! can he do an over take?”

splashing champagnes and listening to the dutch national anthem were never your favorite of winning a podium, but who cares?

you were on P3 and charles leclerc was not.

perhaps retelling the story of your rivalry with the monégasque driver would take a whole frustrating, aggravating, and lengthy year for us to get through; and perhaps it was for the best to leave it where it is, never to be touched, but to reminisce with a needle of cringeness poking through your heart.

although an honorable mention to verstappen, for taking the lead role of leclerc’s personal favorite rival.

it was all an inchident, of course.

smirking back to the driver in a flashing, scuderia ferrari, red fire suit, you could only feel your ego bubbling to the top of your throat. charles leclerc was staring. and staring hard. what a shame you couldn’t even take out your phone and take a snippet of his raging glance. what a fun sight for the whole news headlines to see.

‘charles leclerc, envy and jealousy…’

of course, he couldn’t lash it out. how could he? would the handsome, young, and talented ferrari driver want to ruin his reputation in the media? obviously, not.

of course, you knew it all too well. every day you wake up with the tip of a knife, aiming at your throat, ready to nick you anytime you take a wrong step on the luxurious path of an f1 driver. being the only female driver on the grid makes your life a thousand times more challenging.

but who were you to be a nitpick?

the media loves drama. we all do. perhaps it was a little bit more entertaining to see what you are wearing when the races had gone wrong. what hairstyle were you wearing for the big race? or, maybe, just which driver you were dating on the grid this season?

never once you could escape the dating questions or all the bullshit misogynistic attitudes from the journalists, press, media, and, well, …you name it.

perhaps you have to give it to leclerc for never going easy on you just because you are of a different gender.

“congratulations on P3, y/n,” max turned towards you and gave you a pat on the shoulder; simultaneously, bringing you back to reality.

“t- thanks.”

—

“you win this one, l/n.”

he took off his helmet, and clutched it loosely to his side. the cheeky smirk plastered on his face. the eyes searched for the depth of yours.

only you knew how much pain it was for him to force his lips to create such a soft and fake smile for the thousand camera lenses, waiting to catch the two rivals lacking. bumping into leclerc after the race, fresh and full of adrenaline, alone in the hallway of the track was never an enjoyable experience to endure.

“good race, leclerc,” you muttered out as many PR and drivers walked past you two.

“same to you.”

what a shame your PR manager ushered you out for the media room before you two could give a shot of throwing hands - elegantly, of course.

—

“good work on the qualifying round, l/n. return to the garage. over.”

“copy that,” you tapped your headset, notifying the engineer of the prestigious mercedes team.

driving for mercedes in f1 could count as your biggest dream since the karting days. and the race won against ferrari was a - personal - success.

slowing your baby down, and pressing the brake mechanism of the car, you came to a halt as the friction overpowered the tires. one or two seconds later, you could hear the mercedes team rushing and scurrying over to your parked position to collect you back to the mothership.

“take her back, guys!”

the screaming of your fans nearby erupted as you ascended out from the cramped space of your f1 seat. taking your helmet off, and waving to them; you gracefully jumped down from the car and headed towards the mercedes headquarters.

a long walk, but who are you to make a fuss?

an f1 driver should have no problem walking a couple of miles. oh but how annoyingly a group of fans quickly crowded over you and blocked your ways…red flags, horses, and charles leclerc faces. clearly, you knew whose fans they were.

fussing, grabbing, and pulling, you were harassed, unfortunately. autographs, hats, pictures, postcards, and questionable stuff were pushed into your face.

“y/n! please! sign my shirt!” “get the hell away from charles!”

“charles deserved p3 today!” “l/n!! l/n! say hi to my dad! he loves you!”

trying to fulfill all of their requirements, you realized you had found yourself in the sea of scuderia ferrari fans. it is an unspoken fact that you were the rival of charles leclerc; you could say some fans were more enthralled by that fact than others.

“y/n! what do you think about charles? are you guys dating?”

sometimes you hate technology. the cameras pointing at you reminded me of the knife you carry mentally with you every day. it could gain you thousands of thousands of likes in a few tiktoks or perhaps get ready to say goodbye to your f1 position.

“…we’re not talking. in any complicate way,” smiling through the pain you signed the cap that was shoved into your face. gosh, mercedes. where was your security?

your patience could only last so much until one fan decided it was worth it to grab your hand and pull you down for an instagram-worthy photo. and he possibly thought the best way to execute it was to, firstly, seize your waist. how thoughtful of him.

“fuc- please don’t-”

“y/n! i love you!”

man-child was not having it. sweaty and clammy hands could send chills down your spine if you didn’t know.

“please-”

smile through the pain. smile through the pain. it was all part of the job, at the end of the day. the fans still won and you were just a doll for f1. breathe in, breathe out.

he pulled his iphone 7 out of his pocket, painfully slow; slower than the ferrari’s pitstops. his side was squished to yours. the cologne, the smell, the sensory, everything-

“hey, hands off.”

you could say it was the first time you were glad to see charles leclerc from your entire life; wearing his race suit sluttily around his waist. leclerc - being leclerc - stunned his fans, leaving a big hole in the crowd around you.

he was reaching out for your waist; surprisingly, in a way you were pleased, and pulled you out of the red crowd. and just like magic, the security came rushing in and ushered the mob of fans away from the scene.

wearing that stunned face of yours, you regained consciousness and your rival emotions. clearing your already cleared throat, charles took it as a signal to let go of your waist. how suddenly you realized it was all happening over the armor of your fire suit.

thank god.

“..thanks”

“no need to thank me,” the competitive tone made its way through his annoying lips again. scoffing, he looked at you with his hand clutching his helmet by his side, “i don’t understand why they need to adore you this much.”

how rude.

“for the record, they are your fans, leclerc,” you scoffed offendedly, and your hand found its natural place on your chest; clutching for dramatic effect.

“what did i do to deserve such loyal fans, l/n…” not even looking at you he smirked under his nose. “they shouldn’t be acting this way, no?”

he looked over at you, seeing you in your distressed state and a chuckle left his lips. the cameras settled on the stands far away in the distance and stared at you two, they were definitely on.

shit.

this is going to end up in the headlines.

—

“check out your new title…” your manager cleared his throat as you nervously waited.

“you can’t just leave me hanging here!”

placing your phone in your lap your hands returned to the comfort of the steering wheel. twisting and turning, you maneuvered your mercedes inside the driver's garage.

“calm the fuck down! i’m pulling out the source for accuracy,” you swore you could see your manager rolling his eyes. “wait for it…‘charles to the rescue. mercedes and ferrari, love or rivalry?’”

“shut up.”

“i can send you the links.”

“please don’t,” you sighed as you looked over your shoulder to slide into the parking lot like a distinguished f1 driver. “…the devil works hard, but the media works harder, or what?”

“we could use a little PR for mercedes, y’know?” the crackled chuckle left your phone.

please.

“the signal is shit in the parking lot, i’ll see you at the paddock. bye.”

“alright, be quick.”

gathering your bag and phone, you checked your face one last time in the rearview mirror and opened the car door. unfortunately, the infamous ferrari entered the parking lot with its signature roars, as you stepped out of your car.

the devil had worked hard once again. walking to your trunk, you kicked it open and snatched some of your essential stuff for the race. and who would’ve thought charles leclerc could park his car in under 20 seconds?

not to mention, it wasn’t straight. (oops)

getting out of his car, he checked his hair and fixed his shirt. obviously, aware of the paparazzi lurking around the track’s garage for the big day, and hoping to sell a couple of pics for something a little more than a couple of bucks. perhaps an even better price for them if they caught you and your rival having a ‘friendly’ chat.

don’t get close to him. don’t get close to him.

“what a coincidence,” leclerc approached your mercedes as he locked his ferrari with its infamous beeping.

“how so?”

smirking back at him, you slammed your trunk closed and shut off; locking your car in the same manner. catching the glimpse of his eyes you made it your personal goal to escape him as fast as you could possibly can.

flicking your head away and taking off, the path inside the track was as empty as you hoped it could be.

“slow down, i just wanna talk.”

“leclerc.”

“you walk too fast,” you swore if you looked back and he is grinning. “you trying to escape from me?”

fuck.

“got a problem with that, leclerc?”

his dark green eyes met yours after you decided the risk was below the ‘manageable’ level to turn around.

“no,” he grinned at you. how you wish you could smack it off of his face. “i jus’ want some company while walking to the track, no?”

company, my ass.

clearing his throat, he looked at you, “you’re a pretty good rival though.”

gaining a nod and a smirk from you leclerc was cut short of his run time as his PR manager came to collect him to the ferrari garage. how sad. his messy hair, the confidential wave, and two eyes met yours one last time before you decided to head to the mothership of your mercedes headquarters.

big trouble, y/n. big trouble.

—

“y/n, we neeed to talk.”

the paddock was usually quiet upstairs, all the mechanics and engineers spent their time in garage down below. only toto, george, lewis, your manager, and their managers, and - obviously - you would spend time up here. also. is every private manager in the world annoyingly scary and friendly at the same time or what?

sitting down next to you on the black sofa of the mercedes headquarters by the pitch, you were face-to-face with your lovely manager.

clearing your nonexistent anxiety, “…yes?”

“look…the media is starting to notice your relationship with charles…”

“and..?”

“and,” he crossed his arms, “we need to work on keeping this situation private…it could affect your reputation. maybe after the soft launch phase is over, you can publicize it…if you want to, obviously.”

the fuck?

“…what are your thoughts?”

he looked into your face, not a single thought behind it. somehow the racetrack outside the notoriously big, shiny window of the mercedes paddock suddenly gained your attention, and he restored to snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“what-? oh right- for fuck’s sake! we’re not in a relationship!”

“and what about those paparazzis’ pictures? I thought we agreed on sharing every ‘public’ detail about your life with me?”

“first of all, privacy. second of all. you believe that?! anthony! you’re my manager, i would’ve told you if i was dating a ferrari driver!” grabbing a quick breath,

“do you think i want to date the reddest of all flags on the grid?!”

“yeah? but that’s not the impression the media got,” he said. “even max! max verstappen thought-”

“who cares what max thinks!” you thrown your head back on the sofa.

“PR could be good, but we don’t know if it’s going to blacklash-”

george russell. he walked up to you two arguing on the black sofa and smirked at you; clearly, he heard your talks about ‘the reddest of all flags on the grid.’

“shut your mouth, russell,” sighing sarcastically as you could and you turned to your manager, who was having the time of his life.

“I’m not saying anything,” he raised his hands defensively, grinning the shit out of the corners of his mouth.

“I’m a driver, not a play doll you could match-make for the team’s reputation. hell. doesn’t charles have a girlfriend?”

anthony pulled out his phone and scrolled through ‘something,’ “yes…charles…has a girlfriend, PR relationship?”

“what do you mean?”

putting his phone away, “doesn’t matter. but what the media care about is to get a story out of nothing.”

“…and?”

“you have a reputation of being a private figure, and you're an expert in keeping it that way. we just need to do that until the end of the season.”

george chuckled sarcastically, "she seems angry at us, guys.”

“i am. and i’m not dating anyone for mercedes. done,” you stood up from the sofa and beelined towards the door. “also. i’m telling toto.”

and someone finally heard you this time. the whole room’s atmosphere seemed to tense up as someone entered the door.

toto wolff.

“is there a problem, y/n?” toto asked as george smirked at the unfolding situation.

you swung your head towards the origin of the sound and cleared your throat, “your employee, mr. wolff, is trying to matchmake me with a ferrari driver.”

toto chuckled.

toto chuckled?

“so there is something between you and charles?” he raised his eyebrow at you. expectedly, george was holding his laughter in for his dear life.

“why does everyone thinks that we’re dating?! even toto?!”

“so you’re not dating leclerc?”

“no!”

congratulations. you have successfully crashed onto the sofa once again, groaning your pain out.

“she’s lying,” george chimed in.

“I. am. not.”

how surprising that george’s back kissed the sofa as you tackled him jokingly down. a moment of silence for toto to watch many of his best drivers tackle each other like it’s a normal day in kindergarten.

“are you sure you are not dating, leclerc?”

last straw. you clutched your bag and left george dysfunctional on the couch. walking past the room, you glanced back one last time and said with the best sarcasm, “i’m not. and I’m not dating him for mercedes. done! I’m a driver, not a doll!”

slamming the door shut, you headed for your private driver’s room.

"she's angry at us…” george chuckles nervously; obviously, with a hint of joy.

“no shit sherlock”

—

edit: part 2

part 2?? reblog, like, whatever the heck you want would be appreciated 😘

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, lots of luv 🤍

[thef1diary]

Hatred | C. Sainz

Summary: You and Carlos are teammates but cannot stand each other. But things take a turn when a championship is costed and you two finally sort out your differences.

Warnings: 18+, bratty reader, enemies to enemies with benefits, choking, coarse language, hate sex, spanking, unprotected sex, no use of y/n

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: carlos x fem!reader

"Both Ferrari drivers are racing each other, can you believe it" the race commentator stated in disbelief. Your best friend was watching the race, watching you race wheel to wheel with your teammate. At first she wanted you to win, but now with the way things were looking, she just hoped that you safely finished the race.

You were fighting for the World Driver's Championship with no other than Max Verstappen. You, a female driver in a Ferrari, are so close tasting the victory of a championship. It was the second last race of the season, and you needed to finish second with the fastest lap to still be in the championship fight.

At the moment, you were third, behind your teammate and Max. Five laps to go.

Truth is, you and Carlos weren't very friendly this season. It was your second year and due to your phenomenal results in a car that shouldn't give constant P5 and P6 like it did, the Ferrari team principal was quite interested in your talent.

Despite the PR teams trying to get you and Carlos to film videos for challenges like he did with Charles, it never worked. On his end. You tried to be very friendly and since you were the only female driver on the grid, you wanted your teammates support. You didn't expect him to hate you from the moment he met you.

So when he listened to the team orders to let you pass through, you thought that he'd finally play the good sportsmanship card. But what you didn't expect was that after passing him, he was still on your tail using the drag reduction system to try and pass you again. Instead of complaining on the radio, you figured you would race him and show him who the better one of the two drivers truly is.

Even though you smiled and laughed with other drivers, Carlos was one you could not even have a normal conversation with without feeling the need to rip your hair out. So, racing with him when you had an almost killer instinct was much needed.

If he wasn't playing friendly, you weren't either. And to be honest, you were glad that he was putting up a fight, at least you'll be able to prove your worth instead being told that you only had a chance of winning because of your teammate.

Turning into a tight, high-speed corner, you took the inside line, braking late and hoping to turn out in the front. The seconds went by really slow when you heard the impact before you felt it. His Ferrari had hit the rear end of yours, causing debris to fall from your car and a puncture which made your car spin out of control. You held your breath and tried to control the car as best as you could until the car came to a stop which was when it crashed into the barriers.

Some parts of the barrier had landed on top of the front of your car, making it harder to get out. You immediately turned off the car but stayed for a few moments. Trying to wrap your head around the events that happened.

Not even one minute ago, you were fighting for the championship and now, you were out of it.

You hit your hand on the steering wheel multiple times before hearing the voice of your race engineer asking you if you were okay. You responded "fine" in a monotone voice which sounded completely different than your usual tone.

You were told to step out of the car just in case there was a leak which was undetermined at the moment. You sighed, taking off the steering wheel and climbing out of the car. After getting out, you noticed that your teammate's car was no where to be seen which only meant one thing, his car wasn't as damaged as yours which meant he could still race.

One of the marshals led you away from the track and car so you could safely begin your journey to walk to the pits which wasn't too far. You could feel the stares of the fans as you were walking by but didn't have the strength to wave to them. You also felt two cameramen following you. You knew one was for the live broadcast of the race but the other was Netflix.

You hung your head low, not even wanting to take off your helmet yet but you were fuming from anger. You didn't want people to see that.

By the time you got back to the pits, the race was over which was expected as there were only a few laps left. You looked at the board and saw Max was still first, as expected. His teammate was second now because he moved up two spots after the crash. Lewis came in third. Carlos had fell further down the grid, a few places out of the points. The podium celebrations were about to happen soon but you were far from being in a celebratory mood.

Once you got to the garage, you had to weigh yourself with your helmet in hand then you saw your teammate talking to the team principal. You felt your anger take over you and you stalked towards him, pointing a finger right in his face. "You. You're an asshole, an idiot, what did I ever do to you! What did you get out of this huh? A championship?" You scoffed, placing both of your palms on his shoulders and pushing him slightly.

"Fuck off!" He responded which only added fuel to the fire. Instead of accepting his mistake, he chose to tell you off. "don't you dare" you felt someone holding you back and your team principal decided to interfere by saying "it was just a mistake, cool off. Away from each other"

Unbelievable. He would always point out your mistakes even if they were very small.

"Just a mistake? It cost me the fucking championship!" You yelled which silenced everyone in the garage. You slowly looked around and no one dared to make eye contact with you at the moment. Not even Carlos.

Your PR manager placed a hand on your shoulder to lead you towards your drivers room but you brushed it off and left the garage.

Not even ten minutes later, your PR manager stopped by to inform you about the post race interviews which were necessary to attend. You didn't change out of your race suit, just tied the sleeves together on your waist. On the way, she told you about the things you shouldn't answer and to "play nice".

You were hit with so many questions during the interviews and at the moment, you were probably even more popular than Max who won the race. Not in a good way though.

"How do you feel losing a championship because of your teammate?", "do you think the situation could be sorted out differently?", "we heard the team orders given to Carlos, do you think he is a good teammate?", "is this your last year with Ferrari?", "how many years does your contract last?", "do you think you'd be treated differently by both your team and teammate if you weren't a woman?"

All those questions made your head spin but you tried to answer them as best as you could. You were exhausted both physically and mentally. Thinking back to the moments you had to compromise to get better results later, the team orders you had to follow, and the strategies you thought would be better but no one listened. One questioned loomed in your mind "is this your last year with Ferrari?" Since this was your first year with Ferrari, you had initially signed a three year long contract which meant you had two more years to go.

You met up with your friend as she was waiting for you in your drivers room. As soon as you saw her, you broke down into tears and embraced her. You didn't have to tell her what happened in the garage since she witnessed it. She wiped your tears, and made a plan to drown yourselves in alcohol and snacks in your hotel room.

You parted ways for now but she will be joining you later tonight. As soon as you got to your hotel room, you immediately took a shower to freshen up. You checked your phone which was bombarded with many texts from your family and friends who watched the race live. You also received some messages from fans, some hateful, some supporting you. As usual.

You also received messages from Lewis, Daniel, and Sebastian. The three drivers who have made it their mission to ensure you're comfortable in the male dominated sport.

You heard a knock on the door and you expected it to be your best friend, but when you opened it, it was your teammate. "I'm really not in the mood to talk to you"

"Then just listen?" He raised his eyebrows in expectation. You opened the door further and let him in. What was the worst that could happen? Another fight? This time you could punch him in the face if he said something stupid and no one can stop you.

"I'm sorry" Carlos started and you nodded, urging him on. "I know you were fighting for the championship and I ruined that"

"Yes, you did" you responded. "Is that all you're saying?" he asked which confused you. "What do you want me to say?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe accept my apology?" He stated in an oblivious tone. And there it was, Carlos could not be nice for a single conversation.

"There's no point. You'll do something like this again and we'll be in this situation again"

"Technically you could prevent it"

"Me? What about you? See this is why we're never getting along" you pointed at him.

Carlos stepped closer to you and held your chin between his thumb and first finger. "You're such a brat"

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "and what are you gonna do about it?"

"I'm gonna fuck that attitude out of you" he stated before placing his lips on yours, harshly.

You did not expect that but you weren't complaining either. Reciprocating the kiss with the same intensity, you wrapped your arms around his neck, one hand playing and pulling on his hair. He groaned in your mouth, wanting to regain control which made him pick you up effortlessly.

He had changed out of his race suit, wearing just a tee shirt and sweatpants. Dropping you on the bed once you two ran out of breath, he looked at you with a specific look in his eyes. It wasn't love, no, far from it. It was hate. You held yourself up by your elbows, spreading your legs a bit because you expected him to join you.

"Strip for me" he commanded. You stayed still, trying to process his words but he was rather impatient. "Did you not hear me? I said strip. Now" he took advantage of your spread legs and slapped the inside of your thigh.

That movement made you jerk and you started to take off your clothes. First your pants, then your shirt. He was quite surprised to see that you weren't wearing anything under your shirt. You had just taken a shower and were planning on chilling in your room anyways, there was no point of a bra.

You pointed at him and urged him to come closer which he listened to. He slid his body in between your spread legs and started kissing your neck. Kiss wouldn't be the right word, Carlos was sucking on it til marks were made. He wasn't being nice. And you were loving every bit of it.

You bit your lip to suppress the moans he was trying to get out of you. Playing with the hem of his shirt, you pulled it over his head. Your hands roamed around his tanned chest and back. You tried to flip your position, but he held you underneath him. "Brats don't get what they want" he muttered in your ear before his hand roamed near your panties.

His fingers played with the waistband, pulling it out and letting it snap on your waist making you groan due to the pleasurable pain. His fingers then went down to slide over your covered clit, rubbing it at the same time as he took your nipple in your mouth.

You didn't know where to focus since you could feel the pleasure everywhere. His teeth grazed your nipple making you arch your back then he sucked on it hard. You knew you were very wet by now, but he also knew since his fingers were slick as they played with your pussy over your panties.

"Carlos" you moaned his name. "What do you want?" He asked once he left your breast alone, after scattering marks on it. "You"

"You have me" he chuckled once he saw you trying to focus on reaching your edge with the way he was barely touching you. "I need more. Please touch me"

His fingers moved your panties to the side and slowly spread your fold which were embarrassingly slick. "Do our fights make you wet? Is that why you like arguing with me?" He asked as he lightly hit your pussy with his palm, making you jerk in response. "Tell me" his other hand held your jaw, making direct eye contact with you. He slid his fingers inside you, two of them. Watching as your mouth opened in a silent moan.

You shook your head, answering his question. He didn't like that. "No, so you don't look for any dumb reason to fight with me? Just to get yourself off? You've touched yourself thinking about me right?"

You were about to speak up but he interrupted "don't lie. I've heard you" you didn't have a response to that. Because it was true.

"Are you going to keep talking or do something Sainz?" You countered.

He clenched his jaw and pulled his fingers out of you. "On your hands and knees" he instructed. You smiled, finally getting a rise out of him. You turned over, looking back at him with a smirk that he was so eager to wipe off your face.

He took off his sweatpants and boxers, and you almost drooled at the sight of him stroking his cock. He leaned on the bed and lined himself up, sliding his cock in-between your folds. You groaned and muttered his name, trying to get him to do something. "So desperate for my cock" he brought his palm down on your ass harshly which made you move forward. You nodded desperately "yes" you whined.

He slowly pushed his cock in you, hearing your sweet moans. "Fuck. You feel so good"

You started moving your hips according to his slow but harsh thrusts. He placed open-mouthed kisses down your back, occasionally biting you.

He trailed his hand up your body and wrapped it around your neck from the front. Carlos felt you tighten around his cock and from the increasing amount of moans you released, he figured that your liked being choked. He was already planning on teasing you with this information.

His other hand played with your clit, rubbing it in small but agressive circles that made you squirm in his grasp. You chanted his name like a prayer, not even realizing how loud you were because the feeling of pleasure consumed you.

You could feel yourself on edge but you just needed something more. You begged him for more and he listened. His thrusts became faster but also sloppier, indicating that he was close to his orgasm as well. The hand that was choking you, came down to slap your ass again which you didn't expect at all. Since he wasn't holding you up anymore, you pressed your face against the mattress. Bunching the sheets up in your palm, you went over the edge.

Carlos didn't stop as he was chasing his own release but it also built towards your second orgasm. He quickly pulled out and turned you over to face him. Entering you again, he pressed his lips against you to swallow both yours and his moans.

One of your hands were up in his hair, pulling at the strands while the other was trailing down his back. His hand was still at your clit, rubbing circles on it. You reached your second orgasm as soon as you felt his release.

He was holding himself up by both his forearms and looking down at you. "I still hate you" you stated.

"I know. I hate you too" he replied and pressed a kiss against your lips.

Pulling out, he rolled over beside you. You laid there for a moment before he got up and you thought that he would get dressed and leave. Instead, he went to the bathroom and brought a cloth to clean you up. You didn't know why you felt that moment of sadness when you thought he'd leave. This was nothing but a hate fuck. Right?

He tossed the cloth somewhere else and laid down beside you again. This time, he pulled you into him and was dozing off. You were too, after all the sun had set many hours ago. You didn't check your phone to see the time either. Well, even if you wanted to, you couldn't because Carlos wrapped his arm around you, making you the little spoon.

You could hear him lightly snore and you thought that would irritate you, but instead it lulled you to sleep.

Teammates who hated each other, who still claim to hate each other, are sleeping peacefully in one bed. Naked.

[coco-loco-nut]

Barnstormer

pairing: charles x reader

summary: charles can’t help but to fall for your small town charm

a/n: so @vitalverstappen and I have been grinding on this prompt for a while (i sent the jumble of ideas to V.V. after this being in my drafts for a few months). read the sister story linked at the end!

masterlist requests open

——————————

Once again, you are in your home country to race, only this time it’s in Austin. You spent the break on your family’s ranch back in Montana, riding your horse and reconnecting with nature. You always joked that you are the racing version of Hannah Montana.

“Y/n, it must be nice to be back home. You certainly look the part,” Laura starts your interview with F1TV.

“Ah, well Austin is much different than Montana. Two different types of cowboy, I’d say,” you are dressed like you just came from the stable. Boots, jeans, hoodie, hair in a braid, and your hat. A quick look says you aren’t a driver.

“How so?”

“Well, they like the spice down here much more, and I’d say that we are much more equipped to deal with snow. One thing I do know is that we both love a good rodeo,” you feel your hat be removed from you head as you speak. Turning to your left, you see Charles put it on his head.

“Yee haw, little lady,” Charles does what might be the worst Texas accent you’ve ever heard.

“Charles Leclerc, you did not just grab my cap by the brim. I don’t think you know what you just did,” you take your hat back, by grabbing the crown - you aren’t an animal, holding it at your side as to not make fans think anything of it.

“Well, I’ll let you sort that out,” Laura turns to the camera. “Stay tuned for an exclusive interview with Y/n and Liam Lawson as we discuss being rookies, Lightning McQueen, and more,” Laura says, letting the camera cut away.

“Sorry we couldn’t get more of an interview, I gotta explain cowboy culture to Charles,” you cringe, pulling the Ferrari boys away. Charles listens as you ramble about how it’s rude to touch a hat, then straw versus felt and why despite it being past labor day you are wearing straw, and finally that his act of taking your hat could be seen as a sign of flirting. You reach the Alpine home and quickly dart inside.

“Mate, I don’t think she got it,” Carlos shakes his head as Charles groans.

“I’ve been trying all season, she just isn’t getting it,” Charles whines, sure you will never pick up on his flirting.

That night you take the boys to a bar just outside Austin that some friends back home recommended, they said it was where a lot of rodeo cowboys go. It does not disappoint, the neon offsetting the wood with Tim McGraw crooning on the speakers. You practically run to the bar to order your favorite cheap beer.

“Some of my friends said this is the best bar in town,” you yell over the music.

“Logan? He was your childhood best friend right?” Franco says, hoping that he got it right.

“Logan? No, although he is my friend. You really don’t know how far Montana is from here and Miami, huh,” you swig your beer before narrowing your eyes at the Argentinian. “Are you even old enough to be here? How did you get in?”

“Franco is 21, barely, but he is,” Alex says, a little put off by the place. Most of them did try to fit in, but everyone in the bar can tell they are tourists based off them wearing felt hats when it’s blistering hot outside.

“Oh, they have a bull,” your eyes light up as you quickly make your way to the mechanical animal. You don’t care if it’s embarrassing for you or the guys, you want to see them fall off.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Max asks, wary of the old machine.

“Sure, that’s what makes it fun. Why don’t you go first?” Your eyes challenge Max as a small crowd watches on, interested at the goings of your group.

“I, uh,” it doesn’t take you more than a second to realize that the boys are scared. You square your shoulders, finishing off your beer.

“Alright, but you’re missing out, it’s mighty fun,” you shrug, taking your hat off and setting it upside down on a table beside the operator. You hand him cash as you step onto the worn blue mats, eyeing up your worn, red competitor.

“Don’t you think this is a bad idea? I don’t want to explain to the team how you got hurt,” Pierre’s panic is evident even as the guys pull out their phones to film.

“Yeah no, I learned from the best. My hometown best friend is a champion rider,” you expertly mount the mechanical bull, unphased as it starts bucking. You hang on much longer than the boys would’ve, and when you feel yourself be about to get thrown off, you dismount with a flourish.

The guys are speechless beyond cheering for you as you put your hat on, heading back to the bar for another beer. Men tip their caps to you and you blush, a little overwhelmed by the attention.

Charles knows enough to know that you put on a show and have the interest of even more guys now. It doesn’t help that your boots and shorts show off your legs just right, and the tee you chose fits perfectly. Your hat adds a layer of mystery as it helps hide your eyes, but not your beautifully curled hair.

You don’t do much the rest of the night other than drink the guys into a hole, get violently drunk, and stand on a table singing Dolly Parton.

You pull up to the paddock the next day wearing a college football jersey, the school you’ve supported since you were a young kid.

“Texas or Georgia?” someone yells at you and you can’t help but step back in disgust.

“Neither, I’d rather die,” you yell back, despite not having a team in the SEC.

“How are you alive and still manage to look good,” Franco groans, walking beside you.

“Sheer will, and a bit of my mama’s secret recipe,” you grin.

“How does he do it?” Charles asks Max, watching Franco effortlessly flirt with you, even though Franco doesn’t realize he’s flirting.

“No idea. Have you talked to Mick, he’s pretty close with her. Maybe he has an idea,” Max shrugs.

“Mick? Like Mick Schumacher?”

“Yeah, they karted together. You could also just talk to her,” Max suggests, pushing his friend in your direction.

“So you are actually a cowgirl?” Charles asks you once Franco drops back to yap with Max.

“Yeah, my parents have a working ranch. I help out when I can, since they helped find people to house and train me throughout my career,” you smile.

“That’s so cool. You have your own horse too, right?”

“Yeah, do you want to see him? He’s a feral mustang that we domesticated, I’m thinking of breeding him with a quarter horse soon,” you pull up photos as Charles tries to understand everything you said.

“What a pretty rider,” Charles hopes you might pick up on an obvious flirt.

“Thanks,” the compliment barely registers in your mind.

“Maybe you could teach me how to ride sometime,”

“Oh, I was going to have Mick, Pierre, and Logan come up after Brazil. You should come too, hopefully we will beat the snow. There’s already been some, but if you bundle up you will be fine,” your smile melts Charles’s brain.

“Snow? Already?” Charles can’t imagine it, it hasn’t even been Halloween.

“Oh yeah, nothing like a warm cider and a fireplace though,” Charles can hear your accent come through.

“So are they dating?” Franco asks, observing how close you and Charles are standing.

“No.”

“But he likes her?”

“Yes.”

“And she likes him?”

“Hard to say,” Max shrugs.

“I am so confused,” Franco stares at you and Charles, it’s obvious you both like each other.

“Me too,” Carlos agrees, having come to retrieve Charles when he overheard Franco’s conversation with Max.

“Y/n is a smart woman, but she certainly cannot pick up on flirting,” Max shakes his head, walking off.

Charles did join you at your ranch before Las Vegas, with strict orders from his trainer on how to keep up with his training. Charles wasn’t expecting a whole complex of barns and houses. You could almost call it an operation.

They were all shoved in the back of your pickup, luggage safe on the bed of the truck, as you and a ranch hand chat in the front of the car.

“You boys are lucky there’s room in the main house during your stay,” the ranch hand had joked. Because the group arrived so late, it’s straight to bed for everyone. Everyone except you.

Charles is restless, and despite his better judgment, gets out of bed for a change of scenery. He walks into the living room, looking at family photos, school yearbook photos, and pictures of your races. Some of your first trophies are proudly displayed above the fireplace, as well as a picture from your first time in the points in F1. He takes in everything, it’s clear how proud your parents are of you.

Charles finds you on the porch, with a steaming mug and quilt thrown over your legs. You are staring at the sky, not really paying attention. He’s freezing, wearing more layers than you, but he sits beside you anyway. You hand him a spare quilt, which he thanks you for.

“It’s nice, to slow down out here, the open skies and quiet,” you break the calm silence.

“It seems busy around here,”

“You have to be. It’s a hard business, no days off. I’m lucky that we are a larger ranch and my family can afford things like my career. Most of my friends stay and work full time, some work for us now. The guys out there are just going in for the night to the bunk houses, they will be up at dawn ready to work,” you explain. Charles was right in that this is a business, and a large one.

“Makes me feel bad that we are here on a break then,” Charles rubs the back of his neck.

“Don’t be. Plenty of ranches book out guest houses for tourism, it’s good income. Plus, you are here as my guest. The town will love to meet new people,” you reassure him, reaching to pat his hand.

“So, I guess you really don’t know every city that we visit?” Charles grins. None of the drivers ever bothered to look up where you are from, so they joke that you know Miami, Austin, and Las Vegas like they are your home town. However, they’ve been taking it more seriously as of late.

“No,” you whisper, a hint of a smile on your face as you watch the snow fall. You find yourself tucked under Charles’ arm before you bid him goodnight, going to bed.

You are up early, eating breakfast with your family.

“What’s your plan for the day?” your mother asks as you help clear the table.

“I think a trail ride then go into town, I don’t want to impose too much, but I’ll probably show them around,” you say, thinking of a schedule.

“Why don’t you do a late lunch in town? I have some things for you to pick up,” you agree with her idea.

“Go ahead, Mama, I’ll clean up,” you say, knowing there is administrative work to do.

The boys meander down about an hour later as you are finishing baking a bread you started yesterday.

“Morning boys,” you wipe your hands as they stand cluelessly in the kitchen. “Take a seat, I’ll whip you up something quick,” you motion to the kitchen table as you head to the fridge.

“Do you need help?” Logan asks, but your look quickly tells him to shut up.

“Coffee’s in the pot if you want some, milk in the fridge, food will be ready in a few minutes,” you wave the offer off.

“What’s your plan for today?” Mick asks, quickly taking to the coffee.

“I’ll take you on a trail ride and tour around some of the ranch, then we will go into town and grab lunch. After dinner we can go to the bar if it isn’t too bad out,” you look out the window, most of the snow has melted off already, but you can never be too careful. The boys quickly eat what you serve them and you take them out to the barn.

“Need help?” Charles asks as you blanket and saddle four horses, one he recognizes as yours. It’s impressive, watching you easily sling the heavy saddles on.

“Hold these, stand still,” you hand him the reigns, making sure he is in a safe position.

“Are you wearing chaps?” Mick notices the tan leather covering your jeans.

“Yes, and you all should too. You will thank me later when the wind isn’t biting at your legs. We should have some extras, hang on,” you grab a few pairs and tell the boys how to wear them.

“This is quite fashionable, I should’ve worn them in Austin,” Charles twists his legs, looking at the western wear. You just shake your head and continue getting the saddles ready.

“This is weirder than I thought,” Logan says, a little uncomfortable in the gear as you help him mount the horse.

“Sit up straighter, and widen your legs a little,” you fix his feet as you speak, adjusting the saddle and stirrups. You help each of them mount the horses you saddled before mounting your own horse.

You start with the tour before the trail ride, and the boys are feeling a little sore from the trotting as they dismount.

“I’m impressed your hat stayed on,” Mick says as he feels his muscles ache.

“That’s the point of a proper fitting hat. You can tell your trainers you had your workout for the day. Come on,” you make them follow you to the truck. As you get into town, you get stopped every other minute, being asked how you are and who your friends are. The boys look around the small store as you pick up your mother’s order.

“You and your boyfriend make quite the handsome couple,” the clerk, a church friend of your mother, says. She observes your startled face and smiles. “The one with brown hair, he seems very protective of you,” you look at Charles and catch his eye, causing both of you to look away with a blush.

“We aren’t dating, he’s a friend that I race with. They all are,” you deny, but you can’t help but wonder why your heart skipped a beat at the accusation.

“Sure honey, but you should see the way that boy looks at you,” you take the package, mind spinning.

“Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” your voice is quieter as she pats your hand.

“You take care now, don’t forget about your roots when you become a big star,”

“I’ll dedicate my first win to you all,” you smile, taking a step away from the old oak counter.

“Good girl. Watch out on the roads tonight,”

“Yes, Ma’am,” when you approach the guys you notice how you and Charles naturally gravitate towards each other, but you are quick to distract yourself before you think too much about it.

“Everything alright?” Mick asks, poking your head. You swat away his hand as he goes to poke you again. Logan and Charles are trailing you, talking about something that you couldn’t care less about.

“Yeah, just thinking about something the shop owner said,”

“That Charles likes you?” Mick says, you huff and walk a little faster.

“He doesn’t though, Mickie. We are just friends, he’s never even flirted with me. Besides, I don’t even like him like that, and I would NEVER date someone on the grid,” lies, well mostly. The grid part is pretty true, that’s a mess you don’t wasn’t to touch. Mick can read you like a book, he’s your best friend and basically your brother. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you into a side hug as you walk.

“He flirts with you endlessly, you are just too blind to see it. Meine Liebe, he is so in love with you that he would crash someone out for you,” Mick looks at you, watching the gears in your brain turn.

“Well, if he is flirting with me that much, he really needs to step up his game,” you look at the sky, then to Mick.

“It’s a shame you are basically my brother, why can’t we date?” you groan, Mick loudly laughs.

“Alpine would hate that, can’t have two of their drivers dating,” Mick lowers his arm, poking your side.

“They are separating us, but our love shall prevail,” you carry on, enjoying the antics.

“Even Mick flirts with her easier than me,” Charles groans, looking at Logan for backup.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but they are literally the definition of siblings separated at birth. They joke like that all the time, he’s just her best friend,” Logan shakes his head.

“So there’s a chance?”

“Not with your flirting,” Logan pats Charles’s shoulder as they approach your truck.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, there is a storm coming,” you turn the key in the ignition, watching the boys get in the truck. Logan calls shotgun, leaving Charles and Mick in the back.

“Who let dying cats sing?” Mick teases you and Logan as you sing along with a country song, earning him the bird from both of you.

“Alright boys, wash up and then be down here for dinner. We won’t wait for you,” you say as you park the truck. Charles grabs the package for you, carrying it inside.

“I’ll take that, son,” your dad grabs the package from Charles as you walk through the door. “Y/n,” you follow his beacon, leaving the boys alone.

“Well, I will see you all in a bit,” Mick heads to his room, it’s obvious that he’s visited before.

Much to Charles’s dismay, he makes no progress on the flirting end for the rest of the week. When you get to Las Vegas, you are swept up in media and team duties. Charles sees more of Pierre than he does of you that weekend. He does notice when you post on Instagram.

instagram

y/username brought the boys home with me, still wouldn’t call them cowboys

mickschumacher to be fair, Logan and I fit in pretty well, Charles though…

charlesleclerc hey!

y/username charlie… you still don’t know how to wear a hat correctly

alpinef1team we 🫶 our cowgirl (and Cowboy Mick)

mercedesamgf1 our* Cowboy Mick 🤠

scuderiaferrari it’s okay Charles, even if you aren’t a cowboy, we still love you (Mick was ours first, back off)

charlesleclerc hey! you are supposed to be on my side

mickschumacher love the support guys 💙🩵❤️

user29 the shared admin parenting 😭

y/username charlie, it’s okay, not everyone is cowboy material

user aww, she brought Logan with her. best former grid friendship

user4 so we are ignoring the part where she got them all to wear chaps?

logansargeant you hear that mick? i’m better than you

mickschumacher impossible, i’m literally her best friend

y/username and they looked wonderful in them 🥰 (i love you two equally)

user2 poor charles, always forgotten even if they weren’t friends until recently

charlesleclerc best cowgirl and teacher in Montana ❤️

y/username only Montana? i’m wounded, you’re uninvited from the next trip

Mick hung around, pulling double duty for Mercedes and Alpine. He watched the race from the Mercedes garage, a tense place to be during the race. The Mercedes team qualified poorly in Q3, leaving them in the midfield. Logan accompanied him, an odd sight for most fans.

You had qualified well, with you and Pierre in P6 and P7 respectively. A crash up front took out Max and Lando, leaving the two of you in a battle with Oscar, Charles, and Carlos. A late safety car and a well timed undercut allowed you to move into P2, fighting for the win with Pierre right behind you. With five laps left to go, you find luck on your side once more. Oscar locked up, giving you just enough room to overtake him. When you cross the line five laps later, you feel tears running down your face.

“We did it, holy shit! Great work team, I’m so proud of you guys. This win is for the huge support network I have back home - I told you I’d dedicate my first win to you, and it’s for this team who has struggled and fought to be in the position to win races again,” you say on the radio as you take your cool down lap, waving to fans as you drive past.

The feeling of standing on top of your car is like nothing else, the crowd electric with you first win, a home win.

Pierre pulls into P3, quickly hoping out to embrace you, rubbing your helmet.

“We did it! You are amazing!” Pierre cheers.

“Finally a podium for us,” you agree, joining Pierre in heading to the barricades to celebrate with the team.

Charles makes his way to where you are putting on your team hat and sipping water a few minutes later.

“Welcome to the home win club,” he hugs you, wishing he was on the podium too.

“Thanks, Charlie. Sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed,” you smile but tears start to flow out of your eyes again. This is likely the only win you will ever get, and you know that.

“Amour,” his voice is soft and sympathetic as he wipes the tears off your cheeks. “You deserve every bit of this win, you drove so well,” he reassures you as you nod, sniffing the tears away.

“Interview time, champ,” Pierre grabs you, pulling you towards Guenther. He quickly shoots Charles a look that says he’s talking about this later. Pierre is protective of his teammate, and he isn’t scared to rip into his childhood friend if needed. You watch Pierre speak, then Oscar, before it’s your turn. They wait for you, not wanting to leave you vulnerable to the media.

“Y/n, first off, congratulations on a monumental win. How are you feeling?” Guenther asks, his voice jovial. He watched you grow as a driver in the Ferrari program, so he feels a bit proud.

“Overwhelmed, mainly,” you laugh, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “I, uh, carry the legacy of many women before me, those who drove, served as test and reserve drivers, and affiliated drivers. I really hope this win made them proud and make the girls driving in lower formulas know they can succeed here too,” you say, still breathing a bit heavier.

“That was one heck of a drive, how were you able to take the win?”

“A lot of luck, and confidence. I knew that I had to take some risks, especially on that overtake and defending the last few laps. I’m glad that Max and Lando are okay, those collisions aren’t fun,”

“One more question and then I will let you get your trophy. How will you take this confidence into the last two races?”

“Just keeping the energy up with the whole team. They’ve worked hard to get Pierre and I on the podium, and it’s nice to see it pay off, especially at my home race. You never really know when you will get to the podium, so I think we will just cherish this and hope the points keep coming,” you say, relieved to be done with interviews for now.

“Thank you, congratulations again,” Guenther says, letting you go. You give a wave and disappear to where Pierre and Oscar await.

“An all Alpine podium,” Mick teases, waiting around the bend for you.

“Former, but I guess it counts,” Oscar smiles as you launch yourself at your best friend.

“I’m so proud, meine Liebe, and I know Dad is too,” he hugs you tightly. Mick lets you go a moment later, promising to see you after the podium.

The cooldown room is nice, you relax in the chair as Oscar and Pierre chatter, watching the race highlights.

“Nice defending, you were a brick wall against Charles,” you fist bump Pierre.

“Ready?” Oscar asks, dragging you out of your seat. Pierre is the first out and onto the podium. “Just breathe, this is your moment,” Oscar reminds you before stepping out. Before you know it you are being drenched in champagne.

“This is just the start of the celebrations, mon amie,” Pierre says, wrapping an arm around you as you head back to the motorhome.

“Drinks on me tonight,” you cheer, ready to shower off the champagne and get media over with.

You are one of the last to arrive at the club, mostly because your phone died and you had to wait on it to charge. However, that just means you had more time to pregame, and you did.

“Oscar!” you drunkenly cheer, wrapping your arms around the Aussie.

“When did you get here? Are you already drunk?” he asks, trying not to laugh.

“Mhmm,” you nod, “I drank with Logan,”

“Logan is here?!” Oscar looks around the room, trying to spot his friend.

“No, silly, he’s in Miami. He was on the phone, duh,” you walk towards the bar, ordering a round of shots for your friends and you. You don’t hesitate in downing it, ordering a drink to take with you back onto the floor.

“How much have you had to drink?” Franco asks, wrapping an arm around you to keep you steady.

“Mmmm, five shots,” you giggle then poke his cheek, pushing his face a bit due to your sloppy motions. “You’re cute, just a babbyyy,”

“You are very pretty as well, how’d you know I have a thing for older women,” Franco flushes, the flirting coming out of nowhere. He honestly thought that you and Charles were dating, but he can’t help that he’s a natural flirt.

“Pierre! George!” you walk away before he can even process everything. You are off to do more shots, intending to get fucked up.

“You okay?” Max asks, quickly replacing you at Franco’s side.

“Y/n was just here, she’s an odd drunk, can she even drink that much?” Franco asks, very confused.

“She brought Tennessee moonshine to a race last year and she out drank Valtteri. I didn’t realize she’s been here,” Max looks around, searching for you.

“Whatever she drank earlier was strong then. Aren’t she and Charles dating? Why was she flirting with me?”

“Who knows,” Max shrugs, leaving Franco confused and alone as he spots you back at the bar in the VIP section the drivers reserved.

“You are cut off for now,” Max shakes his head as he stands beside you, taking the drink from your hand and keeping it for himself.

“Charlie! Tell Max to give me my drink back,” you pout, crossing your arms as you lean back against the bar, stumbling a little as your back hits the edge.

Charles’s eyes rake across you in concern as he quickly reaches out to steady you. He looks away at Max to get a silent read on the situation.

“Amour, how much have you had to drink? Didn’t you just get here?” Charles is more worried that you may have been drugged, no one acts like that after one drink.

“Five shots,” Charles watches you count on your fingers, holding up seven of them.

“And here?”

“Um, three shots and a drink. I just got here fourty minutes ago,” your words slur together as dizzying lights flash around the bar. The change in music tells everyone that Lando got behind the DJ booth.

“You are cut off for the hour, go dance some of it off then I will buy you a new drink,” Max says, winking at Charles. Before he can respond, you are dragging Charles onto the dance floor.

“You are a terrible flirt. You know who told me that you like me? Mickie,” you poke Charles’ chest as you dance close to him. Charles wraps his arms around your waist, keeping you close but providing support.

“It must’ve worked if you know now,” Charles leans down slightly, voice low against the pulsing music. You tilt your head up more, looking at him through hooded eyes, his body moving against yours as the bass builds up.

“No,” you say, lips centimeters away from brushing against his as the beat drops. “You need to work harder to earn me,” you slip out of his arms, going to find your aforementioned friend, leaving Charles alone and horny.

You find yourself back at the bar, no one there to stop you from drinking more. Well, that is until Mick shows up right before the bartender walks back over to you.

“Let’s celebrate the win, if you drink any more right now you will puke in 10 minutes,” Mick pulls you away, back to the other drivers. Fuck Charles, the bar is your one true love and Mick is denying you it.

“Here,” Lewis hands you a drink which you happily take. It’s just a mocktail, but you don’t know that.

“To our cowgirl and her first win!” Carlos toasts, cheers ringing out across your group. You catch Lando sneaking away back to the DJ booth, and you quickly follow.

“Lando, let me play a song,” you beg, and who is Lando to deny you after your first win? The grid gravitates towards the two of you as Lando helps you set yourself up.

“What are you playing?” Lando yells as you quickly pull up your song. Your devilish grin tells him everything as he helps you blend it into the song currently playing. The song slows as a low “tu tu tu tu” rings out, the lights turning in to focus on Max.

“Is this because I took away your drink?” Max yells, embarrassed and a little annoyed even though he thinks it’s funny. The rest of the guys are singing along, teasing Max. That’s the last thing you remember.

You wake up groggy on the couch of your hotel room, Mick in the bed. Based on the weird feeling in your mouth, you were puking before you fell asleep. Stumbling, you cross the room and crawl into bed beside Mick.

Mick wakes you up a few hours later, cup of coffee in hand.

“How much do you remember of last night?” he asks as you lightly groan, launching into your past memories.

You virtually sit down for a podcast later in the week to discuss your win.

“How does it feel going viral?” The one podcaster asks after you discussed your career and fighting in the midfield.

“Viral? Honestly, I’ve been so busy since the win that I haven’t been on social media,” you laugh, very confused.

“Gen Z has taken to you, you are all over TikTok and Twitter,”

“That’s wild, thanks Gen Z,” you smile, giving the camera a little salute.

“The after party seemed fun,”

“From what I remember, it was. It’s always a good time going out with the guys. Can I confess something?”

“Please do,” the podcaster says, eager for some gossip.

“I thought Franco was too young to be out with us. The first time he showed at the bar in Austin, I genuinely thought he was about to be thrown out,” you say, letting the conversation stay of that for a bit.

“So, a photo of you and Charles dancing at the club after your win went viral. We asked him about it and this is what he had to say,”

“Oh yeah, we’re dating, didn’t you know?” Charles says, looking quite serious, but you know it’s a joke, at least you think it is.

“Haha, yeah we are engaged, almost got married in Vegas. Didn’t you know?” you joke, stifling a laugh.

The podcast blew up and Alpine ate it up. The media team was quick to partner with Ferrari to do a couples challenge in the Alpine motorhome. You quickly leave once it’s done, escaping to your driver’s room. Charles follows you, sitting beside you as you take a deep breath.

“Sorry, it’s all a bit overwhelming. I am from a small town, I’m just not used to this type of attention,” you say and Charles holds your hands, providing comfort as electricity courses through you.

“You don’t have to be. Your fans think you are perfect, I think you are perfect,” Charles says, your eyes meeting his, searching for signs that he isn’t telling a lie.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been in love with you forever. You are beautiful, and kind, and smart,” Charles trails off as his eyes flicker to your lips. His right hand finds itself moving from your hand to your cheek. He leans in, lips brushing yours as he hesitates - waiting for you to take action.

You tilt your head up, mind spinning as you take in his scent and the moment. You don’t waste another moment, pressing your lips to his. Charles tenderly pulls away after a minute, resting his forehead on yours.

“I didn’t lie in that interview, amour, you are my cowgirl,” he says softly, a hint of relief in his voice.

“Yours? Oh no, Charlie, you will have to work harder to win that,” your sly smile tells him that the challenge isn’t over yet as he leans in to kiss you again.

“My stubborn, stubborn cowgirl,”

Can’t get enough? Check out @vitalverstappen’s sister story ⬇️!

[saistappen]

Mariquita | CS55

In which Carlos' appendectomy triggers a huge emotional chaos in you and makes you realise just how big your feelings for the Spaniard actually are

or

In which your concern for Carlos clearly shows the Spaniard that you probably feel the same way about him as he does about you

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

The last few days have been pure confusion. You could clearly feel this at Ferrari.

After Carlos' appendicitis was announced, on which he had to undergo surgery, the young Briton Olli Bearman was brought in to replace Carlos and chaos began to reign in the team.

Some things had to be changed, such as the adjustment of the seat, as well as various other things up to the well-known gift in the social media.

The hustle and bustle could be clearly felt throughout the team. But the excitement was not just for the young 18-year-old Brit, but also for the Spaniard. Because most of the time, the team's thoughts were on Carlos, who should soon have the operation behind him.

" Have you finished the Instagram post yet? " Lucy asked me as she sat down at the table opposite me.

" Uhm, what? " confused, I lifted my eyes from my mobile phone, which I kept glancing at hopefully to be the first to hear the news about Carlos' condition.

But so far there was still no news, which slowly started to make me more and more nervous.

"I wonder if you've already posted on Instagram that Carlos has come through the operation okay," Lucy continued in a gentle voice and put her hand on my arm.

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in and for me to really understand what she meant.

" W-really? " I stammered, while at the same time a huge stone fell from my heart and I began to feel the tightness in my chest, which had been there since yesterday, loosen.

" But I didn't read anything in the group. How do you know that? " I was sure I hadn't read anything, because for the last ten minutes I'd been checking the Ferrari chat on my mobile phone, hoping I hadn't missed anything.

" Fred just came up to me. He was talking to Carlos Senior. Everything went well and he's now recovering in hospital. " Lucy gave me a soft smile as her thumb gently stroked my arm.

Not only was she my best friend on the team, she was also the one who knew how close Carlos and I actually were.

When I joined the team about a year ago, Carlos was the first to welcome me with open arms and show me around.

During my first day at work, the Spaniard kept coming round to ask me how things were going.

When he invited me for a meal at the end of my first shift and listened attentively to what I had to say about my first successful day at work, a friendship developed within a few weeks.

"Thank God," I whispered quietly as a relieved smile crept onto my lips.

All your fears and worries that something could have gone wrong during the operation vanished within a few seconds.

"I'll post it straight away! " I almost shouted as I reached for my mobile phone and then opened the Ferrari Instagram account that I was partly responsible for.

One of my tasks in the team was to keep the fans up to date via Instagram and Twitter. I also had a say in the C2 Challenges on YouTube, where I always created fun content for the fans.

It wasn't long before I had chosen a photo of Carlos and typed up a short text about his condition and then posted it.

"Now I can get back to work feeling better," I mumbled as I reached for your fruit salad, which had been sitting untouched on the table in front of me, and started eating.

" I believe you. It's about time my favourite colleague was finally back at work with a smile on her face. "

Yesterday almost flew by, which was probably due to the good news that had lifted my spirits so much that I was completely back in the swing of things.

Olli had done well in the third free practice session and in qualifying, as had Charles, who would start today's race from second place.

This lifted my spirits even further, so I entered Ferrari Hospitality with a smile on my face and greeted a few of my colleagues who were already having breakfast.

"Morning sunshine," Charles greeted me with an amused smile as I stood next to him at the buffet and reached for a plate.

"Morning my favourite Monegasque," I replied brightly and then reached for a croissant.

" Do I want to know why you're shining like the non-existent sun today? " Charles asked as he reached for a bowl of muesli and then continued. " Well, actually, I know what it is..."

Charles winked and then began to waggle his eyebrow dramatically, which looked rather strange.

"Are you all right? " I asked him, while I also secured a bowl of muesli and placed it on my tray.

" I'm doing great. I'm ready for the race, but that's not the issue right now. Try not to get distracted," he almost admonished me and raised his index finger in the air in warning before continuing. "Could it be that your good mood is back thanks to Carlo's successful operation? Because since this was announced, you seem to have changed. "

" It's race day..." I tried to talk my way out of it, but I couldn't, as Charles hovered his index finger over my lips to indicate that I should be quiet.

"I'm neither stupid nor daft. I know for a fact that there's something going on between you and Carlos. It's certainly none of my business, but I can see that you're good for each other and I think that's great. Don't stop doing good for each other, okay? Okay, great! See you then! "

Before I could open my mouth to give Charles an answer, the Ferrari driver had already fled, almost running, with his tray.

Shaking my head, I looked after the Monegasques for a few seconds before I ran over to one of the free tables with my tray and began to eat my breakfast in peace.

And as I sat there eating my breakfast in comfort, my thoughts kept wandering back to Charles' words.

Were Carlos and I really on good terms? And if so, was Carlos and my behaviour really so obvious that others had probably noticed?

Once again, a tightness began to spread through my chest, so I pushed the breakfast on my tray to one side in disgust and began to sigh softly.

But before I could even begin to think about Carlos and me, Lucy appeared in front of me.

Her blonde hair lay dishevelled on her face, her cheeks shimmered red and she put her hands on her hips, out of breath.

" Lucy are you okay? " I asked cautiously and all I got in reply was a squeezed " Water. "

After I handed Lucy my water, which she drank within a few seconds and then just stood there for a few more seconds, I got nervous.

I could sense that something wasn't right and the fact that Lucy just wouldn't come out with it made me even more nervous.

" Lucy... " I almost urged as you began to shift restlessly on the chair.

" Carlos is here! " she almost shouted so loudly that one or two Ferrari employees turned to us both and looked at me in confusion.

"Sorry, I meant Carlos is here," she repeated more quietly as she dropped into the chair opposite me and rested her elbows on the table.

" What? Why is he here? He just had an operation yesterday! " I looked at the person opposite me with wide eyes as I almost jumped up.

" I have no idea! I saw a story on Instagram where he's walking through the paddock. Or should I say crawling? He can barely walk, he looks absolutely pale and like he's in pain! " she continued, making strange hand movements that I couldn't interpret at all.

" What?! " I repeated again, almost stunned, while my heart began to beat faster.

Why was he here and not resting? He couldn't be serious.

I immediately began to worry so much that I jumped up and ran off without waiting for an answer from Lucy.

" Thanks for breakfast! " she called after me, but I hardly noticed because I only had one thing on my mind. Carlos.

I kept dodging various members of other teams as I ran, keeping my eyes peeled for Carlos.

It wasn't long before I found him and a few other Ferrari employees in the pits, where he was greeted warmly with hugs and a few words.

I stayed in the background and watched Carlos from a distance. And indeed, he looked anything but well.

His posture was more hunched than upright and his face was rather pale, which occasionally even showed that he must clearly be in pain.

Why the hell wasn't he lying in bed and resting?

It took a few minutes for the Spaniard to catch sight of me. Within a few seconds, his face brightened and he literally crept over to me.

"Mariquita," he greeted me with a smile on his lips and pulled me into a warm hug shortly afterwards.

I carefully wrapped my arms around him, hoping not to cause him any more pain.

" Carlos, what are you doing here? " was the first thing I said to him.

" How about a "Oh, hello Carlos. I'm glad you're doing well and that you've come through everything okay?" " he asked as he let go of me and then leant against the wall next to me.

He seemed to find it difficult to even stand up straight. He was even still wearing his hospital bracelet. It was as if he'd literally fled from the hospital and gone straight to the track.

" Are you crazy? You had appendicitis, had to have an operation and haven't even rested for a day? You can barely walk, you look incredibly shitty and you still seem to be in pain! " I spoke in an angry voice and didn't care if anyone was listening. Because apparently I was the first person to say these words to him.

And probably the only one who was thinking straight.

"I'm fine," he tried to reassure me, but he seemed to realise himself that this wasn't the case.

" No, you're not! " I looked at him seriously for a few seconds before turning on my heel and leaving.

Carlos' warm hand grabbed my arm and caused a slight electric shock to run through my body.

"I'm sorry, Mariquita. Let's talk in peace," his voice sounded soft and calm.

He carefully led me into a kind of storeroom that I had never been in before.

A few things were stored here, such as drinks and spare items for the mechanics, like a sofa that stood in the middle of the room.

Carlos slowly lowered himself onto the sofa, grimacing slightly, and then carefully pulled me next to him.

The sofa was so narrow that we sat there more or less pressed against each other and the touch of our knees and arms made my heart start beating faster again and I became slightly restless.

" You have every right to be angry with me and to worry. That's really sweet of you, but it was entirely my decision to come here. In hospital, the ceiling would have literally fallen on my head and I wanted everyone to know that I was okay."

"But you should take it easy, Carlos..." I almost mumbled and looked at the Spaniard, whose eyes were on me.

"I will, I promise," he assured me as he came a little closer to me and I felt his breath on my cheek.

Shortly afterwards, I felt his warm lips lightly on my cheek, which made the area start to tingle warmly and the heat shot up my cheek.

" I've heard from some people how worried you were about me. That was really incredibly sweet of you, Mariquita," Carlos began and gently stroked a strand of my hair behind my ear before continuing.

"We both know that there's more between us. And that's why I want to ask you if you'd like to go on a date with me? " His brown eyes rested calmly on me while a soft smile formed on his lips.

His words caused chaos to awaken in my stomach, as all the butterflies that had just been lying there quietly for a long time began to awaken and turn my feelings completely upside down.

" Yes, but only if you take it easy. Otherwise you can forget the date," I replied with a partly serious and partly worried look.

It was important to me that Carlos recovered fully from the operation and regained his strength so that he would soon be fit again and able to get back into the car.

"I promise, Mariquita."

[bestedoesmeow]

SORRY, AMOUR

request: where he teases the reader playfully (like usual) but without realising she's already had a bad day, so that sort of backfires and she almost cries lol and he starts to panic making it up to her

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ ∘₊✧── ∘₊✧

"Amour, you've been lying on that bed forever. Don't you think you've had enough rest?" Charles teased as he stood in the doorway of your room, a smirk playing on his lips. You didn't turn your head to face him, but you were sure he had that playful expression. "I couldn't sleep last night. I just need a few more hours, Charles," you replied with your eyes closed, trying to fall asleep for over an hour by then. Your mind had been wandering about everything since yesterday night, from your schoolwork and exams to your and Charles's dog's illness. Despite Charles's stress about Ferrari and races, you didn't want to burden him with your own life problems. You felt they were insignificant compared to the weight he was carrying with his team's strategies.

"Why is that, chéri? Was I snoring?" Charles asked with a joking tone. While you were glad he was in a good mood after his podium in SPA, you weren't in the mood for small talk. You just hummed in response, an uneasy and almost angry reply. It was clear that you wanted him to leave you alone, as it wasn't the right time for teasing. Charles, noticing something was amiss and sensing your uneasiness, decided to take a different approach. He swiftly entered the room that you had shared for a year now and slowly sat on his side of the bed before starting to talk.

"I thought we were going to grab breakfast, chéri?" he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. However, his attempt didn't go as planned, and you reached your limit. Your priority that morning wasn't grabbing breakfast. The immense anxiety on your chest and the heavy feeling throughout your body were overwhelming.

"I don't think so. I don't feel like it. Actually, I just want to lay here and cry for a while," you confessed, your voice trembling with emotion as tears began to well up in your eyes.

Charles's playful demeanor disappeared as he realized the seriousness of the situation. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you gently into his comforting embrace. He softly stroked your hair and whispered reassuring words, "It's okay, my love. You can take all the time you need. Let it out, and I'm here for you."

You couldn't help but let the tears flow as you clung to Charles, feeling his warmth and support. Gradually, he encouraged you to talk about what was bothering you. You opened up about the overwhelming pressure of schoolwork and exams, the worries about your dog's illness, and the constant thoughts that had kept you up all night.

Listening attentively, Charles assured you that everything would turn out alright, that he was there to help and support you through it all. He reminded you that you were not alone in facing life's challenges and that you could lean on him whenever you needed to.

As the weight on your chest began to lift, Charles noticed your mood improving slightly. He knew that sometimes all it took to bring a smile back to your face was a bit of distraction and comfort. So, he decided to do just that.

"Hey, how about we take a break from everything for a moment?" Charles suggested with a gentle smile. "I got something to cheer you up." He reached over to grab some coloring books and art supplies, knowing that you enjoyed expressing yourself through art.

He also brought out a playlist of your favorite music, hoping that the familiar tunes would help lift your spirits. As the music played softly in the background, Charles joined you in coloring, creating a relaxing and fun atmosphere.

"Je t'aime, Charles," you said, suddenly burning with the urge to reciprocate the love you felt for him.

“Je t'aime, mon amour," he whispered, Charles kissed you tenderly, his lips conveying a sense of comfort and belonging. The worries and anxieties seemed to fade away, replaced by a sense of serenity in his presence

[goldengirl-116]

Sometimes Max's and Charles' dynamic is wildly misinterpreted, because while most of the fans think that Max is probably more dominant due to his aggressive nature on track and his unforgettable Mad Max era, he's actually a softy with a huge heart that is too nice and cares about his friendships with other drivers even when they don't say nice things about him. Meanwhile, Charles is a menace, chaotic and adorable but also quite the troublemaker, being shit at other sports but always claiming, for the life of him, that he's the best. Charles is extremely competitive and wants to be the best at everything even when he's not (adorably so), and even though he speaks French and is widely loved by Italian men, he has quite the strong character, fiercely loyal and very protective of the people he loves.

And while Charles listens to the maxplaining because he can't deny that he lives for those debriefs, he will carefully listen to every word Max says to him and immediately clarify any points he disagrees with, insisting on his opinion until he can make Max see what he sees because he needs it. Charles is also aware that he's pretty and while he's humble, but not shy about it, he won't stop himself from batting his eyelashes at Max when he wants to get his attention because he knows Max can't resist him.

And Max really can't resist Charles when he's near him and probably goes home and thinks of things that he can say to Charles and get away with like if the Singaporean flag is actually Monaco's; and when his mind goes blank because Charles is too pretty and Max forgot the list of things he had prepared, he asks him about the weather and tells him about how he hurt his elbow.

Baby girl Max is probably Charles' favorite and while Max is a champion on track and probably turns Charles on when Max gets all aggressive with him while they're battling wheel to wheel, because yeah, Charles wants to win and Max is his biggest rival but also...he knows Max the most and he's secretly so proud of him when Max doesn't budge an inch and that's the most fun he has in races. As payback, though, Charlie likes to tease him, naming his dog after him and giving him lopsided winks because it gets Max all flustered and bothered.

There are moments, of course, when Max's feelings are too much to handle and calls out to him, "Charlie, I have space for you" because of course, he fucking does. They reminisce about the good old days, the inchident that they refuse to let anyone forget about, when the fire inside of them flamed so high that they almost burned themselves. However, Max will always talk about Charles' racing and use it to flirt with him because racing is his element and if there's one thing he's absolutely sure of, it's that Charles' driving is beautiful and if Max got into F1, then so would Charles.

Charles, on the other hand, knows how to sweet talk his way out of anything and works the crowd so well that when the fans boo his baby, he immediately quiets them down, because if you love Charles, then you have to love Max, it's a two for one kind of deal. And Charles Leclerc will always be the so-called Monaco prince and maybe this is why Max secretly moved there, where the color of the sea reminds him of deep green eyes.

Max...he's a three-time world champion and the only person that can really take him on is Charles; born only sixteen--yes, sixteen, no relation to the Ferrari boy's number--days apart to challenge each other into one of the greatest mechanical love stories of their generation, it was predestined and inevitable.

Off track, though, he's actually Charlie's baby girl, soft and sweet with clear ocean eyes and a sharp tongue that wraps around Charles' name like a prayer.

The point is, their dynamic is like this:

Charles is the dominant one, often playing Max the same way he plays the piano, focused and attuned to him; and Max likes to dive headfirst into Charles, because he's most alive when the sun shines through the rain.

[snailpebbles]

Charles Tries Piano Tiles - CL16

pairing: Charles Leclerc x long-time gf!reader

summary: it's bedtime and Piano Tiles is kicking your ass, so why not spread the gift to your loving boyfriend?

tags: vomit-worthy domesticity, purely fluff, yeah they're just too cute

a/n: this is kinda all over the place and ass but whatever

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

It's late at night, both of you tucked up into bed all cozy besides one another. Charles is reading some book he found at the local market, glasses you fondly refer to as old man spectacles propped on the end of his nose. Your arms are pressed together just like your legs are tangled beneath the soft blanket, the comfortable silence having been curated over your long term relationship. Charles loved the peace you brought into his life and how everything seemed to soften around you; every moment with you is one engraved in his heart, soul, and mind.

"Fuck!" The explicative comes out of the blue, your boyfriend startling next to you. As he glances over in confusion, his heart melts further. You look absolutely adorable with your little frustrated pout and furrowed brows. A smile tugs at his lips as he peers over your shoulder, only to dim once more to confusion.

"Love.. what are you doing?" He murmurs, watching your fingers tap little black boxes on a scrolling screen. A faint song plays from your phone, one he'd previously tuned out in favor of listening to your breathing; a sound that always soothes him.

"Piano Tiles." You mutter, too focused on correctly playing the Can-Can to look at your darling boyfriend. You've been trying to beat this song for God knows how long, the Can-Can haunting your dreams like Ferrari haunts his. At your response Charles leans closer, his warm breath brushing against your neck and cheek to distract you. From this, you mess up and the Can-Can mocks you from Hell.

"Why are you playing this game? I can teach you piano!" He offers, the idea making him light up in a way that relaxes the wrinkle between your eyebrows. You place your phone down beside you, knowing if you see that losing screen for one more second your phone will end up embedded in the wall. Charles, unaware of your seething rage at the children's game, seems absolutely taken by the thought of teaching you his passion.

"I have many books we can use and I'm sure you will love it.. oh, we can do duets!" He borderline squeals, already halfway out of bed as if it isn't almost twelve. You gently take his hand and pull him back, chuckling quietly.

"It's time for bed, remember?" A grin spreads across your face as a pout takes over his, his body slumping back beside you. Charles sulks, but then again, he sulks at everything. Knowing the perfect remedy to his silly dilemma that is time, you grab your phone and open the cursed app again.

"Would you like to play Cha?" The sickeningly sweet smile on your face should be noticeable, but Charles is too excited to learn something from you to care. Whenever you offer to teach him something, no matter how miniscule or simple, he suddenly becomes the most dutiful student with a slight (extreme) staring problem. He carefully takes your phone and, after a bit of direction, begins playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. He finds it easy, just like how his ego is easily inflated.

"My love, this is so simple. I promise that real piano is much more challenging, you would like it more." Charles exclaims, your earlier frustrations still not clicking with him. A wonderful, potentially cruel idea forms in your brain. That same smile spreads across your face and you rest your head on his shoulder to further lull him into a false sense of security you secretly use any excuse to touch him.

"Here's the one I was playing, maybe you can teach me it?" You click on the dastardly Can-Can, almost feeling pity at the naive confidence he displays. An excited smile glows on his face at the mention of teaching you; He'll take any excuse to spend time with you and getting to be squished beside you on a piano stool is a definite plus. When the song starts though, that confidence drains almost instantly. He manages to play for roughly seven seconds.

You giggle quietly as he tries again, and again, and again... and, you guessed it, again. By this point he's frowning and mumbling curses you don't think he even knows the meanings of, his shoulder tense beneath your cheek. Trying to draw him out of his relentless torture cycle, you gently kiss his stubbled jaw. Charles puts your phone down, all attention instantly on you as he relaxes.

".. Why would you introduce me to this game?" Charles asks, wrapping an arm around you to hold you closer. You cuddle into his side, tracing shapes over his white sleep shirt.

"Everyone needs Piano Tiles trauma, it builds character." You explain, peering up at him from his chest. Unable to resist such a cute sight, he kisses your forehead as his other arm comes around to hold onto your hip. A laugh bubbles in his chest though once he registers your words, only growing when he realizes you're fully serious.

"Really? You do this to me for character development?" Charles gasps as though you've offended every part of him, shaking his head.

"I can never forgive this crime my love." He tuts as you sit up a little. It's obvious what his charade is since he does it at any chance he can whether that be you forgetting a goodbye kiss or just bumping into him. A dramatized sigh escapes your lips as you cup his face, ready to plead for mercy over this horrendous offense.

"How can I make it up to you hm?" You hum, kissing the tip of his nose and giggling when it skews his old man spectacles. His nose scrunches at the peck and he glances up at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought. As he ponders what could give you retribution, you play around with his soft hair, giggling to yourself as you make pigtails and whatnot.

"I will forgive you if.." He dramatically pauses, of course, and you tap the top of his head as a mock drumroll. A goofy grin breaks through his serious facade before he fixes his face.

".. You let me teach you piano tomorrow." He says decisively. Obviously you saw this coming and can only pray he forgets (he won't). Charles can get.. passionate while playing piano and with you struggling to play alongside him.. well, you've fallen off the bench enough that he puts pillows down to catch you.

"Yes, yes alright." You groan, tucking yourself back up under his chin. He laughs quietly, knowing your exact train of thought. As compensation though he holds you extra close, arms tightly wrapped around you and legs hopelessly tangled while he rubs your back. You feel sleep tugging at your eyes, the steady heartbeat of your boyfriend only makes it harder to stay up. Wordlessly you reach a hand up to take his glasses off, the movement second nature from the many times you've had to help out the forgetful man. He murmurs a quiet thank you, followed by an 'i love you' that never fails to warm you right up. At your whispered reciprocation his heartbeat speeds up a tick, one that you can hear and makes the task of tomorrow worth it.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

[thatsdemko]

just an incident - m.verstappen

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: max verstappen x leclerc!fem!reader

warnings: hints of some friends to lovers trope + google translated French and Dutch + wrote this BEFORE the Monaco 2023 gp!

a/n: I cannot remember who it was that said most Dutch don’t use nicknames like “angel” or “baby” but I didn’t feel like changing the pet names so my apologies 😬 had a lil dream about this so enjoy xx

it really wasn’t supposed to happen. at least you didn’t want it to happen, but he most certainly did.

growing up he was your brothers biggest competitor and challenge. race tracks weren’t the same when max verstappen was on the circuit, and that was still true to this day. max became a menace and impossible to beat in that Red Bull, it made loving him in secret and supporting your brother in public harder.

because every race meant listening to that Dutch national anthem while your brother told off his team for the shit race. it meant spending long nights in the Ferrari garage rather than the ones in his hotel room celebrating his victory. loving max verstappen was not easy.

“mijn engel wat zit je dwars?” he asks, fingers gently brushing down the skin of your back. you’re sitting upright in his bed, pillow covering your chest as you scroll through the chain of text messages from your brothers. you could never have a peaceful evening alone without one of them calling or texting. my angel what's bothering you?

“mes frères.” you grumble tossing your phone into the pile of clothes on the ground before relaxing against his chest, “but I’m all yours now.” you press a kiss to his jawline, watching those beautiful green eyes close in contentment.

“why don’t you tell them about us? are you that worried?” his arm wraps around your shoulders allowing you to sink further against him. he knows Charles would have heart failure hearing his baby sister was more than just a friend with max, and it would give him all more of a reason to push him off the track or do risky overtakes. racing wouldn’t be the same for Charles or max, and maybe he hadn’t thought of that, but you certainly did.

“I’m more worried that I’d be stealing his boyfriend from him.” you joke watching the lines around his eyes crinkle, smile forming on his lips. you loved that smile dearly.

“we broke up a long time ago.”

—

“you go missing? been trying to call you for hours.” Lorenzo doesn’t even need to look up from his computer to know it’s you entering the house. just by the sound of your silent footsteps and nails tapping against your phone, he knew it couldn’t be anybody else.

especially since he began to pick up you were beginning to be late or no shows recently. you would push off family dinner for said alone time or show up to family game night a half an hour late. he wasn’t one to budge into your life and ask the questions, but seeing as things were drastically shifting he felt he needed in.

“what? no, just needed some extra sleep.” your lies weren’t getting any better, he knew the high pitch tone and small stutters were nothing but false words.

“you think to run a brush through your hair?” he scoffs seeing the snarls and tiny mats that you didn’t notice. you’re lucky your mother wasn’t home or else she’d have fainted at the sight.

“why are you in my business?” you ask making him finally look up from his laptop to see the purple faint bruises against your collarbone. there was no sleeping in for you, and he couldn’t help not fighting the smirk against his lips as he pulls the cup of coffee up to try and mask it.

“just go take a shower before Charles and Arthur come home, please?”

you listen to his request and find the warm water against your aching body and sensitive skin comforting. his nail marks at your hips were fresh, the pull in your groins were painful in the steam, and the purple bruises at your collarbone weren’t going to be easy to cover up. it was evident max wanted your family to know about him, whether you would actually drop his name was up to you.

the thick sweatshirt of Arthur’s that you stole covers what you wanted, and the baggy sweatpants you borrowed from max masked your shaking quads with each step. maybe you did miss being home, but you were missing that Dutch accent and being under the gaze is his big green eyes.

“when did you get back?” Arthur asks, head peaking into your room where he sees you tapping away on your phone, a little smile evident against your lips.

“this morning. how was work with Charles?” you turn around to see him moving in your room. Arthur was like your best friend, growing up one year apart, he was the closest thing you had sometimes, and lying to him about your relationship wasn’t easy.

“good, we ran into max.” even his name made your heart skip beats, you shifted uncomfortably against your bed trying to not make it obvious you were eager to hear how he was— despite having seen him only hours ago— or if he mentioned you.

“and?” you ask swallowing nervously, Arthur shifts against the doorframe with a shrug, “he’s alright, just prepping for Monaco.”

you let out a tiny sigh of relief nodding, “good for him I guess, I kind of hope he loses.” you lie biting your tongue and hear a laugh from Charles across the hall, “me too!” he calls out.

—

“you hope I lose? I heard that rumor by the way.” his voice startled you making you turn around to face him. he’s in his suit and tie, dressed his finest just like yourself. the expensive gala you were in was packed to the brim and you had lost all of your family members minutes ago when you spotted the Red Bull drivers appearance.

“you know I want you to win.” you move a little closer to him, his hand discreetly rests against your hip and he presses a friendly kiss to your cheek that you wish could be a little more than that in public.

“hoe gaat het met mijn meisje?” he leans into your ear, the soft whisper leaves a tingling sensation down your spine making your body curl closer to him. how’s my girl?

“il manque juste ta touche.” you reply, hand resting against his chest, nervously adjusting his crooked tie. you know people are staring and cameras are recording, but under his gaze you feel protected. those big hands and aggressive demeanor would go to war for you against anyone here. just missing your touch

he chuckles under his breath, “you have all of me, my love.” his lips press your temple quickly, before excusing himself to shake hands with Sergio Perez, his teammate.

you move out of the way when the cameras begin to flash and interviewers move in to ask questions to the Red Bull drivers. you find yourself watching from the sidelines beside Daniel, but his eyes always find you. a wink in your direction let’s you know he hasn’t lost sight.

“flirty with my man?” Daniel nudges your elbow gently, making you break your stare at the lady who’s getting to close to max for a picture.

“flirty? no, he was winking at you.” you laugh watching max pull Charles in for a photo with the two drivers. three of them smiling proudly for the cameras before Charles pulls away, a little dizzy from all the flashing.

“hm, I don’t recall him making sexy eyes at me in our contract.” daniel pushes you in the direction of max. now that the photos were done, you could tell he was looking for you, but of course Charles whisks him away before you both can close the gaps between each other.

“you think you’ll win in my circuit?” charles jokingly asks. pulling max out from the mass crowds of people, you were trailing behind the two of them pushing through bodies to join them.

max scoffs, “I can’t predict the outcome of this race, mate. we’ll just have to wait and see.” the Dutchman sees you push through a few people and he extends his hand to help you before you stumble into Carlos.

“yeah, well with my luck I’ll be last.”

“no Oscar and lando will make sure you aren’t.” max chuckles, the two make faces at each other before the tipsy giggles escape their lips. you wish all nights were like this, the two of them happy and not pinning each others successes for their failures.

“what will you do if you win?” you ask Charles stepping a little closer to their conversation watching him think. you look up at max who’s thinking through if he should put his hand against your back, maybe pull you closer to him.

“I don’t know yet. maybe take maman out to dinner? this is all hypothetical.”

max nods, hand finally resting against your lower back, “well if I win I think I’ll take a special someone out for dinner.” he pulls you closer to his chest, your arms unconsciously wrapping around his torso.

“oh? who is that?” charles asks, and it has yet to hit him. he’s clueless to Max’s hand resting on your ass, your arms around his torso, and his lips pressing into your hair. charles was clearly oblivious.

“me, idiot.” you scoff finally getting his attention, his eyes scan each part of your bodies and how close you were together. he looks lost, like a puppy trying to find home as the dogs finally connect with what’s in front of him.

“no! when did this happen?!”

“it was just an incident.” max shrugs, there was no other way to describe it. the pieces just fell into place and max verstappen somehow became the man you loved more than just in the dark, he was someone you were beginning to love in public.

“don’t use my words against me.”

[cheriladycl01]

Could you do fic for Checo Perez with wife reader? He had some insecurity about his abilities to race against the grid and she just hugged and comforted him. Add something else to it if you want to. Tag me later Thanks!! :))

The pressure is insane… - Sergio Perez x Wife! Reader

Plot: Checo replacing Alex was probably the best thing to happen to him in his Formula One career. However, so much pressure comes from being in that second Red Bull seat, not just the team but the fans too, and Checo doesn’t like the pressure on him.

When Checo came into the seat, and performance wasn’t great, people in the team told him it would be fine and to keep his head up because everyone knew he was getting used to how different the Red Bull Car is thanks to Max’s driving style.

But at it came to his second season, and it didn’t seem like things were improving much, Christian kept talking to him, explaining what was expected of him as if he hadn’t already informed him over 100 times.

He was just struggling with a car that was clearly built for their main driver, which is why Pierre crumbled under pressure and it’s why they couldn’t put up with Alex when he didn’t learn the car quick enough for them.

The gave Checo the benefit of the doubt throughout 2022, but when Red Bulls most dominant season came around it was without a doubt that your husband had to step up.

And in your eyes he had, getting two race wins under his belt, but he wasn’t consistent enough for Christian and it seemed that he wanted Checo to be actually challenging Max more.

It got worse when the Ferrari and McLaren started to beat him despite being in the worse car, and it was deemed a ‘driver issue’

Sergio felt awful, for a man who had been racing for as long as he had, he never felt doubtful of his abilities to put on a show and drive to the best of his ability.

But now, in the Red Bull seat, he actually understood the words ‘under pressure’ because he was under it constantly.

“Baby what’s wrong with you, you’ve been jittery all week” you ask your husband who was currently watching over some of his old races with a notepad.

“Hmmm?” He asks not even throwing a glance in your direction.

You knew he wasn’t listening.

“Well I just think that when aliens invade Earth that we should have a bunker ready and prepared so that you and I can help create a new civilisation after the government kill them all …” you say trying to grab a reaction from him.

“Hmmm yeah that’s really nice” he starts but then he looks up and his head cocks to the side as if his brain just processed the words you said. “Wait what?” He asks.

You chuckle and little bit happy to have his attention.

“I just wanted to see if you were listening, I asked what’s been up with you lately” you say softly, taking a seat next to him, reaching over to grab the remote and pause the race he was observing so his full attention was on you.

“Nothing wrong, I’m fine” he lies.

“Hermoso, we’ve been married for 6 years, I know when somethings up” you smile taking his hand into yours and kissing the back of it softly while watching for his reaction.

“I just … nevermind it’s stupid” he sighs looking down.

“None of your feelings are stupid baby, please let me in” you say calmly.

“I just feel like, I’m so singled out on the grid. You’ve got so many amazing drivers and then there’s me. Lewis is a 7x world champion, and and Max my own team mate has won 2, and he’s probably going to win this year by a landslide and then there’s Fernando again he has two championships, and then you’ve got all this new talent in Lando, and Charles and Carlos and now that Oscar is here, it’s getting tough” he admits and you softly smile at him.

“Where have all these doubts come from honey?” You ask, you knew he didn’t think he was the best driver, but he never once compared his abilities to individual drivers.

“Christian said that if I didn’t improve he’d replace me with Yuki, Liam or Daniel and that i might not even get a AlphaTauri seat as a replacement” he says putting his face in his hands with a soft sigh.

You pull him into a hug in which he nuzzles his head into your neck.

You are an incredible driver, there’s just such an insane amount of talent on the grid right now, you being one of them. World champion or not baby, your still one of only 20 drivers in the world that are here! Your a race winner and I’m so proud of everything you’ve done. You are incredible” you smile wrapping your arms around him while you feel him shake a little, presumably where he’s crying.

“Im just awful at it all. Driving, being a husband … you’ve been asking for a baby for 3 years and I keep telling you no because I’m so career focused but I can’t even seem to be good at that career” he complains and you almost laugh.

“Oh honey, I think you forget you are without a doubt the best thing that’s ever happened to me, child or no child. And where you aren’t ready because your at a point in your career that is crucial, I’ll always understand that darling. You are all I need, you are all I want. And I married you because I’m happy with you” you say tightening your hold on him.

“You know, I would never not be ready to have a kid. If you want one, we can have one. I’d never say no” he argues wiping his eyes and looking at you, only for you to release a breath of relief.

“Thank god, that night in Saudi Arabia really stuck” you admit and he cocks his head to the side not understanding. You take his hand and place it on your stomach, there wasn’t much of a bump, but a slight and minuscule weight gain was there. Enough that when he run his hand over your tummy he could feel it.

“Are you saying?” He asks and you nod.

“I know, I know it’s not the right time because your so stressed and I’ve been so nervous to tell you because I know you’ve had a lot on your plate since being in Red Bull and it was such a shock to me” you start to ramble thinking you should have waited.

“No this is the best news ever! This has made my day, my week, my year even!” He smiles before lifting you up and twirling you round.

“I love you” he says pulling you in for a kiss, happy with life.

And now he didn’t have anything to worry about, as long as he was able to provide for you and your child or children in the future he knew he could handle the pressure because now there was something else riding on it!

A/N: hey guys I didn’t realise tumblr only lets you do 50 tags per post! So I’m not sure what to do about taglist anymore? Any suggestions?

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

[writtenfangirl]

Secrets and Good Luck Charms

Plus size!Reader, angsty turning fluffy

Listen, as a plus size woman myself, I know that the chances of an F1 driver being attracted to me is close to 0, especially when they're literally always surrounded by supermodels. But I can live in my delulu era, even for a little while.

I challenged myself to create a fic with top-tier begging and I genuinely hope I accomplished that cause this was so much fun to write.

Enjoy!

Part 2

“Charles, I think we should break up.”

The words left her in a sudden whoosh, ceasing her boyfriend mid-story. His apartment went quiet, and Y/N felt the little hairs on her arms rise but her goosebumps wasn’t from the cold. 

Charles’s luminous green eyes widened.“What?”

A part of her wished she could take the words back, snatch them from the air where they hung heavy like smoke. But she’d been building up her courage all week and she wasn’t about to back down now just because he flashed those beautiful green eyes that Charles knew she could never resist. She said the words slower, kinder. “I think we should break up.”

He looked at her as if he couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. “Why?”

“Because you’re ashamed of me, Cha.”

And there was the truth, the conviction that had Y/N’s resolve strengthening. Charles could deny it all he wants but Y/N knew the truth, deep down. He was ashamed of her. It was a truth that had been sitting in her chest for the better part of 9 months and it was a truth that had begun to eat at her as their relationship progressed. 

He said his next words slowly, like a child struggling to learn new words in a language he wasn’t familiar with. “What would make you say that?” 

She kept her own tone even, betraying none of the hurt that sat heavy in her chest. “Because, Cha. We’ve been together 9 months, close to a year, and yet you have never introduced me to your mother or your brothers. Not even to your friends. No posts on social media, no mention of my existence at all.”

He frowned. “I thought you wanted your privacy.”

“I do want my privacy.”

“Then I don’t understand why you want to end things!” His voice grew in octave and Y/N could see him fighting to keep his calm.

“Because, Cha,” she said, struggling to keep the exasperation from her voice, “you’re ashamed of me. I don’t care that you post me on social media or not. I don’t care if the world knows about us. If you want to keep our relationship out of the public eye, that’s fine. I know you’re doing it to protect my feelings and I appreciate it, I do. But, you refuse to let me meet your friends or your family for that matter. They’re the people that matter to me because they’re the people that matter to you. But I’ve never met them, even after you’ve met mine! And I’m—“ she took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting the hurt that threatened to have tears spilling from her eyes. “I’ve dated enough guys to know when they’re ashamed of me.”

“I am not—“

“Don’t deny it, Cha, please. It hurts even more if you do.”

His mouth snapped shut. There was confusion in his face, and maybe a bit of hurt, but Y/N saw the truth in them too. The shame that coated his eyes like paint.

“I know I’m not conventionally beautiful like your exes.” Y/N said, her words soft. “They’re thin and slender and they’re beautiful. They really are. Models and influencers that I could never compete with and I’m okay with that because you were okay with that. But I see now that you’re not. You don’t like that I’m big, that I have a stomach and huge thighs. You don’t like that I have stretch marks and rolls. And you know what, it’s fine. If you prefer thinner girls, it’s fine. I won’t hold it against you because I know some people just have preferences and it’s okay. But I refuse to ever change myself and hate myself just to fit into a person’s standards. I’ve spent so much of my life being ashamed of my body, I can’t do that anymore, Cha. I love you and you are literally the man of my dreams but I love myself too, and I love myself too much to let someone do this to me.”

“You can’t just leave me. I love you.” Charles rushed the words out as if somehow, his words would stop Y/N.

“I don’t doubt your love for me, Cha. Not one moment. I know you love me. But you don’t take me on dates in public places where people can see us. When we do go out in public, you keep a physical distance between us. You never even so much as look at me unless you have to. I’ve never met a single one of your friends, work related or not. I don’t think you’ve even mentioned to them that you were with someone. Never met Arthur or Lorenzo and I’ve definitely never met Pascale. You love me in secret and that’s not okay.”

He reached for her hand but Y/N pulled away. The hurt that flashed in his eyes made her want to tell him to forget about her confession, forget about what she said so they can return to normal but Y/N knew she couldn’t do that. She owed it to herself to do what was best for her, to love a man who loved her so much he had to shout it from the rooftops. 

“Y/N, please—“

“It’s okay, Charles.” She stood up from where she sat, pushing down her own feelings as Charles looked up at her, disbelief in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Really, no hard feelings. Let’s just forget that this, us, ever happened. I wish you good luck with everything, I really do. I’ll pray to every God that exists that you become a world champion with Ferrari. I’ll always root for you.” 

“Y/N, wait—“

But she fled the apartment before he could say anymore.

And Charles Leclerc is out of the 2023 Belgian Grand Prix! I have to say, Crofty. Leclerc’s string of bad luck and terrible performance has really been a blow to Ferrari’s morale as of late. It really is such a horrible way to end the first half of the season, especially after such an incredible six months! It truly is such a shame. With the way things are going, what was once a tight race for the championship between Verstappen and Leclerc could simply become Verstappen’s third world championship.  Let’s hope the summer break gives him the clarity of mind he needs to get his head back in the game and the championship race back on track. 

Charles wasn’t stupid. He knew why he was losing and it wasn’t his car or his team or their strategies.

His abysmal performance could only be blamed on one person and try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to blame Y/N. 

Because really, the only person to be blamed was himself. 

Because she was right. 

And he hated that she was right. 

He never thought he was the kind of person who was vain or who particularly cared about the opinions of others. He knew what it was like to be scrutinized by the media and while he justified keeping his relationship with her private by believing that Y/N was a private person, he couldn’t justify hiding her from his friends and family. 

It didn’t even really matter to him what she looked like. He loved Y/N, not for her body but for her soul. He was the moth attracted to her bright flame and he would have gladly let himself burn if it meant feeling the heat of her touch on his skin. She was kindness and warmth and compassion all rolled into one person, the kind of person people wished God made more of. 

And he found her beautiful. Yes, she wasn’t thin but he never cared about that before. Y/N was beautiful in his eyes. The kind of beauty meant to be admired in paintings. Her soft, curvaceous body and her sweet face made her beautiful. She may not have fit society’s standards but she fit his and that’s all that mattered. That’s all that should have mattered. 

So why did her words, her accusations, cut him so deep?

Was she right? Was he ashamed of her? 

“Mate, you okay?” 

Carlos’s voice broke him out of his reverie. It wasn’t like Charles to get distracted from the matter at hand, but his mind kept wandering to his girlfriend. Or rather, ex-girlfriend.

“You’ve been distracted.” Max noted. 

It was the summer break, a rare time in their hectic lives when they got a chance to take a breather. One of the drivers, Charles couldn’t remember who but he suspected it was George, had arranged a little get together for them. Alone time on a remote island in the tropics far from the prying eyes of their fans and the media. Not all of the drivers could make it, but those that could brought their girlfriends with them. The irony wasn’t lost on Charles that he was the only single man in an island full of couples. 

It was the kind of outing he would have wanted to include Y/N in but wouldn’t have, choosing instead to stay at home so they could spend some time alone. It never occurred to him if Y/N would have wanted to come. 

“I’m fine,” was his only brusque reply. 

“You don’t seem fine.” Pierre chimed in. 

Charles tried not to scowl. The other drivers were his friends as much as they were his co-workers and competitors. He grew up racing and competing with most of them. Max, George, Alex, Lando and especially Pierre, were constant figures in his life. If there was anyone who could help him, who could understand him, it would be them.

But it was so hard to accept the help when Charles was so… down. 

He looked at his friends, saw the expectant looks on their faces and sighed. 

“My girlfriend broke up with me.” The words left him before he had a chance to think about it. 

His friends’ expectant expressions turned into surprise before shifting to mild curiosity. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” Pierre’s frown could only be described as hurt. Not that Charles could blame him. Pierre was his best friend and the first person who supported him when it came to his relationships. The fact that Charles kept his girlfriend a secret probably hurt him more than he let on.

“No one knew,” Charles said reassuringly. “Not my brothers and not maman.”

“So you were only together for a short while,” Carlos guessed. “What’s the big deal?”

Charles couldn’t blame Carlos for assuming that Y/N was only in his life for a while since he never told them she existed but the insinuation hurt all the same.

“We were together close to a year. 9 months actually.”

“That long?” Alex asked, surprised. “Usually you introduce your girlfriends after two months. You kept her a secret for nine months?”

Charles winced. What sort of excuse did he have for keeping her a secret? No flimsy excuse could ever justify what he did. 

“Why did she end things?” Max asked him. 

Dread pooled in Charles’ stomach. What does he even say? He looked at his friends, at their earnest and open expressions. He knew no matter what he says, they won’t judge him. Or at least, not to his face. 

“She ended things because she thinks I’m ashamed of her.“ Charles’ admission tasted like metal in his tongue. 

“Why would you be ashamed of her?” George asked, raising a quizzical brow.

“Because she’s nothing like my exes. She’s not thin or slender, she’s full bodied. I’ve never introduced her to any of you, not even to my family. She thinks I’m embarrassed to be seen next to her.”

“Are you?” Lando asked, judgement ripe on his face. 

“No!” Charles’ defense was quick. “I am not ashamed of her. I never have been! I’m… I’m more ashamed of myself. That I didn’t reassure her. I’m ashamed that I did something that made her feel bad. I hate that I did that to her.”

“Why didn’t you introduce her to us and your family anyway?” Carlos asked this time. 

“Because with her, I feel real. I feel different. A good different. And I know how cruel people can be. I know you might not have judged her and I know if my brothers and maman met her, they would love her. Maman, especially. But if I introduced her to you, then that’s one step closer to introducing her to the world. I was scared she couldn’t take the attention and run.”

“Is she why you’ve been so bad in track lately?” Max asked. 

Charles simply nodded before closing his eyes and rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Well there’s only one thing you can do,” George said in that tone he uses when he thinks he knows best. “You have to go after her. Go back to her and beg her to take you back.”

“And then what?” Charles snapped, unable to stop himself from voicing out the fear that’s been plaguing his mind, “She’ll still be watched by the media. Y/N is soft and she is kind. I don’t know what I would do if people say bad things about her and I know they will. I’ve dated literal supermodels and people were mean. What more someone like her? If someone insulted her in front of me, I might actually commit assault.”

“Mate, that’s up to her and you to talk about it,” Max said. “You can’t really take the choice away from her. If you love this girl, then be with her. Fuck what other people think.”

“Charles, all that matters to us is that you are happy. If she makes you happy, then we will be happy,” Pierre reassured. “You don’t have to worry about us. This girl doesn’t happen to be an ax-wielding psychopath, right?”

The rest of their group winced at Pierre’s poor attempt at a joke but Charles smiled nonetheless. Trust Pierre to always try his best to lighten the mood. “No, she’s kind of perfect actually. I really love her.”

“Then go to her so you can get your head back in the game and beat Max in the championship,” Carlos urged. 

“I don’t know about beating me,” Max smirked and the topic of their conversation shifted to playful jibes and jokes. But Charles’ mind stayed on Y/N, at his friends encouraging words and before his mind could reconcile what his body was doing, he was already on his feet, heading to one of the yachts moored on the island. 

“Where are you going?” Pierre called out as he ran from his friends, towards the woman he loved. 

Charles answered, his mind racing as fast as his heart. “To get my girl!”

When Y/N heard the frantic knocking on her apartment door at 1AM, she expected the worst. 

Which of her family had died? Which of her friends was laying in a ditch somewhere with their car wrapped around a tree? What was the tragedy so urgent, so horrific, that it couldn’t wait until the next day and had to knock on her door at 1AM in the morning?

But when she opened the door, all she saw was Charles, eyes wide and frantic. 

“Cha?” Y/N asked, not quote believing her bleary eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he grabbed her face, bringing his mouth on hers in a searing kiss that had Y/N’s eyes shuttering close and her breath leaving her lungs. 

She tasted the salt of his sweat, felt the searing heat of his hands on her skin as his tongue swept across her mouth, kissing her as if he was underwater and she was the siren able to grant him his oxygen. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her heart deciding what her mind already knew but refused to believe. 

She had missed him, wholeheartedly. And she knew that if Charles ever came knocking back, her self restraint would crumble like chalk on pavement. She would accept him, consequences be damned. 

“I’m sorry,” he panted when she pulled away, her mind racing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Charles, I don’t understand. What are you doing here? I thought you were—“

“It doesn’t matter where I was,” he insisted, his grip on her tightening, like he was afraid that letting go would cause her to disappear. “I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough. Cherie, tu es belle. Je suis vraiment désolé. Je n'ai jamais eu l'intention de te blesser.”

“Charles, slow down,” Y/N urged, pulling him into her tiny apartment and closing the door behind her. Her french was rudimentary at best and with how fast he was talking, she was struggling to translate what he said. “You’re speaking in French. I don’t understand.”

“You are beautiful.” He blurted, stopping Y/N in her tracks. “You’re the most beautiful woman I know. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you but I did anyway and I hate that I hurt you. I’m not ashamed of you but I am ashamed of how I acted. Forgive me, cherie, please. Please take me back.”

“Charles—“ Her phone trilled from where it was charging in her living room and Y/N pulled away from Charles it, ignoring her best friend's flashing face and clicking the red button to silence it.

“You deserve better than me, I know,” he continued, “and I know I don’t deserve you. But I will do everything I can to at least be deserving of your forgiveness. Please, Y/N. Say you forgive me.”.

“Charles—“ her phone rang again and with a growl of frustration, Y/N grabbed it, answering it upon seeing her best friend’s face flashing. “Y/BFF/N, I can’t talk right now. I'm in the middle of—“

“Did you see?” Y/BFF/N said frantically on the other end, causing Y/N to frown. “Tell me you saw it!”

She sent Charles an apologetic look as she answered. “Saw what?”

“Check Charles’ instagram! And I mean, right the fuck now! Call me back when you do.” And she hung up. 

Y/N glanced at Charles before following her best friend’s instructions, opening up the app and searching for Charles’ account. When she saw her picture on the first square, Y/N’s eyes snapped to Charles. 

“You told your friends about us,” Y/N said, stunned.

“I told the world about us,” he clarified. “I never told anyone because I was selfish. I am not ashamed of you. I never have been, never will be. I was scared because introducing you to my family and my friends means that you’re one step closer to being known to the world and I was scared you would run from all of it. From the fame, from the mean comments. It’s happened before and I didn’t want it to happen again, especially not to you. I’m not naive. If people can be mean and ruthless to girls who look like Charlotte and Alexandra, what more you? I thought I was protecting you. I don’t ever want you to leave. Please, come back to me.“

“I can’t believe you told everyone about us.” Y/N still sounded dumbfounded, even to her own ears. 

Charles gave her watery smile. “People should know about you and the love I have for you.”

Y/N wasn't entirely sure what it is about Charles that could have her melting into a puddle on the floor. She's been with good looking men before and none of them ever had that effect on her. But his confession, his conviction, had her abandoning her phone's incessant notifications, her arms automatically wrapping around Charles' neck, pulling him to her. His hands rested on her waist, ghosting down her back.

And, despite herself, Y/N felt her lips pulling into a soft smile. “You know, when I went to bed a while ago, I wasn’t expecting to see my ex knocking at my door, begging me to take him back at one in the morning. Especially since I know he’s suppose to be somewhere in the tropics on vacation.“ 

“Begging?” Charles raised a brow, almost in challenge, a small smile playing at his lips. Mirth and hope mixed in his green eyes and Y/N knew that there was never any chance she couldn’t accept his apology. 

She nodded, her smile turned teasing. “Oh, yeah, definitely begging. Groveling at my feet, asking for forgiveness. Never seen anything like it, to be honest. You know, some girls have a thing for that and I never really understood it before but now, I kinda do. I might not forgive him just so I can listen to him beg again.” 

“You are a cruel woman,” Charles said as he pulled her closer to him, his hands warm on her waist, his nose barely touching her own as his breath tickled her mouth.

“Is that what you’d call the woman willing to forgive you?” She batted her eyes, feigning innocence. “Even after she knows you’re only begging for forgiveness because of your losing streak? You did always call me your good luck charm.”

“You are my good luck charm.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in those things?”

“When it comes to you, I’ll believe in anything and anyone,” he said seriously before he grinned, wide and infectious. The kind of grin that promised an evening of debauchery and laughter. “So you forgive me?”

“Well, you did tell the world that I was your girlfriend so now I have to forgive you and take you back. I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of Charles Leclerc.”

He smiled triumphantly and this time, when Charles dipped his head for another searing kiss, Y/N didn’t pull away.

[cheriiepies]

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, enemies to lovers

Note: This is my first fiction, and I know it is not perfect. But I will try to improve. Btw, big thanks for @papaya-twinks as she helped me with this fiction a lot!! SO THANK YOU POOKIE(((ＵωＵ｀ *)(* ´ＵωＵ))).

Since the karting days the relationship between you and Charles was sour. It felt like any opportunity for bonding or getting to know each other was filled with long arguments over stupid things, fights, battles (and stubborness)

It was a race weekend and you were walking in the paddock towards your team ready to do some media work and content for the fans with your *favorite* teammate, Charles. Those challenges you did for the youtube or instagram is always filled with passive aggresivness or extreme competition.

As you were reaching the Ferrari garage you heared a familiar voice calling you over:

-"Y/n! Charles! Here you guys are. I need to speak to you two , alone". Charles glanced at you briefly:

-"What did you do now?"

-"Well hello to you too, Charles. I am fine how are you? And for the record the last time we were called in his office was when you fucked our race up!"

"Oh, get over it. Not my problem that you cannot control a wheel". You rolled your eyes at that trying very hard to not bite back

They entered the office seeing a very serious Fred looking at them.

"I hope you guys know that I won't tolerate any crashes that happened between you because you were too stubborn to listen to your race engineers!"-he said his voice rising at the end as this was certeanly not a rare inCHident(got that?). "We have the ability to get the podium as the car is perfectly suited for this circuit. P3 and P4 are not a bad starting position. We have to get the most out of this opportunity. Understood?". Both of them agreed, trying to talk less as it would cause more arguments.

"I won't let you ruin my race again y/n" charles said as they were leaving the office for an interview that would start in 20 minutes. "Can say the same about you. You can not tolerate me being ahead of you. It seems to be hurting your ego. The only reason you can secure podiums is because of the team orders. " He could only chuckle at that finding the idea amusing. "Well, the reason is I am the better driver in this team, so you do as the orders say." "Fuck you Charles! You act like you are all that, when in reality, all you do is blame the car or me when something fucks your race up, but it is you. Maybe you should get your head out of your ass and realise that you are not as good?" Ypu knew he was a good driver. But you still liked pushing his buttons. Charles could only glare at you not wanting to say things he will regret later. It was just a silent walk after that as they all sat in their beloved places during the interview.

Timeskip: the race

-“Right, Y/N, we’re starting in P4, let’s see if we can optimise this position,” your engineer spoke calmly. You replied with a simple and calm ‘yes’, knowing fully well of your own motive. Beat Charles. He’d already been a right ass about having qualified P3, one spot ahead of you, by less than a tenth, and what you wanted? To wipe his filthy little smirk away.

And so the formation lap begun, your eyes fixed on the rear wing of your teammate’s car, watching as he drove round the circuit. Five lights. Out. Instantly, you tried, and failed, to overtake him, feeling the threat of the number four car behind you. “Fuck,” you hissed, pressing harder to get away from him, your eyes trained on Charles. Sure, the team HAD warned you two on how these constant fiery battles could end up costing you the win or points at the minimum, but you were not one to back down. And neither was Charles, apparently. After 40 laps the cars ahead of you were starting to pit. It was an easy overtake to p3 and charles p2. But you wanted more. So you tried to overtake Charles even if your race engineer told you not to, as it is not safe with the tyres and they did not want to risk anything. As you were trying to overtake the wheels touched and it sent the both of you out of the track ulitametly crashing each other.

"What the fuck was that!" Charles was rigtfully angry. It was the perfect moment to secure P2 or even get a P1. You both got out of the car. You wanted to apoligize for ruining his race.

"Hey, I am sorry it was an accident, I miscalucilated and- "shut the fuck up! You always do this, why couldn't you just listen?. And now we are both out of the race. Do you realise how dangerous your driving is? Maybe they were all right about you. You do not deserve your seat! It is a miracle you could even get out of F3 alive!" He kept going on about how undeserving you are of the seat. It hurt you more than you cared to admit. Even if you disliked Charles(or so you thought), his validation and approval was still something you craved. You admired him since the beggining of your F1 rookie season. You looked up at him trying to hide your tears- " I said sorry, mistakes happen. I hope you forgive me . I have to go". Charles felt guilty at his harsh words suddenly realising that you did not deserve all that shit. He wanted to apologize but you were already gone. He was zoning out while the reporters asked about the crash, replaying it on the screens. All he could think of is how sad you looked when he was lashing out on you. He did not see you all day, not on the paddock not,after the race. You where nowhere to be seen.

It was already late, he could not sleep. The guilt was eating Charles up, his harsh words replaying in his mind. The way you looked so sad. It bothered him a lot, he did not actually wanted to hurt your feelings, he wasn't thinking right saying those things. With out thinking much his worry carried him towards your hotel room. Charles slowly knocked on the door, not hearing anything he slowly opened it.

" y/n? Are you here? I am so sorry about what I said. I wasn't thi-". Charles stopped talking as soon as he saw you laying on your bed with red teary eyes. Hair disheveled, laying on your bed trying to wipe your cheeks. "Hey, hey. Are you crying because of today? " he instictively came closer to you, wanting to comfort you. "I am so sorry, I did not want to ruin your race! You were right about me , maybe I am a bad driver. You have all the rights to hate me"- you rambled, trying not to cry again. "I was mad and said things that weren't true. You are a great driver y/n even if I tell you otherwise. I was an asshole and it was unfair of me to say hurtful words like that. Accidents happen. And for the record, I do not hate you. " Not realising Charles was holding y/n close, hugging her, not wanting her to cry anymore. Charles denied his protectivness over y/n, though his actions spoke otherwise. It made her feel butterflies in her stomach even if she tried to deny it.

"I forgive you too. You had every right to be mad at me. And I do not hate you either. Not at all. " You suddenly felt shy at the position you were in. But he still kept you close, gently looking at you. There was something else happening at the way you looked at each other so softly. He slowly leaned in, giving you the chance to back away if you did not want this. But you both wanted this. His lips were soft and gentle as he held your cheek and carrased your hair lovingly. As you pulled away, he gently whispered, "I can never hate you."

[the-offside-rule]

Charles Leclerc (Scuderia Ferrari) - Teammate in Law

Requested: on wattpad

Prompt: Y/n and Charles are secretly keeping their relationship from her older brother, Carlos. But, it is all for not whilst Charles drunkenly tells Carlos the truth

Warnings: Drunk Charles, angry Carlos

You never really had any trouble with complying with Carlos' rules. Don't distract any team members, don't cause any trouble, no dating other drivers. In McLaren, you didn't have a problem because Carlos' team-mate was Lando at the time and Lando wasn't exactly your type, so you just ended up being his friend. The trouble however, started when Carlos moved to Ferrari at the beginning of the 2021 season. "Don't go anywhere, Im just going in to check on Mattia." Carlos said, leaving you in the middle of a hallway in the ferrari factory. "I won't go anywhere, I'll get lost if I do." After some reassurance, Carlos walked into Mattia's office. Although Carlos insisted the meeting would be a few minutes, it had already passed twenty minutes. You let out a groan in boredom.

You focused on keeping yourself composed as Charles Leclerc was literally sitting right next to you. "Excuse me?" You turned as the monegasque began to speak. "Do you work here?" Charles asked. "Oh, erm, no. Just a visitor." You replied. He nodded and turned back facing the wall. "Are you a fan? I think there's some fans allowed in here from time to time." Charles said. You shook your head no. "Nope, I'm Carlos' sister." Charles looked over and smiled softly. "Ah, so is that why you're here? He's in with Mattia?" Charles asked, pointing towards the door. "Yeah, he's been taking forever though." Charles looked you up and down, smiling as he took in your features. "So, you're Y/n? Lando told me about you." Your eyes went wide. "Probably not good things." Charles laughed and looked down to the floor. "No, not at all. A lot of stories about you drunk." You groaned and leaned your head against the wall. Lando had ruined your chances of scoring the monegasque before you even met him. "No, no, I want to see this all in person." You looked over confused. "What?" you asked. "Let's go and see if you're actually like this. How about we go out for a drink sometime?" You nibbled on your lower lip, trying to hide the grin on your face but it was no use. Charles knew he'd just about won you over.

The door to Mattia's office opened before Carlos stepped out and saw you and Charles smiling at each other, before you both tried to hide the fact that you were. "So what is all this?" Carlos asked, vividly unimpressed. "Just introducing myself Carlos." Charles replied. Carlos laughed. "She won't be seeing you enough for you to introduce yourself." You squinted your eyes at your brother in disbelief. "I know what you're really trying to do, you can't fool me. I was your age once." It was getting tense between the two ferrari dircers and they hadn't even gotten on track together as team-mates yet. "You aren't that old mate." Charles joked but clearly at the wrong time. "Are you mocking me?" Carlos almost shouted. "Carlos, can you stop shouting at the man? You're making a scene!" You pulled at Carlos' sleeve but he wasn't listening. "I'll call Mama and she won't be happy at all!" You threatened. Carlos looked back as if he was being challenged. He scoffed at his little sister. "You wouldn't dare." You grabbed your phone from your pocket and clicked onto your mother's phone number, holding it up to your ear and waiting for her to answer and staring at Carlos all at once. "Mama? Carlos es estúpido!" You said walking away, undoubtedly going to town on how annoying he was being. The usual. "Ah, ah, ah, Mamá, no porque, tu hija también está siendo estúpida!" Carlos called following after his sister. Charles however, looked on amused at the Spanish bickering and couldn't help but have this magnetic like attraction to the young Sainz sister.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

After the hectic race that was Silverstone, you went back to your hotel room to change before you went to cleebbrate with the team. Thankfully, your room was in between Charles' and Carlos'. You had a connecting room with Charles which was helpful for whne Charles was sneaking in at night and for moments like this. Charles stared at you, taking in your beauty through the mirror on the dresser, but you could tell something else was wrong. "You okay?" you asked as you took off the ferrari jacket. "That stuff doesn't suit you." You squinted your eyes in disbelief of his words. "What? Last time I checked you still drove for ferrari." Y/n said. Charles let out a sigh. "Yes but I mean why can't you wear the number 16?" Y/n grinned and wrapped her arms around Charles' neck. "We both know why Charles, I have to wear the number 55 for the meantime." After a few more visits, the exchanging of phone numbers and of course social medias, Charles had managed to captivate the Spaniard enough to love him back. The relationship had still been pretty new, only a few months but you didn't really care. "I don't have a problem telling Carlos I'm dating you-"

"Yes but he'll kill me, he wouldn't dare hurt you mon cœur." You giggled and pulled him in for a kiss. "I wouldn't let him do that, my love. Now go back to your room before Carlos comes around." Charles smiled and walked over to the connecting door before locking it behind him.

After Carlos came around, you went down to meet up with the team. They all decided to go out and celebrate and of course, you decided to tag along as you had gone to the Grand Prix. Everything was going fine until Charles had a little too much to drink and completely forgot that you were keeping you relationship secret. He started to dance with you, tell you how much he loved you and in all honesty, you weren't used to it so you got yourself out of the situation by going over to the bar. Carlos was watching the whole thing unfold, he wasn't the slightest bit impressed. You spotted Carlos and decided to go and tell him you'd be going up to your room to go fecth something. "I'll be back in a minute! I forgot my phone!" you said loud enough for Carlos to hear. Charles, on the verge of being blackout drunk, followed you to the bar but got confused whem he couldn't find you. He turned and saw his team-mate, sipping on a beer by himself and he let out a huge, exaggerated gasp. "Carlos!" Carlos turned and saw Charles, stumbling towards him, making him let out a little laugh. "You cannot hold alcohol, mate." Carlos laughed before Charles said something Carlos couldn't even understand. "By the way mate, you need to back up. That's my sister you're dancing with." Carlos laughed as he downed another bottle of beer. Charles, his mind clouded with alcohol, scoffed and grabbed another bottle of Estrella Galicia. "I'm already seeing her, Carlos. You need to relax." He laughed. Carlos froze and set his drink down before turning to face Charles. "What did you say?" Carlos asked. "I'm already seeing your sister, about two months or something now." Carlos clenched his jaw and finished his beer before paying and leaving.

He stormed upstairs to where you were staying and just as Carlos was about to knock the door, you opened it, putting your card key into your purse. "Oh, Carlos. I was on my way down now-" Carlos backed you up and closed the door behind him once he got into your room. "What the hell is this I hear about you and Charles, eh?" Your heart stopped. What did Charles say? "What have you two been up to?!" He shouted. "Carlos, calm down-" Carlos cut you off. "Calm down? Are you seriously telling me to calm down?" he asked angrily. "Yes, are you deaf?" He threw his arms up in a fit of rage. "Y/n, you are seeing my team mate. Did I not have a rule for this?" Carlos asked. You folded your arms over your chest and looked away. "Maybe you did." you muttered. "Now Lando, I wouldn't mind Lando because I know for a fact he wouldn't dare do anything wrong but Charles? Do you know about his ex girlfriends? How quickly he moves on? He's a play boy in a ferrari car. Nothing special." He snarled. This hurt you. You didn't want to believe it but putting things into perspective, that's how it seemed. "Can we just not do this right now please? I just want to finally find someone."

Carlos continued on ranting for a good four or five minutes. You felt like a child being scolded with all these lectures. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Carlos asked. "I don't see a problem with it." You muttered. "Are you being serious?! I just told you what he is and you still don't have a problem?!" Carlos boomed, his loud voice echoing around the hotel room and undoubtedly around the entire floor too. "Carlos, again with the shouting, can you tone it down a bit?" You asked quietly. "Tell me why, why should I not shout when you aren't listening?" You stood up straight, and off the wall. "You think I'm gonna listen if you shout? If you're wrong, you're wrong! No matter how loud you say it!"

À knock cane from the door, making you groan. "See? Now I have to deal with the noise complaint!" You walked towards the door and turned the knob before you opened it, surprised to see who was there. "Charles?" You arched an eyebrow as Charles showed up to your doorway, Carlos still angry in the background. "Y/n! Mon cœur! I love you!" He slurred, almost tripping on the way in. "I want to marry you." He sang. Your expression softened at his drunken words. You looked over to Carlos who looked at Charles disapprovingly. "Charles, I don't think this is the right time." You told him sweetly. "It's always the right time with you my love." he said, kissing your cheek. Carlos tensed up and looked away, his hands moving to his hips. "I know, but Carlos is here right now." Charles sat up and looked over to the pissed off Spanish driver. He lifted his finger and pointed at him, causing confusion between both Spaniards in the room. "Ah, my team mate in law." Charles began walking towards Carlos, you tried to hold him back a bit but it wasn't going to happen. "Listen, mate, I don't like lying to you so I should be the one to tell you this-" Charles paused and Carlos stood in anticipation. "I'm in love with your sister."

You closed your eyes in annoyance and sucked your lips in. "Charles, let's get you to bed, huh?" Charles nodded and went to open his connecting door. You closed your eyes again as Carlos looked on. Everything made sense now. How you two were secretly hanging out, how you managed to end up dating, everything was falling into place. "This is the secret door, Y/n." Charles whispered to you as if Carlos wasn't right there. "Charles, please go to bed." He smiled, before going through and closing it behind him, leaving you alone with Carlos to explain everything. "Okay, I think I need to explain a lot, right?" Carlos nodded before grabbing his jacket and putting it on. "You do, but that can be done another time." You arched an eyebrow. "What? So you don't want to ask anything? You don't have a problem?" Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have as big a problem with him now." Carlos said. "He's my team-mate in law after all." He added, earning a smile of relief from you. "I'll be going but if I hear anything-" He paused. "Unusual, I'll be coming straight over." You felt embarrassed as Carlos made his joke. "Nothing will happen, he's drunk and I'm pretty much sober."

"Well make sure my team-mate in law doesn't die or something. He's kind of important to the team." you laughed a bit and nodded. "I wouldn't let anything happen to him Carlos, you don't have to worry about that."

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fan fiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 3/? Word count: 1510 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 1. A New Role, A Nervous Start

Matilde entered the meeting room with an apologetic look on her face. She was holding her laptop and notebook under her arm, having a cup of tea in her other hand. "I'm sorry, I walked to the wrong truck," she said and sat down.

"No worries."

As the team principal settled behind her laptop, the other people in her team got ready for the pre-race debrief. They all were eager to discuss the strategy for the upcoming race, the first race, but also talk about track limits, and other information. Yesterday, after qualifying, they talked about the outcomes and the possible strategy for today. Today, it was time to finalise it.

It was the first time Matilde was about to witness the pre-race briefing at her new team. She had been at the briefing yesterday and the day before, but this was different. She still had to figure out how the briefings at Ferrari worked. Matilde was nervous; what could she expect later today? She decided to let the team lead the briefing, since it was them who had to lead their drivers through the race.

"Just like last year, we are considering a two-stop strategy with a soft-hard-hard combination for plan A," Carlos Galbally, Head of Tyre Science, announced after discussing other key points.

Everyone nodded in agreement; they agreed on this yesterday, and it seemed like the right tyre strategy. However, Matilde looked doubtful, keeping her opinion to herself. She listened to the other plans, but none of them felt right to her.

"Do we have other options we are looking at?" Matilde then asked out of curiosity.

The room fell into a brief silence as everyone pondered the options. Matilde could sense the tension, it was like she had said something out of place or that was too personal.

"Just asking," she added, attempting to ease the atmosphere with a soft smile.

"At the moment, not really. Why?" Xavi, the engineer of Charles Leclerc, asked.

"The data shows that the C3 has shown a strong pace," Matilde said. "I suggest we do soft-soft-hard. Gain a safe advantage, perhaps even perform an under or overcut and gain a few spots."

Ravin Jain, Strategy Director, looked at the only woman in the room. "Sounds reasonable," he admitted, but before he could continue, he got interrupted.

"The softs may have shown a strong pace, but they won't last long in these higher temperatures," Charles said, leaning forward. He was confident in understanding how the car felt with different tyres.

Matilde nodded, acknowledging his point. "They won't last long indeed, but they are great to push and gain some positions," she responded. "We expect everyone to start on softs, except Magnussen, and we have seen everyone fly away. If you get the softs in the second stint and push even more, the second stop may be free. And it brings you to the front of the field."

"The hards allow us to postpone the pit stops."

"But you have to stop eventually whether you have softs or hards under your car," Matilde brought in.

Charles sighed and looked at his laptop screen, visibly frustrated by the discussion. "The softs won't last long. It's great to start with them, but the hards give us more time," he said. You should know that, he thought. Charles looked up, gazing into her eyes.

Eyes shot from Charles to Matilde. She felt a hint of dislike in his gaze. "I suggest to pit around lap 15 for softs and then pit around lap 35 for hards to finish it. You both have shown that you can extend your stints on softs to twenty-five laps. I believe we can build a gap early on and keep it growing after the first pit stop."

It became silent. Both the Strategy Director and Head of Tyre Science were considering both approaches, weighing the risks and benefits of each strategy.

Charles didn't hesitate to reply to the suggestion. "I will stick to plan A. I know this track better than anyone, and I'll make the call if I sense an opportunity."

Matilde wished she could protest his decision, but she knew she couldn't change his mind because the entire team stood behind the plans. Carlos agreed with Charles, admitting he preferred the first strategy better.

"Then we will go for those plans. Thank you for your input," Matilde then said. "But if we see an opportunity to make a change, we will go for it. Whether you sit in the car or not, we will go for the opportunity," she said, determined to start with a podium this season.

With the strategy decided, the briefing continued, discussing various other aspects of the race. Matilde made sure to hear everyone's input and ensured that they felt valued and motivated.

The briefing ended, and all the staff left, heading to their respective duties. Matilde made some quick notes for herself and looked in front of her, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and emotions. It felt so unnatural to her to lead a team instead of being part of the plan. She had to think of so many other things now. It felt unnatural, but also cool.

Matilde got up and left the room, ready to attend media meetings. All eyes were on her, her first race as principal. During the interviews, she was asked about her thoughts on the race and the results she expected. Everyone remembered the disappointing results of last year like it was yesterday. Matilde refused to promise anything, but she would try and do her best to get the best possible results. She told the media that she was excited to see the race and that she was looking forward to seeing what her team could do with her as principal for a week.

After some time, every car lined up on the grid. Matilde finished up the last interview and made her way to the grid. At first, she walked to one of the red cars in the third position.  Charles was standing with his engineers, going over some last-minute details. As she approached them, she wondered what she had to do here. What was Christian always doing on the grid? When she was a strategist, she sat behind in the garage, observing the footage. Now she was facing cameras and a lot of people. Matilde put on a professional smile.

"Good luck, Charles," Matilde said and smiled warmly.

She guessed she could wish her drivers all the best.

"Thank you," Charles replied, his eyes avoiding hers.

Mathile looked at the engineers and gave them a nod before walking over to the other side of the track: P4 and one of the other red cars. "Good luck, Carlos," she said.

Carlos looked gratefully at her. "Thanks, Matilde," he said.

When she wanted to walk back towards the garages, she got stopped by Martin Brundle. A polite smile came on her face.

"How are you holding up, Matilde?"

"I'm pretty nervous," she replied. "It is the first time in over a year since I am back on the grid, and of course, the new role at Ferrari."

"How do you think it will go?"

"Realistically, it won't be a winning race. Of course, we all have hope, but Red Bull is just immensely strong. We have a new team, we have to see if it all works out and how we react to it. But I think we will get a decent race, we are well prepared, and we have the pace," she replied.

Brundle smiled and nodded. "How does it feel to see your old mates work in a different team?"

"Weird," was her first response. "I must admit, I walked to the wrong garage this morning when I was in my own mind," she laughed. "And seeing them work, I almost want to go over and stir into the conversation. But those are habits that need to wear out. I am excited to start this new chapter and fight against them."

He nodded again. "Thank you. And good luck."

"Thank you," Matilde replied and briefly looked at her assistant next to her. Galileo looked satisfied.

As the drivers got ready to step into their cars, Matilde walked back towards the Ferrari garage. She still observed the mechanics performing their final checks on the screens in the garage. It was a tough first week. She got along with Carlos pretty well, but she knew she had to earn Charles' respect, and it wouldn't be an easy task. The team reacted well to her, but it had only been a week. The media and some fans weren't sure about this decision. Matilde had encountered similar challenges before in a male-dominated sport, but this felt different.

Matilde sat down at the pit wall, taking the middle seat. This was new to her, but a dream came true. The formation lap came to an end, and the cars lined up. She took a deep breath and felt her heart race in her chest as the lights popped up one by one. The lights went out, and the race began.

Next chapter