#formula one hurt/comfort

[agendabymooner]

about names: the show and tell || cl16 scenario (3)

dad!charles leclerc x mom!ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENSION OF OF LONG LINES AND NAMES AND THE LECLERC DAYCARE

Summary: The Leclerc boys and their names go hand in hand. OR times when Charles and his wife Aimee had to explain that their children’s names are meaningful. 

Scenario summary: PJ Leclerc’s kindergarten class calls for a family name show and tell — and who would make better presenters than his Uncle Pierre? OR the middle Leclerc child learns more about his namesakes as he and his parents continue to develop his school project. 

Content warning: Uncle Pierre Gasly, storyteller!Pierre, a very cooperative child (?), kids being kids, wholesome content, using a no-no word once, PJ Leclerc (OC) centred, appearances of Alain and Anthoine Leclerc (OC), brief appeaarance of Toto Wolff and Tilly Wolff (OFC), dad!Charles 🔛🔝

Note: I'm sorry I dipped y'all 😩 it's been hard- I've been trying to write but for some reason everything's going bad. In the meantime, enjoy this scenario xx

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

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With his nose scrunched up in concentration, his hand gripped the jumbo-sized pencil and traced over the dotted letters shakily. Close. He was so close. 

He squinted slightly before pausing, looking around for a moment before he continued to pursue his goal— get this over with. And with a dot, he grinned at himself before turning to see Mademoiselle Julie approaching his table. His peers continued to work on their take-home handbooks, while he was the first to finish his writing. 

Mademoiselle Julie, the young homeroom teacher of his kindergarten class, wordlessly peered at his handiwork— shaky writing traced over the dotted lines — and beamed at him proudly as she complimented, “Bonne écriture, PJ!” Good writing, PJ! 

“Merci, Mademoiselle Julie!” PJ Leclerc continued to show his set of teeth, proud of himself for being complimented by his teacher. 

Mademoiselle Julie spread out the sheets of stickers that she held, showing the various kinds of colourful stickers as she asked, “What would you like for your handbook today?” 

The boy hummed quietly, his hazel eyes skimming through the sheets on her hands as they gleamed in joy. “McQueen, please!” 

“Oh? Cars?” Mademoiselle Julie chuckled before peeling the glossy sticker off its sheet, sticking it on the reminder writing that he wrote down today. “Your papa will like that, don’t you think so?” 

It was no surprise that everyone knew who PJ’s father was. Charles Leclerc continued to be a household name— one that was born and raised in the principality of Monaco that later on became Monaco’s pride. You weren’t from Monaco if you didn’t know who he is— and you were a disgrace if you didn’t understand his legacy and you live in Monaco. So for Mademoiselle Julie to mention PJ’s father wasn’t anything new. 

They treated the Leclerc children as generational royalties but respected them as kids in the same community as others. Charles got himself as involved as he could with his children’s education even if there was an ongoing season he needed to attend and participate. 

Normalcy was what he lacked in other parts of the world, being a Formula One driver and all, whereas he was nothing but a son of his mother, a father of five kids and a husband of his children’s mother in the principality.

His career was often mentioned in conversations, but that was only because his children were some of the proudest kids to have existed. They’d tell others that their father would take them driving and that their father was a driver — and they had every right to say so. It was a discussion that was welcomed but never encouraged to rub in the faces of the children. 

“No!” PJ giggled. “Da loves Lotso!” 

“I thought you liked Lotso?” Mademoiselle Julie brought up. 

“Yeah, but Da loves Lotso too! Me and Da loves Lotso!” 

“Well, maybe you can get him and your Maman to love McQueen too, PJ. Tell them you got a Cars sticker. It’s red like your Da’s car, no?” 

“Mon amour,” Charles called from the children’s study room, his face showing curiosity while he carried his youngest son, little Alain, in his arm while the other held an opened handbook. “Aimee?” 

One of their eldest kids, Jules, tugged on Aimee’s trousers lightly, “Maman. Da is calling you,” he announced quietly, turning back to his homework as Aimee looked up from the screen of her laptop. The Leclerc matriarch smiled gratefully at Jules before standing on her feet, departing from the family room across the hall to meet Charles halfway through. 

“Charles? What’s happening?” She asked, only for the aforementioned man to raise the handbook slightly. “That’s PJ’s handbook.”

“Yeah, and it says that there’s an email being sent today about an event,” Charles furrowed his brow. “Did you receive anything?” 

“I did, actually— I was going to mention it after dinner but it must’ve slipped off my mind,” Aimee watched her words carefully — not wanting Alain to hear her words, “fuc— silly Lando.” 

“Siwy Wando!” Alain mimicked.

“Exactly, darling. Silly Uncle Lando,” the parents laughed. 

“Work again?” Charles chuckled as Aimee rolled her eyes at the comment. 

“Try working behind the scenes and have drivers that refuse to be trained in the media,” Aimee responded with a huff, “not that you’d understand— you’re just as dense as Lando and Oscar at times.” 

Charles only laughed and shook his head. “Seriously, you were saying something about the email?” 

“Right,” Aimee nodded. “Julie sent an email today to the guardians about a presentation project for PJ’s class. It’s a show and tell.” 

“Oh,” Charles uttered, “that should be easy. We did that with Hervé and Jules before.” 

“It’s not even just that,” Aimee added, “Julie’s a new teacher and Herb and J’s teacher did a show and tell about careers right? She wants a presentation about family.” 

“Huh,” Charles said quietly. What did that even mean? 

“She said it could be anything,” Aimee continued, “I tried asking PJ if he had anything in mind— but what does a child know about complex factors of families?” 

“Amour,” Charles laughed. “He’s five. Did you maybe ask if he wants to talk about his uncles or aunts? Or even his grandparents?” 

They both stood there, silence comfortably setting the atmosphere between the two of them before Aimee came up with something. 

“What if—“ Aimee paused and pursed her lips, “both Jules and H asked about their names before. What if we talk about PJ’s name?” 

Charles looked at his wife in confusion, little Alain stared at his father before he babbled. Charles glanced at his son for a moment before looking at Aimee once more. 

“It only makes sense,” Aimee shrugged. “Since either of us are presenting to his peers and their other guardians— why don’t we talk about his names?” 

The Ferrari driver thought about it for a moment. His sons and their names meant a lot for the couple, with them being named after people that meant so much — people that both Charles and Aimee looked up to. 

Sacha ‘PJ’ Leclerc, much like his brothers, was named after the people that gave meaning to Charles and Aimee’s relationship and their lives way before the kids came along. It only makes sense that the couple answer the questions of who were the kids named after. 

Especially when PJ’s teacher, Julie, grew curious about the boy’s nickname. His name was Sacha yet the adults called him PJ— why? 

“Okay,” Charles nodded, “we can do that.” 

“One condition,” Charles continued, making Aimee nod. 

His slight scowl was mimicked by little Alain as Charles spoke, “I’m not messing with the glitter glues.” 

“No gwue!” Alain exclaimed as if he struggled with the glittery sticky material before.

“Whaaat~” Aimee giggled before rolling her eyes playfully. “So dramatic, you two are. And I thought you'd be like your Maman, Alan.” 

“Maman just called us dramatic, Alain,” Charles gasped playfully. “Silly Maman. We’re no drama queens! We just don’t like glitter glues!” 

“Bleh!” Alain stuck his tongue out. 

“Nuh uh, we don’t stick our tongue out to Maman, Alan bebe! Just say no glue, hm?” 

“No gwue, Maman.” 

The very first step of the project was to get PJ to cooperate and help his parents build the presentation. After all, it was his class’ show and tell— it was his project. 

The five-year-old was fast to agree. He was a saint of some sort, that little man. In comparison to his older brothers, Charles and Aimee never struggled to get him to listen and his calm demeanour was what made him distinct from the Leclerc boys. 

They always said that the middle children were the menaces to society. PJ’s cousin Tia Wolff was evidence of that. His aunt, Aimee’s sister Sylvie, was also a prime example of a middle-child menace. But PJ was nothing of the sort. He behaved whenever he was asked to behave. He did everything he was asked. 

So getting him to cooperate wasn’t all bad. He did need to stop making fun of his father for disliking the glitter glues though. 

Charles still remembered how he came to his driver's briefing a few races ago after making crafts with his kids at his motorhome. He also remembered how everyone laughed at the never-ending shimmering effect on his skin as he kept rubbing on them. Glitters were something that Charles swore he’d never touch ever again. 

Anyway.

As the deadline and the day of the presentation approached, everyone seemed to be invested in helping out with the project as well. Pascale and her other sons Arthur and Lorenzo visited almost every day and whenever they could, they’d drop some feedback.

Arthur was a useless piece of shit, as always. Charles wanted to be the best role model for his kids but if his younger brother kept saying that PJ’s first name Sacha came from Sriracha he wouldn’t be able to help himself and eventually set Arthur straight. 

When Charles returned from his meeting in Maranello, though, he was more than surprised to see his niece and nephews in his family room as they helped PJ set up the pictures on the trifold board. 

“Da!” Jules said, making the kids look up from the entryway as their eyes glimmered. 

“Oncle Shal!” His youngest nephew from Toto, Adelmo, exclaimed as he waved the glitter glue around. 

“Oh hi, Elmo and Tia,” Charles shot Jules a confused look as if to ask ‘Shouldn’t these kids be in England?’, only for the boy to shrug.

“Maman est dans la cuisine avec l'oncle Toto et la tante Tilly,” Maman is in the kitchen with Uncle Toto and Aunt Tilly. Jules told his father as Charles smiled gratefully. 

“And your brothers? Herb and the younger ones?” Charles asked.

PJ, still looking down at the board with his cousins Tia and Adelmo, replied aloud, “Hervé est en train de lire un livre. Alain et Anthoine sont avec Maman dans la cuisine. « Snacking », c'est ce que maman a dit.” Hervé is reading a book. Alain and Anthoine are with Maman in the kitchen. “Snacking” is what I think Maman said. 

“Ah, oui, merci Sacha,” Charles told his middle child before ruffling Jules’ curly hair before he walked off to find the adults in the kitchen. 

Charles then found his wife with her sister, Tilly, and her brother-in-law, Toto by the kitchen island. There on the counters sat Anthoine and Alain, munching on some crackers as they tried to keep up with the conversation they knew nothing of. 

Anthoine saw Charles immediately and exclaimed, “Maman! ‘s Da!” 

“Da!” Alain grinned. 

“Hallo, bébés,” Charles grinned before he reached out to peck them in the cheeks. He then kissed Aimee on the forehead, turning to look at his in-laws in the process as he nodded, “Tilly, Toto— I didn’t expect you guys to head to Monaco this early.”

Tilly chuckled, “Early vacation for all of us. We’re staying in the holiday home for a month, at least.”

“Ah! C'est très agréable,” that’s very nice. Charles nodded with a smile. “Are the kids okay with that?” 

Toto snorted, “They have to be.”

“Tia’s next races are taking place in France,” Tilly added. “Nice, actually. So it’s quite near if we just stayed here in the principality for the next few weekends.” 

“I honestly did not expect to have a full workshop in the family room,” Charles joked. “I was expecting to maybe have PJ working on his project but they just doubled in the room— none of them were even my twins.”

“We came over when Aimee mentioned the project,” Toto laughed. “I’m surprised you went ahead with the idea.”

“You know how much it means for us to talk about the kids’ names,” Charles shrugged.

“Well, pray tell,” Tilly gave them a puzzled look, “who’s going to present it? I assume you two would want to do it but—“

“Oh no, not us,” Charles and Aimee shook their heads as the Monegasque continued, “We have someone do it for us.”

Toto’s brows furrowed, “I don’t recall you guys asking me.” 

Aimee chuckled, “Not you. Silly Toto.”

“Siwwy Toto!” The adults turned at the twin toddlers as Alain and Anthoine synchronously mimicked Aimee.

But the Leclerc parents were right, they wanted the presentation to be perfect and they had the right man for the audience.

After all, the Alpine driver had always bragged about being the reason why Charles’ middle child got the nickname ‘PJ’.

“Hello, hello! Dear friends of PJ Leclerc and the parents of the friends of PJ Leclerc!”

Charles and Aimee sighed, hiding their faces in embarrassment as they stood at the back of the classroom with the rest of the parents and the homeroom teacher, Mademoiselle Julie. 

Charles and Aimee looked at each other, unsure if they should laugh or pity themselves as Pierre Gasly sat on the tiny chair at the front. 

The kids were sitting on the floor, facing the Alpine driver as the finished product — the trifold board — was displayed next to him to show the kids.

Pierre introduced himself, “I am Pierre Gasly. I am this boy’s,” he gestured to PJ who sat on the floor right in front of him, “godfather. And today—“

“But Monsieur,” a little girl piped up, raising her hand politely as Pierre paused and nodded for her to continue, “I thought you were a driver?” 

“He is, Claudia!” PJ exclaimed with a wide grin, making the parents at the back laugh. PJ then continued, “He drives for Alpine!”

“Alright, little P, let’s calm down,” Pierre giggled quietly. Then he answered the girl, Claudia as PJ called her, with, “Yes I am a driver like PJ’s dad, but right now I am here for PJ as his godfather.”

“Now, who here knows PJ as Sacha?” Most people, hell even the adults at the back, raised their hands as Pierre nodded, “Okay. Well, you see— PJ’s Maman and Papa gave him a reallyyyy reallyyyy long name that the hospital can’t even fit the whole thing in.”

Charles, who stood amongst the giggling parents, leaned over to his wife and whispered in her ear, “I told you that having Pierre do this is a poor idea, Ami.” 

“Shh,” Aimee laughed quietly, nudging Charles a little.

“But! They gave those names to PJ because they mean a lot,” Pierre pointed at the full name displayed as a header. “Now, Sacha- it means defender. PJ’s Papa said that PJ, when he was in his Maman’s little tummy, was quiet and a good boy. But he kicks hard like he could play football.” 

The kids giggled, PJ laughing along. 

“So, his Papa and Maman said that he is a gentle one, but he can be fierce- like a defending warrior!” Pierre told the class and showed emotions for the dramatic effect. The kids looked up at him in awe. “So they said that his name will be Sacha!” 

“But wait…” Pierre paused dramatically and looked around, “There is another name.” 

“Niki,” Pierre pointed at the middle name. “Who here has watched Formula One?” Everyone raised their hands. “Of course you have- this is Monaco! Anyway, Niki Lauda was a very good driver. He was one of the greatest Formula One drivers— PJ’s Maman and Papa looked up to Niki as he drove for both Scuderia Ferrari and McLaren.”

“Do you wanna know something?” Pierre leaned over as if he was going to whisper a secret, “PJ’s Maman is the goddaughter of Niki Lauda.” 

Meanwhile, at the back, Aimee was laughing quietly at Pierre’s dramatic presentation.

Charles gave her a puzzled look as Aimee looked up and murmured, “He can be a good preschool teacher if he has the patience for kids.” 

Charles snickered, “Good luck with that.”

“So of course… Sacha Niki… Oh, what’s that?” Pierre pointed at his own name. “Pierre.”

“That’s your name!” The boy next to PJ gasped and turned to look at the aforementioned boy, “PJ, your name is like his!” 

PJ eagerly nodded but didn’t say anymore as Pierre continued. “I have been his Papa’s very best friend since we were kids! That’s why I am PJ’s godfather and that is why they named him Pierre.”

“That’s so cool, PJ,” the other kids told the child, who blushed slightly at the attention given to him.

Pierre chuckled at this before he moved the children’s attention towards the last name. “Philippe,” he said, now watching the kids pay attention.

“PJ’s Maman had a grandfather that she loved the most,” Pierre explained to the kids. “PJ’s aunts and Maman love him so much and his name is Philip Hearth.” He pointed at the picture at the bottom of the  ‘Philippe’ header. 

There, a photo of a baby Aimee being held by her grandfather was displayed. At the bottom of it showed a portrait photo of Philip and his time at the F1 tracks and other factories of his company. 

“Philip owned Ferrari and McLaren,” Pierre nodded, “he was good friends with Enzo Ferrari and many famous drivers- in fact, he made some drivers’ careers possible by putting money into the teams and providing resources. He made dreams come true!” 

“PJ’s Maman loved her grandfather so much that she named PJ after him,” Pierre grinned. The way Pierre’s storytelling was heartwarming for both Charles and Aimee, as he had been enthusiastic about this whole ordeal— it showed them that their children meant a lot to Pierre. 

“And that’s it,” Pierre concluded. “That’s the story of the name of Sacha Niki Pierre Philippe. Now— who has some questions?” 

The question portion started there. And the Alpine driver was ready to conclude the presentation when Claudia raised her hand as Pierre nodded at her.

“If his name is Sacha…” Pierre nodded, encouraging the little girl to nod, “Then why is he called PJ?” 

Everyone seemed curious too. But Aimee and Charles both knew why he was called PJ rather than Sacha. 

It was at Pierre’s insistence that Sacha Leclerc was destined to be Pierre Junior. He had established this as soon as Aimee and Charles arrived from the hospital the day after Sacha was born. 

But Pierre’s answer was partially different from what had happened, “His Maman and Papa said that he is Pierre Junior! Like me!” 

Pierre grinned at Aimee and Charles’ baffled looks.

“The audacity,” Aimee scoffed.

Charles chuckled, “Oh, Mon Dieu.” 

They’d have to talk to Pierre about changing certain narratives. It was okay to lie to be a wingman for your best friend, but lying to the kids about what happened with PJ’s nickname? 

Yeah, he needed some talking to.

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @hiireadstuff @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @scorpiomindfuck

[maxtermind]

baby, would i still be your lover?

★ : summary :: when he accidentally insults you during an argument ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: angst ★ : word count :: 2.9k ★ : a/n :: as much as i love making the crack texts, i'm just an angst addict 😔

Max Verstappen

Everyone, people who weren’t even in Max’s close proximity, knew that he was impulsive and a little reckless. With you, on the contrary, Max was usually a think first, act later kind of a lover. That wasn’t to say that when arguments happened, they were a pretty sight to look at.

It was a single thing that you said which suddenly turned into a huge blown out argument, leaving your head throbbing as Max continued to vent his frustrations about unrelated issues.

"You're so hot-headed, you can't even have a normal conversation without blowing up."

"Attacking me now, are you?" Max retorted, his tone defensive.

He was quick to bite back and the ball in your throat made it scratch-y to talk. You were sure that your eyes were welling up with tears but he was too far away to see it.

"I'm just stating the truth.” You started after taking a shuddering breath. “Every time we talk, it turns into a fight because you can't control your temper."

"Well, maybe if you didn't push all my buttons, we wouldn't be here."

He was talking in the same decibel at least and for a second you had hope that everything would be better. Then his words registered and the hope vanished as well.

"I'm not the one who flies off the handle at the slightest provocation!"

You had to stop and take another breath, otherwise, you were going to start crying and this conversation was inevitably going to get left in between because Max wasn’t an asshole who was okay with his girlfriend crying just because he was angry.

"You know what? I'm sick of your constant criticism."

"And I'm sick of walking on eggshells around you!"

He took a moment to say the next thing. The silence indicating that he was thinking it over first. Max's next words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

"Fine, maybe we should just call it quits then."

The suggestion hit you like a punch to the gut. Was this really that easy for him? He just ripped your heart out and splashed it on the ground. Your chest hurt so much and he was just sitting there? Was he not at all affected by the way you looked close to crying now?

"Fine. Enjoy being single and available," you retorted, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes looking over at you, indicating how he didn’t really think that you guys were breaking up. Though in your head, this was the last time you were ever going to look into his eyes again.

"You're too sensitive, always getting upset over nothing."

You were already on the edge, not having even processed that you guys almost- probably did break up over you trying to talk something out with him.

“Us breaking up is nothing to you?”

The weight of his words crashed over you, the tears finally spilling down your cheeks. Max's expression softened, regret flashing in his eyes, but it was too late. The damage had been done, and the fragile bond between you felt irreparably shattered.

Lewis Hamilton

How can one tell if they really are in a good relationship? Is it the security and sense of peace? Is it the frequent love confessions? Honestly, the explanation might differ person to person but one thing you always believed that made a relationship was being level headed even during arguments when emotions were running high

Needless to say, you were very glad you found solace in Lewis. A person who was prone to recognizing the impact of his words. Arguments between you two were rare, and when they did occur, Lewis prioritized finding solutions rather than escalating the conflict. His ability to remain level-headed during disagreements was a cornerstone of your relationship.

Everyone has those days though, when acting out of character seems more suitable than the usual. Moments when emotions override reason.

You were more worked up than usual. Your insides were burning with this desire to get answers because your boyfriend wasn’t there with you on the day you needed him the most.

You drove back home from your conference, dismayed despite it being a very successful session, given that your proposal got accepted as soon as you were done. You just wished your chocolate eyed man was sitting in the crowd looking at you with his signature proud smile.

After a shower, you sat on your couch to watch some show and just move on from the bittersweet day. It was an hour later, when your boyfriend showed up with a bouquet in his hand. Lewis walked over to you and leaned down to kiss your head.

“Congratulations, love," he greeted, oblivious to the storm brewing within you. “Saw it on the news, sorry I couldn’t join you. Got caught up with work.”

Usually, you would have avoided the argument till you felt like you could understand his side too. That was one of the things that helped you guys the most. You both waited to discuss stuff till you knew you were calm and ready to get what the other was saying.

“Aren’t you too busy with work lately?”

He gave a humorous huff in return, not catching on.

“You know how it is once the season starts.”

“You literally got home last night and you had to go in again early in the morning?”

“Missed me?”

He had a playful grin on his face and it killed you to spoil the good mood.

"Of course, after all you're more committed to your cars than you are to me."

The words left your mouth and you were too far gone to be caring about it at this point. Lewis has been such a passionate lover so this sudden shift was hurting you.

“What was that?” he responded, his tone sharp with surprise.

However, you were done and already up to call in early but his words stopped you on our track.

“Wow. You're so insecure, it's exhausting trying to boost your ego all the time."

Tears immediately welled up in your eyes but you didn’t turn around and with a deflated sigh, walked into your bedroom before locking the door while Lewis stood frozen in his place, not believing his own words.

It was like he was in a stance and all he could do was listen to you cry through the closed door on a day when you guys were supposed to be celebrating each other’s wins.

Carlos Sainz

Carlos was the perfect man. His mature yet easy going demeanor was exactly what you needed in a partner. You hadn't been together for that long to be at the altar but just enough to know that you were going to last.

You understood the demands on Carlos's time, with his career in the spotlight of the racing world when you decided to say yes to a date with him. Carlos was left with very less time away from all the glam, media and the track. Making it precious because of how rare it was.

You mostly accompanied him and let him drag you around to wherever he wanted once he had the break. So imagine your surprise when the only time you made some pretty important plans and he refused to tag alone.

"I can’t believe you’re saying no to this," you protested, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“I’m not saying no to anything, Carina.” He kissed your knuckles to un-knot the strong fist you’ve made of them. “I’m just suggesting we do it some other time.”

"But this is the third time, Carlos!" You stood up, unable to contain your hurt and disappointment. “Sorry if meeting my parents is such a chore for you.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth now.” Carlos responded with a sigh, attempting to pull you into a hug, which you reluctantly accepted. “It's not about it being a chore. You know I'd do anything for you, Y/N."

"I do know that, but actions speak louder than words, Carlos. My family is important to me."

“I promise that I want to meet them. I do. It's just… the timing."

"I don't want promises, Carlos. I want actions. If you can't even make it to meet my parents, what does that say about our future?" You insisted with a heavy heart, putting distance between you two.

"You're blowing this out of proportion, Y/N." Carlos countered, frustration evident in his voice.

"Out of proportion? I just wanted you to meet my family, and you can't even do that!"

“Well, I don’t have time to waste on this! If you want to go, just go alone!” His words hung in the air, a sharp pang of hurt piercing through you.

You immediately took a step back and saw him do the same. Both of you standing there as the silence stretched, contemplating in silence what exactly the next course of action was going to be.

“Y/N, I…” He trailed off as you glared at your foot, trying to hold the tears in before one eventually slipped and fell down your cheek.

“Baby, no! Don’t cry!” He panicked about extending his hand, about to touch you but you flinched away and shook your head.

“Carlos, if you think I’ll just ignore what you said ten seconds ago then you’re very wrong.” You whispered, your voice thick and husky.

Guess you were the only one from you both expecting this relationship to last. A second later, you were clutching your bag in your hand and walking towards the exit, speaking up before Carlos could beg you once again to ‘sit and talk it out.’

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice barely a whisper. “Thanks for letting me know that our time together was time wasted for you.”

You walked out with his heart in your pocket, your own splashed on the floor of your apartment.

Charles Leclerc

Charles was the love of your life, the very time you saw him smile at you from across the room igniting a spark in you that shaped your future together.

He walked over to you with a pretty girl hanging onto his arm, leaving the impression that they were more than friends. Everyone around you was also convinced at the time that they were dating but Charles bluntly flirting with proved just how different the real life scenario was.

Pippa was just his ‘best friend,’ someone who throws side eyes at you every time you and your boyfriend are in close proximity to her. Despite nearly a year together, her hostility persisted, the woman was a different kind of vicious. Hell bent on draining your energy.

It was physically exhausting being around her with her catty sarcastic tone that Charles always failed to notice. It was just another one of those days and Charles dismissed your concerns as usual, leaving you frustrated.

This time it was pissing you off greatly.

"Doesn't she realize we're together?" You rolled your eyes.

Charles remained silent and that drew your brows together.

“Charles, does she not think we’re serious?”

“I don't think so. She's always been oblivious to these things.”

And honestly? That fucking hurt. It hurt to know that Charles noticed this but was still rather quick to defend her every time.

"But we've been together almost a year?”

"Baby, she just never pays attention.” His arm pulled you closer to his chest. “Or maybe she doesn't want to see it."

"Do you think she has feelings for you?”

There it was, the truth out in the open. As much as it made you want to die to say it out loud and acknowledge it, your body felt lighter while the comforting arm around your waist began to feel heavier.

"I don't know. Maybe?” Charles’ chest heaved with a deep sigh, "It's complicated?"

The heart beating in your chest stopped for a long second because of how unconcerned your boyfriend seemed right now. Was he seriously just going to accept that a person he has shared so much history with wants to steal him from you?

“It’s not that simple, darling. she's been a friend for years.”

“Yeah, well, friends don't act like that. She’s just what? Waiting for the right moment to swoop in and steal you away from me?”

Charles did not like it because the arm was moved away from you in a second and he was sitting a bit straighter now. He looked furious and ready to defend his best friend and all that was running through your head was how he would probably not do the same for you in front of her.

"That's enough, Y/N. You're being paranoid."

"Paranoid? Or realistic? Face it, Charles, you're so blind when it comes to her. It makes me feel so small compared to her!"

Charles, frustrated and defensive, ran a hand through his hair and shot back,"Don't flatter yourself thinking Pippa gives a damn about you or me."

Lando Norris

No one could deny the magnetic pull Lando had on everyone around him. It was, after all, what drew you to him in the first place. You had your biases but he broke through them all with his shameless at worst and awkward at best flirting.

However, as you stood in a quiet corner to hide from the crowd, you couldn’t find it in yourself to sympathize with Lando. He had brought you to this glamorous social event, flashes of camera and expensive drinks overflowing all around you.

You were extremely excited to accompany your boyfriend especially since he had such an amazing season but throughout the evening, Lando was constantly pulled away by enthusiastic fans and demanding media, leaving you aside feeling like an accessory rather than his partner.

Standing in a quiet corner, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as you watched other couples bask in each other's company. You didn’t even know where Lando was at this very second.

Then, suddenly, his arms enveloped you from behind, his lips pressing gently against your head. "I'm sorry, babe. Everyone here just wants a piece of me," he murmured, attempting to console you.

You sighed and tried to calm yourself so you wouldn't explode in front of everyone, "I understand, but I miss spending time with you."

"I promise, I'll make it up to you tonight." Lando winked, keeping the conversation light.

That was all he said before someone from your left approached him again and your safety haven spot under the stairs was crowded with journalists a second later. You rolled your eyes before walking away, with half a mind to grab a cab and leave.

It was on your way back home when your patience finally ran its course as you listened to your boyfriend go on and on about how much of a success the event was.

“Why did you even take me with you?” You interrupted, your tone tinged with hurt and watched as the smile on his face got replaced with a frown.

“What?”

“I mean… you barely clicked two pictures with me and then left me to fetch for myself? You didn’t even come stand with me for more than a minute?”

"Babe, I'm sorry, but this is part of the job."

"I get it, but it doesn't make it easier.” You felt your own body shudder because of how overwhelmed you felt. “You were there talking to everyone but me!”

Lando opened his mouth to say something but you weren’t done yet.

“They were all strangers to me and you didn’t even acknowledge this! I was standing there alone the whole time, watching others and wondering why my boyfriend wasn’t there for me!”

The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, there was silence. You stopped to take a breath and not start crying. Then, Lando spoke, his words struck like a knife to the heart.

“This isn’t… This isn’t about you. Why are you always making it about you?”

Your body froze after that and your mind went blank. You didn’t care that the tears were running out of your eyes or that apologies were falling from his mouth. His own eyes were welling up because he knew.

He knew what he said was unacceptable.

You were so zoned out that as soon as the car stopped, you got out of the car. Thankful to catch the glimpse of yellow among the traffic before you hailed a taxi, the distance between you and Lando growing with each passing moment.

He attempted to hold your arm, his own tears falling down his face. You just wanted to put your point across but with his reaction, you were certain you guys were done for.

“I guess I expected a little too much from you, Lando.”

With a heavy heart, you walked away, knowing that sometimes love wasn't enough to mend the fractures in a relationship.

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[adventuringblind]

Hi!

can you do a fic w/ Oscar where the reader is a PhD student so they can’t really go to any of the races so fans online are DRAGGING her by saying she’s a bad gf, Oscar should cheat on her, and she doesn’t deserve him etc. Maybe she has like an identity crisis at a race and is questioning everything so Oscar is there to comfort and reassure her?

I’m sorry this is very long!

also I love your writing :)

The Psychology of Fans

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst if you squint

Request: omg I love this idea, specifically because I am a student. Also send me ideas plz 🙏. I don't think y'all understand the excitement it brings me to make something that you enjoy :)

Summary: it's a busy time in readers life working on her PhD in psychology. She wants to support Oscar as much as possible but is struggling to find the time. The fans take notice of her lack of presence and start tearing her down because of it.

Warnings: Toxic fans, panic attacks

Notes: written in third person. This one was challenging, but fun to write!

Masterlist

Everything had been going amazing for the couple. She was starting her PhD in psychology, and Oscar had signed with McLaren for a seat. They were ecstatic for eachother.

They had their own dynamic that worked for them. Spending time together when they could but being patient with the other if things didn't go to plan.

When they started dating, she had requested that her socials and information remain private. She didn't care if people knew they were dating. She just didn't want to deal with the fans and media while she was deep in her studies.

Things between them were great. Oscar tried to keep things as private as he could. It was simple during his formula 2 career when they started dating. There weren’t as many people watching his every step.

His fan base grew exponentially as soon as he signed with McLaren. All the sudden people were everywhere asking for pictures and autographs. All the while, people were asking about his dating life. They were asking questions about her.

When the Australian Grand Prix came around, she made sure she was there to see it. She wanted to support Oscar and his first formula 1 race. It was an exciting moment for him and you wanted to share it together.

The cameras and fans were relentless and ridiculous, in her opinion. Their was never a moment of peace since they wanted to know everything about Oscar and his guest.

After everything was said and done, the fans took nicely to her and Oscar. It was relieving for both of you. It gave the press team less to worry about. Not that either would have cared, but it was nice knowing he wouldn’t had to hear about it in meetings.

School had started picking up the pace. McLaren was struggling this season. It left both of them stressed and longing for each other. She wanted to support him more then what she was but her schedule didn’t allow for it.

Sometimes she would travel with Oscar but didn’t go to the track. It was a small gesture that he appreciated. He didn’t care where she was as long as she was cheering for him.

The fans had taken notice of her lack of attendance. Coming up with their own assumptions about why she wasn’t there. Calling her names that were untrue and hurtful

“Oscar deserves better.”

“Bet she just wants a top driver.”

“Maybe she has other guys when he’s gone.”

It was driving her insane. She knew it shouldn’t get under her skin, but it did. Oscar did deserve someone who could support him full time. Who cheered him on at every race. It was causing her more stress then she could manage.

She decided not to tell Oscar. The idea of burdening him anymore made her feel sick.

~

It was now the British Grand Prix and she had decided to go and support Oscar despite the work that was piling up on her plate. He had gotten new upgrades on his car and she was saying prayers that they worked.

She practically fell over when he finished fourth. Screaming in joy for the Australian who had been working so hard.

It was on their way out that everything seemed to fall apart.

Fans wanted pictures and the cameras were still in his face. He tried to shied the girl beside him from it, pulling into his side while he walked. It was then he heard what they were saying. Heat rising to his face.

“If you’re not going to say something nice then let us through please.” Oscar pushed past everyone and forced his way to their car.

He held her close that night and reassured her that they were spewing lies. This if they were acting like that then they weren’t real fans.

~

Oscar was shocked when she came to the Hungarian Grand Prix. He knew she was stressed about school. He saw the dark circles under her eyes. But she is absolutely determined.

Peoples criticism was getting worse by the day. Oscar had started to catch on since his PR team was now bringing it up but he didn’t want to push her.

It was the end of qualifying. Another success from Oscar. A success she didn’t get to see despite all her best efforts.

The thought of what everyone was saying ran wild in her head. An interaction with a few fans left her devastated. They were saying she was only here now because Oscar is doing well. How she should support him through it all. How he could do better then her. How he deserved more.

She was sobbing now. Her mind screaming insecurities. Her breath uneven and her hands clutching her head as she tried to block out the voices.

Oscar had been looking for her after the press conference. He wanted nothing more then to hold her in his arms and celebrate his achievement. He’d been looking for ten minutes with no sign of her.

He tried calling and texting, but had yet to receive an answer. Worry started to settle in his chest. His efforts now expedited only to run right into Lando.

“Have you seen y/n anywhere?” Oscar asks the Brit.

Lando, however, was out of breath. He had run around trying to find Oscar for a few minutes. “I heard her in your driver room. She sounds awful mate.”

Oscar didn’t waste a second moving in that direction. He felt a bit stupid for not having checked there first.

It didn’t take him long until he was swinging open the door to reveal her curled up on the floor. Her hands over her ears and body shaking.

He crouches down next to her. Slowly so he doesn’t scare her.

Sue didn't notice his presence. She couldn't even see her surroundings. Everything was going dark and she knew she needed to breathe or she would lose consciousness.

She heard faint yelling. "Lando!"

It was Oscar's voice. The sound almost drew her back to reality. But the dark confines of her mind had too much of a grip.

Oscar was ready to go into his own panicked state, but he needed to remain calm. He hears Lando slide into the doorway. His face dropping immediately now that he can actually see her.

Oscar takes her into his arms. Her curled up body was now placed between his legs. Her back against his chest.

She was completely absent. She wanted to protest and understand what was happening, but the fear of letting the voices in made her refrain from doing so.

It was difficult for Oscar to stay calm. He'd never seen her like this. He ran his fingers gently up and down her back. He uses his leg to push hers closer to the ground. Her body is trying to fight his, but the lack of air in her lungs makes it difficult.

Oscar wraps his arms around her now, pulling her further into him. Still trying every tech he knows to soothe her.

Lando came back with water and made his best attempt at coaching him through this.

She still was struggling to breathe, which concerned them both. Her hands gripped her head so hard he could see little spots of crimson in crescent shapes.

"Talk to her, mate. It might help her get out of her head."

Oscar nodded his head at Lando's suggestion. The Brit then ran off again to investigate what happened.

Instead of holding her around her middle, Oscar switched his tactics. Moving his hands to slip underneath hers. The little specks of blood now decorate his fingers.

Her mind was trying to grasp onto anything to bring her back. The thoughts are doing their best to pull her back under. She knows Oscar is there. She tries to ground herself with his touch.

He's repeating his words - a prayer falling from his lips willing her back to him. "I've got you. I'm here. Breathe. You're safe."

She tries to slow her erratic heart. Her body has been dry heaving and coughing from the sheer amount of static.

She finds the feeling in her arms and legs come back, using it to push herself further into Oscar. Then, finally, she can feel the thick cloud that has taken hold of her mind to start to filter through. The end of the tunnel in sight.

Her body practically goes limp. Oscar holds her up and leans her head on his chest. Trying to soothe the female in his lap.

Everything in her body hurts, but her lungs are finally getting some reprieve. She takes in the situation around her. Oscar's comforting touch keeps her present.

Her body stops trembling. Only little hiccups now escape as the tears slow. It hurts Oscar to see her like this. She looks broken and he dosen't know how he didn't catch it sooner.

"I'm sorry" falls from her lips. He just shushs her and continues to stroke her arm. "You deserve better than me."

Oscar is taken aback by her admission. He was too stunned to stop her before she continued on. "Other girls can be there to support you. They aren't as busy with school. They are prettier and can travel with you, and you wouldn't have to worry about them cheating -"

Oscar shifts them around until he can see her face. Her puffy teary eyes shattering him. He holds her face in his hands. “Other girls aren’t you.”

She can’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes again. A flurry of emotions tries to take hold once again.

“Who gave you that idea?”

She shakes her head. Willing him to ask anything else. Panic again rising into her throat as caught wrack her body. She tried to pull away from him. Her body starting to close in on itself again at the memories.

Oscar doesn’t let it happen. Holding her in place firmly yes every one of his touches are gentle and loving. He silently wills Lando to come back faster. His teammate has dealt with anxiety and would know better then him what to do.

“It’s okay, Love. We don’t have to talk about it.” He soothes and reassures her until her body goes lax agains his once again. Put exhaustion takes over and she can’t will herself to stay coherent and conscious any longer.

Oscar is relieved when she falls asleep on him. Her breathing becomes even and her body now relaxes.

Lando reappeared in the doorway ten minutes later; Out of breath and drenched in sweat. “Mate, you’re not gonna like this.”

~

The two boys moved the girl to the small couch and draped her against it gently.

Oscar was trying to hold in his rage. He wanted to storm out of the motor home and unleash his anger on everyone who ever said a word against his girl. The girl he loves. The one he chose and trusts and is ridiculously proud of. Her accomplishments deserve to be praised, not torn down by those who call themselves fans.

Lando had warned him against it. It would be a PR mess and might actually cause her more anxiety. So he bit his tongue and put on the Oscar everyone was used to seeing.

He practically sped through all his media duties. Wanting nothing more then to see that he got her back to the hotel room. Back to a safe environment where she could open up to him.

Oscar was done quickly and back in his room and changed within an hour. The woman asleep on the couch still breathing evenly.

He knew he didn’t need to, but he waited for Lando. The Brit had offered to help him get her back safely and fend off any media who tried to talk to them.

He welcomed the fact that they were distracted. Not caring much as passerby’s gave him weird looks.

~

She woke up in a foreign place. She distinctly remembers being at the track. Regardless, she couldn’t help but sink into the comfort.

Oscar her her shifting around. Gently seating himself next to her on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” She rasped. Her throat both sore and dry from her earlier wailing.

“Please don’t panic-“ he places a hand over hers. “- Lando told me what happened. We’ve both made statements about it and the PR team is doing the rest. Everyone agrees it isn’t right.”

A weight felt like it was being lifted of her chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job to make sure things like this don’t happen. I love you so much and I hated seeing you like this. I don’t car in anyone else sees it. I see it and I see you. And you want to know what I see?”

She shoot him a quizzical look, curious as to where he’s going with this.

He smiles. The smiles that makes her feel warm. The smile that make heat rise to her face.

“The greatest thing I could have ever asked for.l

[scuderiahoney]

hi hiii!! congrats for 1k 💐💐💐 can i ask for a little blurb for max verstappen with “your emotions are valid, never apologize for feeling this way” or “hug?” with the reader being the one comforting him, maybe? thank you in advance and once again, congrats!

1k celebration! hi bestie thank you for the flowers and the request! just now realized this said or. I wrote both.

Max has had an awful weekend. You know it, he knows it, the team knows it, and because Max has no filter, the whole world knows it. You’re dreading having to go bother him, knowing you’re the last person he wants to see on a day like today. You take a deep breath and steel yourself before you knock on his driver room door and call out his name.

“S’open,” he calls back.

You close your eyes for just a moment. You’d honestly been hoping he would’ve just sent you away. No such luck. You put on the handle and open the door. He’s sitting with his back to you, eyes on his computer screen, already looking at the data.

“They want you for interviews in ten minutes,” you tell him, keeping your voice low and soft, non threatening. “I can maybe delay them for 20 with an engineer, if you need it.

He nods and scrubs his hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Can you close the door?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ll go. I can brief you on the way to the-“

“Don’t go,” he says, soft but urgent. “That’s not- you can stay, if you want. Please. Just-“

You step fully into the room and close the door. Suddenly your heart is racing. His shoulders drop at the click of the latch, and then he finally turns to look at you. His eyes are red rimmed and glassy, and your chest aches at the sight.

“Sorry,” he says, like it's a reflex. Like maybe he’s spent his whole life apologizing for this.

You blink and lean back against the door. “Don’t be sorry.”

He closes his eyes and runs his hand over his jaw again, like he’s trying to soothe some deep ache. Like maybe he’s been clenching it too tightly all day. All weekend, probably.

“Your emotions are valid,” you say, hating how cookie cutter it sounds but hoping he understands. “You never have to apologize to me for feeling this way.”

He nods sharply. You don’t know what to do except stand there. He lets out a slow breath, one that sounds like it pains him.

“I can get you more time, if you need,” you suggest. “Shit, I’ll go do an interview if I have to. Or- I don’t know, d’you need water, or food, or-“

“Hug?” He says, so quiet you can barely hear it. You think you’ve imagined it for a moment. Then he opens his eyes, blinks up at you, and says, “could I have a hug?”

You nod, dumbfounded. “Yeah, of course.”

He stands up and stumbles his way over to where you wait with open arms. You wrap him up tightly against you as he rests his head on your shoulder and sighs. He’s always larger than life, big and bright, but suddenly you’re reminded he’s just a human.

When he pulls away, you nod, and he nods back.

“Fifteen minutes.” he says.

“No problem. I can go,” you suggest.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Stay?”

[xdacted]

The art of sibling hood

Paring: sister!Reader & Charles Leclerc

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,815

Status: Complete

***Request made by reader***

Summer break offers us a sliver of peace. 

No teams are calling, no coaches screaming, no clients to take care of - there is nothing but family. For a few weeks out of the year, all we have is each other. I can’t ask for anything better. 

We all gather at our mother’s house, hiding away there with her. It’s nice, to all be under the same roof again, we haven’t been since Lorenzo first moved out. It only worsened when I decided to take my training to France. 16 years of living under one roof was gone in an instant. We had lived together our entire lives until that point. 

It was like losing a piece of myself. 

But then, after the sadness rolled away, I was filled with so much joy. To know that both Charles and Arthur were chasing their dream, to see them every weekend battling it out on the track. Though my mother refused to watch, I always did. 

But there is always more I want to know, more I want to see. I can’t help myself from asking questions. The countries they see, the people they meet - it’s a world I’ll never know. I almost got involved, my father put me in karting as a child, but it was never my passion. Not the way it was with Arthur and Charles. I found my calling in school. 

At six, I was sitting among my classmates in the gymnasium, watching as our instructor introduced the sport of fencing. He was trying to start a club, with a school as small as ours, it wasn’t very likely to happen. 

He brandished the swords, explaining the rules. My friend, Anies, had fallen asleep on my shoulder, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I was transfixed, hooked. That day, I ran home, with the club papers in my hand and begged my parents.

At first, Papa was hesitant, telling me that this sport was a fighting spot - I wasn’t a ‘fighting girl’. But I pleaded, hooking my arms around his neck and staring up at him. This was my dream. Fencing was racing to me. Fencing was everything. 

What I didn’t understand was that fencing was also incredibly expensive. With two children karting and one in fencing, I remember the night I caught Mum and Papa talking it over, they couldn’t afford it. 

I was lucky enough to be given a scholarship by a fencing club, I would have the funding to chase my dream. Arthur, however, was not so lucky. I remember how he cried, screaming and howling into his pillow. He mourned the loss of his sport, but he was never angry. Just sad. 

I shake off the memories when Charles calls my name. 

“What?”

He looks at me, staring at me from his seat on the floor, arms holding his knees close to him. He and Arthur are playing some card game they explained more than once - but I have never cared to learn. Arthur glares at the cards below him, flipping them over in his hand.

He laughs, “I asked how training was going?”

“Good,” I burrow further into the couch, pulling a blanket across my shoulders, “When I go back, I have a tournament in Italy.”

“Well,” Arthur huffs, still fixed on the game, “You’re already a World Champion - Ugh! Charles, you’re cheating! This is why I hate playing with you!”

Charles throws his hands up, turning to Arthur with an indignant expression, “I am not a cheater. I am a man of honor, you just suck.”

With a curse, Arthur throws his cards down. 

He stands, “You’re a cheat and you know it.”

“You just don’t know how to lose.”

Arthur throws himself beside me, moving the pillows so he can lean against them, crossing his arms in front of him. I don’t have to hide my laughter, I let it slip from me. The laughter is easy, the tension from yesterday gone. Charles had still been insistent on apologizing, even when I told him to just drop it. 

My brother is one of the kindest people in the world. 

“What about you?” I dare to ask, offering Arthur some of my blanket, “How’s Ferrari treating you?”

I don’t need to ask because I already know. Even from across the world, every Sunday, I watch him. Every Sunday, I watch my brother get into that car and put his life on the line. And every Sunday I watch Ferrari screw him over. My teammates were getting far too tired of my outbursts. 

Charles clears his throat, looking down at the cards scattered across the floor. He sweeps them together, shuffling them, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

I’m stepping on thin ice. My brothers like to assume that when it came to racing they knew everything, but I had grown up around this. My father was a racer and now my brothers were racers - it was in my blood. I had just chosen not to pursue it. 

“Yes, fine.” He pushes himself up, standing and walking to the edge of the couch. 

“If you say so, brother,” Charles opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of the doorbell cuts him off. 

He practically leaps over the couches, nearly tripping over the carpet, to throw the door open. My mother hardly has time to scold him as she steps inside her room because cheery voices are ringing out through the house. 

“Hello!”

Lorenzo comes bounding from upstairs and Arthur rolls off the couch, kicking the blanket away from him. The three women who step inside the house bring the light of the shining sun with them. 

“Girls!” I cry, it has been so long since I’ve last seen them. 

Carla sees me first, throwing her hands in the air. She pushes past Arthur to sweep me into a hug. The position is awkward, as her body curves over the couch and I attempt to reach up to her, but I can feel her laughter vibrate within her chest. 

“Did you get in today?” Her eyes are shining and the glasses perched atop her head threaten to fall, “Why didn’t you text me?”

“I wanted to surprise you, of course!” When we pull away, Charlotte and Alexandria are right beside us. 

“We need to get breakfast while you’re here,” Charlotte says, pressing her hands together. It isn’t so much a request as it is a plan in motion. 

I just nod along. I look around, my brother’s waiting behind them with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased expression. 

“What?”

“They’re supposed to be here to see us.”

“No,” Charlotte says, wrapping her arms around me, “We’re here for her and of course - Pascale.”

“Hello, dear,” Mum says, Carla placing welcoming kisses on her cheeks. 

I turn to my left, Alex having taken a seat in the open space that Arthur left. 

“Hey,” I whisper, pulling her close. 

“Hi,” She whispers back. 

There’s something different. I can tell when she hugs me, pressing a kiss on my cheek. When we pull away, there’s a glow to her skin and a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Is there -?” 

Charles is draped across her in a second, gentle hands on her shoulders, “She is my girlfriend. Please, do not be selfish.”

Alex only rolls her eyes and I can’t help but follow. 

What a drama queen. 

__________

I watch Charles and Alex as Mum bustles around the kitchen. It’s little, but something is different. I can feel it. Something about the way Charles has an arm curled around her waist or the way she clings to his arm. They keep eyeing the rest of us, Alex turning around to whisper in his ear. 

Hm. How strange. 

Alex was quite shy, this much became evident when I first met her, but she was by no means afraid of the family. Just a few weeks earlier she had come to visit me in France, we spent the day together and had been texting each other constantly. 

What could it be?

I met her eyes and she sharply turned away from me. 

A secret then. 

Papa liked to say that I inherited Mum’s gift for reading people, especially my brothers. Even when we’re separated by seas, I know when something’s bothering them. I know when something is wrong. 

But this - this was different. 

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. 

But, my mind can help but wonder, what if - no. Could it be?

“Arthur.”

He hardly looks up from his phone, “Hm?”

“Wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” He asks, still scrolling. 

I lean in closer, “I think Alex is pregnant.”

Arthur nearly drops his phone. He whips his head over to look at me, mouth agape, “What?!”

“Sh!” I smack his arm, he is going to give us away, “You’re so loud…”

“Why do you think she’s pregnant?” He whisper-shouts, “That’s crazy. Charles would’ve told us.”

“Maybe he’s going to tell us tonight,” I shrug, pulling away from him. 

“Are you in or out?” I crossed my legs, my gut feelings were always strong. I’d guessed many things over the years and felt a change within the people around me before they told me. I’d known Charles got signed to Ferrari before he told us, or that Arthur was going to be moved to F2, or that Lorenzo had met someone new - all of these things, I’d felt. All of these things I guessed. 

Maybe I was a bit psychic. 

“You’re on,” He stuck his hand out, “€10?”

I scoffed, “That’s nothing - €100.”

“You could be wrong.”

“I could be right,” I looked down at his waiting hand. 

“€50?”

I slapped my hand in his, “€50 it is!”

“You’re going down,” He whispered, squeezing my hand. I kick at his shin.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get, dumbass.”

“LANGUAGE!”

__________

Dinner is an easy affair. The time ticks by slowly, but none of us mind. Warm and laughter fill the house, everyone staying at the table after the food has long been eaten. Stories are tossed around and jokes float about, it's peaceful. 

A peace that’s so very addicting. 

Here, I can forget that I have to leave in only a few days. I can tell that the boys forget too, throwing themselves over Mum and the table. Arthur laughs so hard that he snorts and Lorenzo’s jokes have Charles reduced to tears - it’s all so nostalgic. 

As we eat, I can see Charles and Alex glance at each other, watching as he scoops her hand in his. She whispers something in his ear and he nods. 

Before I know it, they are both standing. 

“I,” He clears his throat, “I have something to say - well, we do, actually...”

“Well,” Alex begins, a bright smile pulling over her face, “Charles and I are expecting a - a child.”

The table erupts into cheers and exclamations. Mum drops her head into her hands, and before we can rush over, she looks up with tears in her eyes and a dazzling smile on her lips. We stand to offer them hugs and kisses, pats, and words of encouragement. 

“I told you!” I cry. 

Arthur lets out a loud groan, pushing his face into his hands, “Why?”

Confusion is written across their face and I can only laugh

I hold out a waiting hand.

With another groan and a roll of his eyes, he shoves his hand into his pockets, pulling out the €50 I’m owed. The bill is crunched and he drops it into my palm with little fanfare. 

“This is so unfair,” Arthur throws his arms around my shoulders, “How could you have possibly known?”

“I just do,” I shrug, looking up at him with a smile, “I’m just that good.”

“I knew it,” Carla giggles, “You are a psychic.”

I lock eyes with Mum over the table, she flashes me a smile.

“Of course,” I say, “I learned from the very best.”

__________

The ocean calls our name, the lull of the tides and the crashing of the waves. Such a beautiful song and we can do nothing but dance to it. With the sun shining down on our backs, we pile into Charles’s boat, clinging to the railing as we push away from the dock. The salt of the air tangles in my hair, and gentle winds give us a beautiful day. The weather was perfect, the sea was calm. What more could we ever ask for?

We spend the day lounging about the boat, pushing and shoving each other in the water. I manage to convince Charles to let me take the smaller boat out for a spin, with Carla clinging to the seats, and Charolette cheering us on from the deck above. I can’t help but dissolve into laughter at his face, twisted with worry. 

The water is cool against our heated skin, it invites us in for more. The longer we stay, the more we forget about the world that surrounds us. It is nearly enough to make me forget about my flight in only a few days. I will have to leave and this will all become a memory. 

But what a beautiful memory it will be. 

I can’t dwell on my thoughts, because Charlotte demands that we all jump. There is little fanfare for Charles and Lorenzo as they practically wrestle to the sea below. Arthur grips my hand as we jump, throwing ourselves into the Moncao air, caught by the arms of the sea. 

It is perfect. It is home. 

When the sun begins to dip in the sky, my mother draws herself up from the couch and claims that dinner will not ready itself. The others agree and begin to shuffle off but Carla and I are the last to get back from the boat. Though Charles has always held the title of ‘captain’, I have always maintained that the sea is but a little requirement for boating. We stayed behind to just lounge about in the sun, only coming back to the house when she got a frantic call from Arthur, telling her to come back. 

“What’s…” The words die in our throats when we see Alex huddled in the corner, sobbing into her hands. Charlotte stands over her, rubbing a reassuring hand over her back, whispering something into her ear. 

Before we can say another word, Arthur and Lorenzo interrupt us. He pulls us into a corner of the house, wiping his hands on his shorts. His eyes dart around the room, lip caught between his teeth. 

“What happened?” Carla demands. 

“It - it was the press,” Arthur manages, “They got pictures from earlier, on the boat.”

I need to hear little else. I dig my phone from my bag.

Finding the photo doesn’t take much work. It’s there as soon as I open Twitter, Alexandria and Charles standing on the balcony of the boat. Her hands on her stomach, nothing there to show - not yet - but the implication is enough for the media to run with. 

I can hardly breathe. 

Anger coils tight within me. 

Fucking vultures. 

Carla gasps from beside me, pressing a hand to her mouth. The headlines make my stomach turn. Far too atrocious to look at, I shove my phone back into my bag. Carla is quick to slip from beside me, rushing over to the couch, and dropping to her knees beside Alex. 

Haven’t they gone through enough? Have people not thrown Alex into the fire already? Had they not already ripped her apart? I remember the articles and the tweets when their relationship went public, the look of sadness on her face. People hated her simply because she loved Charles. How they got together and why they got together was no one’s business but their own. 

“Where -” I cut myself off, dropping my voice lower, “Where’s Charles?”

For a moment, Lorenzo doesn’t answer me, phone in hand. I can’t tell who’s calling, but the grave look on his face is all I need to know. He shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“He’s outside,” He whispers, sparing a look over at Alex, “He stormed out and won’t come back in.”

“Of course! He’s upset!” I hiss, this was private. This was personal. The media has taken that away from him. 

Lorenzo holds his hands up, “I’m not saying he shouldn’t be - I’m not saying that I’m not,” He sighs, “But this is more - this is more than just…”

He looks away, rubbing a hand over his face, “He can’t run from this now.” 

I turn away from Lorenzo and the tears begin to gather in my eyes before I can gather the courage to force them back. I wrap my arms around myself, afraid that I might throw something across the room. 

This wasn’t right. 

Summer is our time. 

There is never any anger, never any sadness. That’s the world that waits beyond the walls of our home, that is the world we leave behind. We shut it all out because summer break is just us. I don’t realize that I’ve begun to dig my fingers into the flesh of my arm until Arthur yanks my hands away. 

He doesn’t say anything, just squeezing my hands in his. I can’t look at him, but I feel his gaze on me. When he releases me, my hands drop back down to my sides. I suck in a large gulp of air, trying to calm the pounding of my heartbeat. 

Before I can make my way to Alex, Charlotte stops me. She holds her hand up, a sad smile on her face. 

‘We’ve got it,’ She mouths, ‘Go.’

Her eyes flicker to the terrace, doors closed tightly. I can see, in the shadows of the darkness, Charles. 

“I’ll be back,” I whisper, reaching out to squeeze Arthur’s shoulder before I walk towards the doors. 

I gently push them open, waiting for Charles to scream out that he wasn’t privacy, that he needs space, but he never does

I step through. 

Charles stands out on the balcony, hands clutching onto the terrace railing. He stares into the swaying trees of our backyard, the melting sun casting a glow around the shadow of the house. Though the wind blows, there is no twinkle of windchimes. There is no echo of laughter or memory of youth, there is nothing. The light from the entry room spills across his back, but he doesn’t turn. 

The silence is thick, sitting heavily atop the both of us. With his back turned to me, I can’t see his face. There’s a selfish part of me that never wants to. I never want to see the pain and anger on my brother’s face. I never want to watch his heart fall apart before me. He is my family, an extension of myself. 

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?” 

His voice is hardly above a whisper, nearly consumed by the distant sounds of the city, but I hear. It cuts through the silence, piercing it with ease. There is sadness in his voice and I can feel the tears burn once more. His shoulders slump forward, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. For a movement, I fear that he might collapse. 

I take a tentative step forward. 

My brother is many things. Charles is competitive and rash, he is hard-working and self-deprecating. But he is also kind and forgiving, with a smile like the sun and a laugh like the sea. He is good. Our Papa used to say that Lorenzo and I got all the anger and bite, as it never seemed that Charles could hate, to be spiteful. 

Always the first to take the blame, always the first to vouch, always the first to arrive, always the last to go. 

My brother is good. 

And the world is cruel. 

“Charles,” I whisper, he doesn’t turn.

I reach for him, my fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his shirt, “Charles.”

He finally turns, biting his lip, tears in his eyes. The words die in my throat. There is nothing I can say to fix his pain, nothing I can do to take his unhappiness away. It kills me. They may be my older brothers, but I have always been fiercely protective of them. To hurt them was to hurt me - and to hurt them was unforgivable. 

And Charles. 

Charles, who flew through the night to catch my competitions. Charles, who cheered me on, even if he knew nothing about fencing. Charles, who always had an extra Paddock Pass for me. Charles, who always let me have his last cookie or pastry. Charles, who held me when I wailed for weeks after Papa’s passing. Charles put the money he earned in Formula 1 into getting Arthur back into carting. Charles, who always called to scream ‘Happy Birthday’ in my ear. 

That Charles. 

My brother Charles, would forgive. He will see it as a mistake, he will blame himself. In only a few hours, he will make a statement and tell the truth - because that’s just who he is. 

I throw my arms open and catch him as he falls into them. 

He doesn’t cry, not at first, just clinging onto me. But then, the moment that Alex’s cries drift onto the open terrace, he begins to weep. He sobbed into my shoulder, pressing his wet face into the fabric of my shirt. He clutches my hand, and I can do nothing but hold him. 

I hold him and let him fall apart. 

From over Charle’s shoulder, I see Arthur peeking out at us. He wrings his hands, twisting his fingers around. He can’t sit still, pacing around the room, brushing Carla away when she tries to calm him. 

I gesture for him to come and he does. 

Before I can say a word, he’s wrapping his arms around Charles, burying his face into his back. 

“We’ll fix this,” He mumbles, “I - I don’t know how, but we will.”

Charles doesn’t speak, he just searches for Arthur’s hand blindly in the pile of libs and holds on. It’s all we can do. I feel like I am 15 years old, losing our father again. It feels just as it did then, unbearable. But we do just what we did then, we hold each other. Clinging onto the only people that we have known since before we knew them, the only people that will love us even when no one else does. 

The only person -

Lorenzo is there, strong arms trying to tuck us all into him. I can feel his warmth against my back and push my face into his chest. 

“We’ve got you, Charlie,” He says, “We’ve got you.”

We do. 

We always will. 

_________________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

[thebearchives]

ma moitié | CL16

PAIRING: charles leclerc x fem!reader

REQUESTED: [X] yes [] no

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

SYNOPSIS: no time better to confess than after a near-death experience, am i right?

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort, angst?, descriptions of a car crash, literally every dialogue is french so LOTS of translations (looking back now, i could have just been like “italics = french” but it’s too late), probably really inaccurate descriptions of a race bc idk logistics of races oops

as always, don’t be a ghost reader!

“je me sens vraiment bien pour aujourd'hui, c'est mauvais?” i feel really good about today, is that bad?

your eyes dragged up from the egg you had just cracked into the hot pan and onto your phone, poorly propped up against a loaf of bread. said phone’s screen displayed the view up charles’ nose, his eyelashes peeking over the apples of his cheek. no doubt, he had been holding up his phone mic against his lips, making sure you could hear him over the bustling of the garage.

a giggle caused him to bring the phone back down, full face now in frame. his eyes were furrowed as he questioned, “tu te moques de moi? c'est mauvais, je le savais.” you're laughing at me? it's bad, i knew it.

you cut him off before he could get inside his head and stress himself out, “non, non, char, ce n'est pas mal du tout. vos résultats ont été bons tout le week-end, bien meilleurs que lors de vos dernières courses.” it's not bad at all. your results have been good all weekend, much better than any of your last races.

you turned the heat down of your egg, “il n'est pas faux de penser qu'aujourd'hui sera bon aussi.” it's not wrong to think today will be good too.

“alors pourquoi avez-vous ri?” then why did you laugh?

the pout on his face was adorable. adorable and absolutely horrible for your heart, which ached lightly. you wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, arms around his neck and lips on his, kissing that pout away.

“allô?” charles’ voice brought you out of your thoughts, he scoffed playfully, “regarde-toi tu essaies de trouver une excuse.” hello?...look at you trying to come up with an excuse.

you reluctantly pulled your eyes away from his lips. at least there was one good thing about him travelling a lot for his job; whenever he called you, you could stare at his lips for as long as you wanted and he’d never know. 

“je n'ai pas besoin d'excuse, mais si tu veux savoir, ta voix s'est coupée et je n'ai pas tout compris.” i don't need an excuse, but if you must know, your voice cut out and I didn't catch everything.

you lied. of course, you would. why wouldn’t you? it’s not like you could tell him ‘hey, yeah, sorry i was staring at your lips because i want to kiss them.’ years of hiding it straight down the drain, along with his friendship too.

“mon dieu, encore ça? je viens littéralement de mettre à jour le plan que nous avons,” charles sighed, “peut-être que vous avez juste besoin d'un nouveau téléphone.” my god, that again? i literally just upgraded our plan…maybe you just need a new phone.

you waved him off, flipping your egg over. oops, slightly burnt. 

“ouais, ouais, le meilleur fournisseur de wifi de tout monaco, ça ne pourrait jamais être leur faute. pourquoi es-tu si catégorique sur le fait que c'est mon téléphone?” yeah, yeah, best wifi provider in all of monaco, could never be their fault. why are you so adamant it's my phone?

“parce qu'il l'est! il fonctionne parfaitement sur tous les appareils de la maison, sauf le téléphone.” because it is! it runs perfectly on every device in our house except your phone. 

charles brought the phone closer to his lips again, this time, however, it was angled sideways so you could see just outside his open driver room. he spoke again, “je vais payer même pour ton nouveau téléphone si tu le veux.” i'll even pay for your new phone if you want it.

“peu importe,” you rolled your eyes, “ne devrais-tu pas être littéralement dans ta voiture en ce moment?” whatever…shouldn’t you literally be in your car right now?

before charles could reply to you, his name was called out from somewhere outside the frame. his eyes met yours through the screen, a look of understanding shared between the two of you.

he had to go.

“tu peux le faire, char,” you smiled at him, “prends ce sentiment et fais-en une réalité.” you’ve got this, char. take that feeling and make it a reality.

“je t’aime, ma moitié.” i love you, my other half.

and then he was gone, taking your heart along with him.

moitié. you hated it when he called you those pet names. in all your years of knowing charles, rarely ever did he use your name. it was always ma moitié, mon ange, petite chou, anything and everything but your name. 

you hated the way it made you feel like you were more than just a friend to him. you hated the way it made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he returned your feelings too. you hated the butterflies, the clammy hands, the way your brain would just stop. you hated how easily you were like putty in his hands.

after charles had ended the call, you rushed to plate your egg before it burned to a crisp. with your coffee in one hand and plate in the other, you made yourself comfy on the couch, legs snug under a throw blanket, unmuting the tv which was already streaming the grand prix.

as you chewed on your breakfast, you couldn’t help but think back to charles’ words. he had every right to feel good about this race. this weekend had gone beautifully, with charles topping the times in every round of the qualifying. he was sitting in pole position, with carlos lined up right behind him in p3. you could only hope that the strategists at ferrari would help him succeed.

your lips involuntarily curled into a smile the second you saw charles’ car on the screen. that smile widened when his voice entered your ears, god, the way he spoke english was so perfect.

you wished you could have been there, in the garage wearing those red headphones. but sadly, you had taken too many sick days already and were saving your vacation days for the actual summer break and any grand prix that was especially significant to charles.

you watched the lights turn on one by one with great amazement. you had never known how it felt to be behind the wheel at that specific moment, not personally really. anytime you asked, charles would describe it as exhilarating, nerves just simply disappearing along with the lights. he’d also go on to say “you’d know if you karted with me instead of making me cry.”

and he was right. the two of you met way back when charles had only just started karting, at a karting race that your dad had been working as a commentator for. your mom, ever the outgoing person, quickly made friends with charles’ mom, and unlike charles on the circuit, you found yourself sitting next to a very small arthur, too young to kart alongside his brother.

when the race had finished, you and arthur were sat across from one another, a pile of ripped-up grass and flower petals between the two of you. the youngest leclerc’s toy car sat at the bottom of the pile, and at the sound of your mother saying ‘go’, the two of you dove your hands into the pile, fingernails scratching against the other’s hands, just to be the first to reach the car and pull it out. 

when you felt like you had finally grasped the small car, you pulled it towards yourself, unknowingly pulling the young boy along with you. as arthur lurched forward, the car slipped out of both of your hands and flew straight into charles’ head, helmet having just been taken off. 

safe to say, you had made charles cry the very first time you met him, which he never failed to bring up. 

you couldn’t help but wonder, eyes following charles’ red car along the track, if you’d be where you were in life had you not made him cry. or if 8-year-old pierre gasly hadn’t seen his friend get hit in the face with a toy car or tease him for crying like a little baby in his mother’s arms, every single time he saw you at a karting event. 

would you two be friends? would you even be living in this place, sharing a flat with charles leclerc, if it hasn’t been for that stupid ferrari toy car? 

the very toy car that arthur had gifted you and charles as a housewarming present, which now sat on the tv trolley, between two framed pictures of you two. one at your eighth birthday, months after you two had met, and one from when you were both 19, celebrating charles’ formula 2 championship title. 

the broadcast shifted to the camera in charles’ car, and you listened as he gave the team his update on his tires, and listened to them give him information in return. things were looking up for him, well-deserved after the last few shitty races.

it wasn’t until halfway into the race, right when charles had pitted for a new pair of tires, that things started to go downhill. although called in for the pit stop by the team, the mechanics had seemed unprepared for charles to pit, which caused charles to have to wait for an extra 10 seconds before exiting the pits. the lead he had built for himself slowly crumbling away, neck in neck with max’s car.

your hands gripped your empty coffee mug tightly, unmoving. you had taken your last sip just seconds before charles’ pitstop but had been too focused on the shitshow in front of you to place it down. 

you flinched as charles’ angry voice came through the radio, “he’s going to get ahead of me.”

you watched as his words became reality, joining the racing line milliseconds behind the redbull car. charles tried to maneuver his car around the sides to get ahead along the straight, but max had always been good at defending, charles had told you before that it was something he had both respected and hated about the dutch driver. 

the two cars drove nearly tire to tire as they drove through the chicane. your heart felt like it was in your throat, praying that the two cars didn’t touch. 

you felt like someone had thrown you into an ice bath when you heard charles’ radio again, his voice was filled with anger and frustration, “something isn’t right.”

his race engineer’s voice followed shortly, “everything looks good, charles. what is wrong?”

“i don’t know, the steering is acting weird. it’s getting hard to keep it under control,” you couldn’t tear your eyes from the red car, “there’s too much oversteer. more than normal.”

fuck.

charles’ car fell behind max’s slightly going into the next turn. it was clear now that charles had pointed it out, the back of his car coming out far too much for it to be normal. 

“okay, charles, we will look into that and tell you what to do. keep your head down and elbows out. the pace is looking good right now, you should be able to retake your place soon.”

what was mere seconds had felt like hours of charles trailing closely behind max’s car. it was the last turn of the lap when it happened.

charles had taken to the outer side of max’s car, still struggling to correct the oversteer, when max’s wheels locked up going into the turn. it had happened so fast. one moment, charles’ car had pulled up slightly ahead of max’s. the next, his car was spinning out, speeding straight towards the wall. 

your eyes stung with tears, the mug in your hand slipping and rolling off the blanket, shattering into tiny pieces on the ground. you barely registered the sound, barely being able to hear anything over the sound of your heart racing.

your breath hitched in your throat as they replayed the crash from charles’ perspective. the deafening silence after charles’ engineer asked if he was okay made you want to throw up.

get up, charles, please, the tears felt salty in your mouth. please, please, please.

you bunched up the blanket in your hands, watching as the screen zoomed in on the car. the halo looked to still be intact, but you could barely see charles from behind the cloud of smoke.

dread clouded over you, your mind both rushing with thoughts, yet silent all at the same time. where were the fucking medics? why was no one helping him out?

after what felt like years, you saw charles helmet emerge from within the cloud of smoke. his red racesuit next. your heart continued to race, calming slightly knowing that he was conscious. 

the medics reached charles’ car just as he had began moving, hands rushing to pull him up and out of his seat carefully. you watched with a bated breath as they supported him away from the red mess of a car. 

but charles was stubborn, you knew this, and so you watched as he pushed away from the medics slightly, trying to walk on his own. they had backed off a bit, trailing alongside him just in case his body decided to give out on him. 

and it did. on his fifth independent step, his knees buckled, the medics catching him before he hit the ground. the way charles’ head titled forward was a clear sign that he had lost consciousness.

you felt numb, watching them take him into the back of the medical car. the camera switched as soon as the car drove off, showing the reactions of the rest of the grid drivers, before panning onto the damaged redbull car, which had also been taken out of the race in the collision, albeit much less destroyed than the ferrari. not far from it, you could see max also being taken care of by another set of medics.

you felt sick. 

you don’t know how long you sat there, wet eyes staring blankly into the tv, seeing but not registering. it wasn’t until a notification sounded loudly in the kitchen, recognizing the tone as the one you had reserved for members of the leclerc family, that you snapped out of it. 

you rushed off of the couch, forgetting about the broken ceramic on the floor as you raced to the kitchen. it was a text from lorenzo.

ils l'emmènent à l'hôpital. they’re taking him to the hospital.

the hospital. charles was going to the hospital. 

you felt all of your emotions hit you at once, the weight of it all causing you to physically hunch over the counter.

a sharp pain shot up your leg and you gasped, eyes flitting down to notice the trail of blood that you had left in your haste to reach your phone. you had been numb when it happened, but as your foot screamed out in pain, you realized you had stepped in a glass shard.

you momentarily ignored the rush of pain and nausea that was climbing up your body, hastily sending lorenzo a reply.

est-ce mauvais? is it bad?

todt a dit qu'il a repris connaissance dans la voiture, mais ils veulent encore l'emmener pour s'assurer que tout va bien. todt said he gained consciousness in the car, but they still want to take him to make sure nothing is wrong.

you felt like you could breathe again, charles was awake. 

tenez-moi au courant s'il vous plaît. please keep me updated. 

il va s'en sortir, ma petite. he's going to be okay, kiddo.

although he knew he couldn’t quell how you were feeling, lorenzo still tried his best. and his best was good enough for you to finally stop hyperventilating. charles would be okay. he had to be.

you rested your head against your arms, taking a deep breath to reset your brain. after a couple seconds, you raised your head, turning around to look at the small trail of red that you had dragged along with you. 

your foot was still bleeding, and you decided to wrap it up before you cleaned the floor. it’d do you no good to just sit here and waste away, waiting for an update from lorenzo, or a call from charles himself. 

you winced as you took a step, hand gripping the counter tightly for some support. with the lack of adrenaline coursing through your body, you were able to really feel how badly you had cut your foot. 

you grabbed a towel paper and placed it against the heel of your foot, half-hopping to charles’ bathroom, where you knew he kept his first-aid kit. you had one too, but yours had consisted of only bandaids and alcohol wipes. charles had splurged on the good stuff, saying something along the lines of “all the athletes carry one.”

you weren’t sure if he was right as you had only had the pleasure of meeting fellow racecar drivers, arthur leclerc and pierre gasly, both of which had received the same kit from charles as an “it was on sale so i bought it for you” gift.

by the time you had finished cleaning out your wound and wrapping it, you felt exhausted and mentally drained. your earlier panic had left you feeling extremely cold, and you couldn’t help but catch sight of the hoodie thrown over charles’ desk chair. the same one he had been wearing the night before he left.

you pulled yourself up from the ground, throwing away the bloodied alcohol wipes and gauze packaging before hobbling over to the chair and picking up the hoodie.

you willed yourself to not tear up as you brought the hoodie up towards your nose. it still smelled like him. you couldn’t help but wish that charles was in the hoodie still, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing until you would cough and slap his back. it was his favourite thing to do, up there with blowing air in your ear while you were cooking and poking your skin whenever it peeked out from under your shirt. 

“c'est une vengeance pour les dommages émotionnels que tu as causés quand on avait six ans." he had said once, after you yanked his ear in retaliation and demanded why he was so insistent on annoying you. it’s payback for the emotional damage you caused when we were six.

god, when you’d see him again, you were going to get your own payback for the emotional damage he caused today. 

you slipped the hoodie on, the warmth of it instantly blocking out the cold you felt. you made your way back to the kitchen, wetting a towel paper and wiping at the trail of blood from the kitchen to the living room. 

thank god for tiled flooring, huh? but also, fuck tile flooring because if there was a carpet in your living room, maybe your cup would have never shattered in the first place.

when you entered the living room, you found yourself faltering, eyes catching sight of the tv that was still on, now showing the repeat of charles’ crash. you looked away when the car slammed into the wall, opting to turn the tv off altogether and began picking up the pieces of what had been your favourite mug. 

back in the kitchen, you stared at your phone, willing it to ring with a message or a text from charles, or anyone from his family really.

after realizing how much of an idiot you were being, you grabbed the phone yourself and started to draft a message to charles, explaining how you worried you had been and how you hoped he was okay.

one message quickly turned into several as you poured your worries out to him over text. you went from freaking out, to scolding him, to finally settling on how you couldn’t wait to see him and that you weren’t going to let him out of your sight the entire time he would be at home.

just as you had finally put the phone down, it rang. you rushed to pick it up, “hello?”

“ah, y/n? bonjour, ma petite fleur.” my little flower. pascale’s voice was so soft, like she knew exactly how you were feeling. she probably did. 

the emotions you had tried so hard to suppress all came flooding out at the sound of charles’ mother. 

you sniffled, “maman,”

at the sound of your voice, pascale felt her heart clench. over the last (nearly) two decades, you had become like the daughter that she had never had, and with pascale being able to see through both you and her son, she knew one day, you would become her daughter for real. she had been the one to convince you to call her ‘maman’, calling you her ‘belle fille’.

“oh, ma belle fille. tout va bien, ange.” oh, my beautiful girl. everything is okay, angel.

“comment le savez-vous?” you rubbed your eye, “vous lui avez parlé?” how do you know? have you talked to him?

“la mère sait toujours ce qui est le mieux, non?” she chuckled lightly, though you could tell she was also choked up, “son manager a dit qu'il va bien, qu'il se repose pour le moment.” mother knows best, no?...his manager said that he is fine, that he is resting for the moment.

you hummed, too choked up to say anything.

pascale cooed out your name, “mon ange, pourquoi tu ne viens pas?” why don’t you come over?

you shook your head before remembering she couldn't see you, “non, c'est bon. ça ira. je suis sûr que vous êtes plus secoué par ce qui s'est passé. je ne veux pas me mettre en travers.” no, it’s okay. i’ll be fine. i'm sure you're more shaken up by what happened. i don't want to get in the way.

pascale tsked, “petite idiote, tu ne pourrais jamais te mettre en travers du chemin. tu es de la famille, je sais que tu souffres aussi.” silly girl, you could never get in the way. you are family, i know you're hurting too.

you couldn’t help but laugh pitifully at the way she called you an idiot, “j'ai été vraiment stupide, non? j'avais tellement peur que charles parte et je ne lui aurais jamais dit ce que je ressentais.” i've been really stupid, no? i was so scared that charles would leave and i would have never told him how i felt.

pascale had been the only one to know how you truly felt about charles, having caught you crying one christmas night when charles had brought his girlfriend to join the family dinner. she had comforted you all night, and spent the whole dinner staring charles’ new girlfriend down, though you–and charles–had no idea.

“il aurait été tout aussi stupide,” pascale hummed, “je ne peux qu'espérer que ce jour l'amène à admettre ses sentiments également.” he would be stupid too…i can only hope that today causes him to admit his feelings as well.

“je te le répète, il ne ressent pas la même chose.” i keep telling you, he doesn’t feel the same.

“ouais, ouais, et je continue à te dire qu'il l'est. Je connais mon garçon, et il est amoureux de toi. Il ne s'en rend juste pas compte.” and i keep telling you, he does. i know my boy, and he's in love with you. just doesn't realize it.

the two of you chatted for a bit more, with pascale giving you live updates every so often. lorenzo and arthur both joined the conversation, commanding you take care of yourself or else they would come and bring you home.

the conversation had only just died down when pascale gasped, “oh, mon dieu! c’est charles! y/n, je vous téléphonerai après, d'accord?” it’s charles, i’ll call you after, okay?

your breath hitched in your throat, “bien sûr.” of course.

it felt like forever, waiting for her to call back, or for charles to reach out to you on his own. yet nothing happened. 

sometime later, your phone buzzed with a text from lorenzo.

il va bien. Il rentre pour finir son travail avec les médias, mais il prend l'avion ce soir. he's okay. he's going back to finish his media duties, but he'll fly back tonight.

c'est un soulagement. that’s a relief.

viens. je vais chercher charles et le ramener à la maison. il voudra te voir. come over. i'll be picking up charles and bringing him home. he will want to see you.

non, c'est bon. je le verrai quand il reviendra à l'appartement. no, it's fine. i'll see him when he comes back to the apartment.

y penser? think about it?

you left him on read. as much as you wanted to see him, you weren’t sure you wanted to in front of his entire family as well. who knew how you would react?

not long after, you found yourself in front of the tv again, much like you had been earlier in the morning, only this time charles was no longer in a smoking car, but rather in front of a bunch of mics and cameras.

you watched as he answered questions about the car, the oversteer, and how he had felt in the moment. your heart ached as you stared at his face, he looked so tired. he’d grimace every time he moved, so lightly that no one would notice. but you did, you’d learned to identify any subtle expression changes early on in your friendship with charles. he was a stubborn man, but you were nothing if not just as stubborn. 

you didn’t know when you fell asleep, eyes getting heavier and heavier as you watched charles answer the same questions again and again. you also didn’t know how long you slept for, the stress and tension of the day had left you exhausted. 

you barely stirred when the lock of your house opened, or when the keys chimed loudly as charles placed them in the key bowl near the door. when he was picked up by lorenzo, he had told him to take him to your shared apartment immediately. lorenzo, who knew what was coming, didn’t question a thing, just gave his brother a smile and a quick “it’s about time” before driving. 

the driver turned around, leaving his luggage near the entrance. the sound of the tv was quiet, but charles could hear it. his eyebrows furrowed, it was late. were you waiting for him to come home? he walked towards the living room, stopping when he caught sight of you on the couch, asleep.

he quietly walked forward, hand blindly grabbing at the tv remote and turning it off. his eyes followed down your figure, lingering on the hoodie you had been wearing before moving down to the bright white gauze you had wrapped around your foot earlier.

he kneeled down next to you, hand lightly grazing the rough wrapping, “oh, mon dieu, ce qui vous est arrivé, ange?” oh, my god, what happened to you, angel?

at the sound of his voice, you stirred. charles cursed himself for being loud, although his words had been whispered so quietly. charles retracted his hand, shushing you lightly as you groaned.

“rendors-toi, amour.” he lightly pressed a hand against your fluttering eyes, blocking out the light from above. go back to sleep, love.

“charles?” you pushed your head up, cheek nuzzling into his palm, “c'est toi? tu es vraiment là?” is that you? are you really here?

charles could feel his heart break inside his chest. how many times had you woken up tonight, expecting to see him but then be wrong? how many times had you dreamt of him coming back home?

charles rubbed his thumb against your cheek, “oui, c’est moi. je suis là.” yes, it’s me. i’m here.

you blinked twice, vision clearing enough to see the man you had been waiting for, sitting right in front of you. your eyes instantly pooled with tears, “charles?”

he rushed to soothe you, “ne pleure pas, mon amour. je suis là, je vais bien.” don't cry, my love. i'm right here, i'm okay. 

you reached up and grabbed the hand that had been resting on your cheek, “tu ne comprends pas. j'ai eu si peur pour toi.” you don't understand. i was so scared for you.

you sat up and charles moved to grab your other hand in his as well.

he squeezed them softly, “je suis désolé, mon ange, tellement, tellement désolé. je ne voulais pas te faire peur aujourd'hui.” i’m so sorry, my angel, so, so, sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you today.

you lurched forward, hands escaping his and instead wrapping around his neck. charles’ own hands found themselves in new places as well, one wrapped around your back while the other flew behind him to keep the two of you from toppling over.

his heart tightened, feeling his neck get wet with your tears as you sniffled loudly. his other hand found itself wrapping around you as well, pulling you closer to his body. 

charles moved the two of you into a more comfortable position, stretching his legs out so that you were essentially sitting in his lap, straddling him, “je suis désolé, y/n,” he apologized again.

at the sound of your name slipping through his lips, you couldn’t help the sobs that escaped your own. charles’ grip around you tightened, “hey, what’s wrong? qu'est-ce qu'il y a?” what’s the matter?

you shook your head, “tu es si méchante, charles. je n'ai même pas pu te dire que je t'aimais quand tu as raccroché ce matin.” you are so mean, charles. i didn't even get to tell you i loved you when you hung up this morning.

he lightly coerced you to pull your head back, “oh, mon coeur, je suis désolé.” he felt like a broken record, apologizing again and again, but in the moment, nothing was coming to his head.

you leaned back, puffy eyes connecting with his own, which were tinged red, a sign that he had been crying as well, “ce n'est pas ta faute. c'est la mienne. je ne t'ai jamais dit ce que je ressentais, et je m'en voulais tellement de ne pas l'avoir admis plus tôt. quand tu n'es pas sorti de la voiture tout de suite, j'ai eu tellement peur de t'avoir perdu. perdu avant d'avoir pu te dire que je t'aimais.” it's not your fault. it's my fault. i never told you how i felt, and i was so angry at myself for not admitting it sooner. when you didn't get out of the car right away, i was so afraid that i had lost you. lost before i could tell you that i loved you.

charles’ tears spilled out of his eyes, “c'est ma faute aussi.” his words were the same as pascale’s, “j'ai toujours eu trop peur de te dire ce que je ressentais parce que j'étais trop égoïste. je ne voulais pas te perdre, alors je ne t'ai jamais dit ce que je ressentais.” it's my fault, too. i was always too scared to tell you how i felt because i was too selfish. i didn't want to lose you, so i never told you how i felt.

“tu m'aimes?” your voice was so soft, as if scared to be wrong. you love me?

charles placed his forehead against yours, “tellement. je t'adore plus que tout ce que j'ai jamais aimé.” so much. i adore you more than anything i've ever loved.

the tears slipped out as you relished in his revelation, “je t'aime. mon dieu, je t'ai aimé aussi longtemps que je me souvienne.” i love you. my god, i've loved you for as long as i can remember.

charles leaned up, kissing your tears away, “je te promets qu'à partir d'aujourd'hui, tu ne pleureras plus jamais à cause de moi.” i promise, from today forward, you will never cry because of me ever again.

your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his lips against your skin. he couldn’t help it, placing soft kisses against your eyelids. 

his hands followed down your spine, resting at the base of your waist, “on va te mettre au lit, mon ange.” let's get you to bed, angel.

“je peux m'allonger avec toi?” can i lay with you?

“toujours, à partir de maintenant et pour toujours.” charles smiled lightly, “je suis tout à toi, ma moitié.” always, from now on and forever…i am all yours, my other half.

[unformula1]

much needed hug (LS2 x OP81)

logan seriously needs a hug, guess who gives him one? w/c: 304 day 19 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium!! (series masterlist) masterlist

Logan stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket, brisk walking away from the restaurant. His head was down and he took quick steps. He tries his best to contain the tears that threaten to spill.

“Logan!” A voice calls from behind and Logan already knows who it was.

Logan ignores him and quickens his pace, but he can hear the voice getting closer before a hand lays on Logan’s shoulder. Logan spins around and stands face to face with Oscar.

“Logan! I was looking everywhere for you man-” Oscar says as he catches his breath.

Logan doesn’t respond, staring blankly into Oscar’s eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving.” Oscar holds onto Logan’s shoulder.

Logan feels guilty for storming off with no explanation, he really does but he’s unable to say anything to Oscar, so all he does is lower his head.

“I thought we were gonna go back together-” Oscar says before cutting himself off, he sighs, “What happened Logan?”

Logan simply shakes his head and looks up into the sky, hoping somehow that will contain the tears.

All of a sudden, Oscar’s arms wrap around Logan. The cold disappears, the freezing winds fade away and all Logan feels is warmth. It’s like sitting next to the fireplace on a winter morning. 

Logan hugs back, leaning his head on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar doesn’t let go and continues holding on.

“Sorry…” Logan whispers and Oscar pats Logan’s back.

“Don’t apologise mate. I should be apologising, seriously.” Oscar assures as he hugs Logan just slightly tighter.

They both take a step back and exchange a glance before Oscar swings his arms over Logan, leading him to his car.

“C’mon, let’s go. Don’t want you walking in this cold weather.” Oscar says.

Logan nods before moving just a little bit closer to Oscar.

[skitskatdacat63]

"Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily."

+ process(tw blood)

Also, look at him, bloody little guy 🥹

This drawing was inspired by several matador pics :D here and here:

^ I don't think I'll ever live up to the second one ah. There's several pics of that specific guy just soaked with blood, and I'm uh a bit obsessed with then ITS FUCKED UP I KNOW OKAY! But I've not drawn blood in a while so it was a bit difficult so I added less than I would want to I guess. Also I'm obsessed with how often they kneel in bullfighting?? Like okay who are you arching your back and spreading your legs for-

[maddiericciardostroll]

i have a request for a lestappen fic inspired by delicate by ts, it’s been in my head for a while and i think you could do it justice

I’m so sorry it took me so long to answer this!!! I’m practicing my actual fic writing so i’m gonna use that on this i hope you don’t mind. i know it’s just a blurb but i’m really insecure about it 😭

“Delicate” as in charles is trying to live up to the expectations set for him by the world and max is just there for him. charles keeps pushing him away and max doesn’t understand why. all he wants is to show him that he loves him and charles is refusing him. max is absolutely infecting charles with adoration… and also jealousy? they are the same age. why can’t charles be like max. why can’t charles do what he set out to do and why does he have to love a man who can. slowly it becomes mental anguish for the ferrari driver. the same for max. he starts imagining that they are dating, pretending charles belongs to him. max finds himself becoming a little too protective during those press conferences. he starts reading into things. lays awake at night after a quick fuck (after which charles basically banished him from his hotel room) and stares at the ceiling wondering if charles is dreaming of him, like he is charles . one day, after a particularly rough quali, where all max wants to do is hold his boy, in a drivers room, it all comes to a head. “Is it too soon to do this yet?” max spits at charles. “I know- I know that this is delicate.” charles doesn’t know what to say. if he spills it all out , everything he thinks, there is every chance in the world that max will walk out that door. and to charles it’s better if it’s his choice, not max’s.

“please, just fucking leave.”

[aduckinpain]

The Boat catches

(when the Lantern falls)

Tags: Landoscar, Lando Norris centered, Lando Norris Character Analysis, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Anxiety for Lando, Happy Ending, Lando goes through it but Oscar helps, Past one-sided attraction to Carlos Sainz, Fluff, The Qatar GP 2023 caused me damage, Coincidentally started writing this on Lando's birthday

Word Count: 2.7k

This work is also on AO3 under user roianamustang (me).

When the only source of luminosity in the sky, are hints of the sun’s light in its reflection on the moon, and the stars’ glow, the city is awakened. The street lights decorate the roads from one side to the other, almost like humans are creating their own constellations, linking each soul, each mind, each thought. The night breeze flows alongside the sidewalk. At a time where people are supposed to rest, minds flee. 

On Lando Norris’ street there is a night light. It’s a bit too far away from its friends to create a cluster, but it still continues the glow on the tiles of the neighborhood. 

It’s new, yet it flickers. However when the lights go out, it closes last. 

There’s a tension around it. It sparks the air, electrocutes it.

It looks lonely.

It feels alone.

Anxiety makes nerves feel alight. It makes muscles tense. It makes thoughts enter, escape. It strings you up like a guitar being aligned, or a violin being played.

When he was a teen, Lando started showing intense progress in his karting. This meant more wins, but also more interviews, words to say, words to assume, to interpret, guess. He doesn’t like having to guess. It leaves you vulnerable, unprotected.

PR training had started early, young. Yet for something that was supposed to advise him on how to answer the grilling interviewers, it made him feel wholly unprepared. He second guessed everything and anything. What if became his favorite phrase. 

Being scared of answering wrong on your team's behalf is one thing, but the fear of answering wrong on your own behalf is another type of monster. It didn't matter how much training he did, nothing could seem to prepare him for the onslaught of people who were digging for his demise. Everything he said would be analyzed, scrutinized, misinterpreted.

The night light would glow so bright it’d short circuit.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Out.

Breathe please.

He can’t breathe.

Really bright things tend to run hand in hand with heat. 

The better he was getting, the closer he was nearing his dream. Heat started to seep in. Or maybe out.

The announcement reached people incredibly fast. 2018 was soon ending and 2019 was approaching, getting closer by the second. The temperature got higher with each step.

But you can’t feel the heat when you’re on top of new achievements, new possibilities, new promises. You can't feel the heat when your adrenaline is skyhigh, flying impossibly close to the hidden expectations of others. Time counts its seconds and gets closer to a collision.

It happened unexpectedly.

He was naive to forget.

But did he forget? Or did he hope?

Up. Up. Up.

The boom echoed in his head.

Lando burned.

Carlos Sainz was officially introduced to be his new teammate. Electric current ran through him. strung him up further. The light flickered.  A new person to interact with, to open up to. He had to make this work, wanted first impressions to uphold themselves in the future. No drama, no possibility of rumors to emerge. 

And time passed on. In fact things were going really well. Carlos was extremely friendly, and to his own surprise, Lando managed to warm up to him quickly. Before even realizing it, Carlos became an extender, an assured surge of power, of comfort, of safety. He was more experienced than Lando and seemed to have no qualms giving him tips whenever possible. Helping him along the way.

So the years continued. They got closer. Whenever the light flickered, Carlos stood by his side, unwavering. Lando can’t say he got over every stress in his life, but it greatly helped when he realized the night light wasn’t alone anymore. 

Maybe that’s why it stung.

Since childhood, Lando knew that looking at boys the same way that he looked at girls, wasn’t exactly openly accepted by all of society. He came to terms with it quickly. His family, luckily, has always been incredibly supportive of anything Lando has expressed, so telling them came up naturally. The problem however, wasn’t his family. 

Norris decided to become a racing driver knowing fully well that no matter what facade the FIA has pulled on its inclusivity, it would never support someone who came out in the industry. Money would be lost, and whichever team he went to in the future, wouldn’t complete their contract, as he would not be allowed to race in certain states. That would mean points not being won and championship rankings being lost. So Lando made sacrifices. Sacrifices that made the light dim. Enough to stay open, but muted enough to still hurt. Ache.

He locked it up. Closed the screws on the door of the cables, on the sides of the column. Hammered them in.

It was naive to think that’d be enough.

He felt the heat again. He got electrocuted. Max straight up asked him about it one night, and things clicked into place. Or maybe they were always there, just hidden.

Puppy love he'd said. Adorable how he could see Lando making heart eyes whenever he looked at his teammate.

He’d love to say the realization came with a moment of excitement. But the next thing he knew was the feeling of being cold. Like a bucket of ice cold water was spilled on his head. He felt hands holding him upright and the air escaping him. Teeth chattering. Edges blurring. The next morning Max brought him water, sat down next to him and apologized. 

Max wasn’t wrong, Lando just didn’t like that he was right. 

It’s not that he didn’t know, it’s just that saying out loud made it real. 

The door cracked. The cables were peeking. 

Carlos should never find out. Besides, he is in a relationship, so what would the point be anyway?

But easy was apparently not something that the universe allowed Lando to have, because he swore, that in some moments, it didn’t feel like puppy love. It felt reciprocated. The fleeting touches, the reassurance, the kind words, the champagne on the podium. Spilling on him as if to send a message. 

He hated to say it, but Lando had hope.

Shouldn't he have learned the lesson by now?

What was hope to a suffering man, but a slow descent?

Because somehow, Carlos found out. Being the kind soul that he is, he tried reassuring the young man that it was fine. It was okay.

Lando didn’t flicker.

Lando just, closed.

The door was broken. The cables were out.

Carlos tried repairing things. Lando was a big boy, he could handle rejection.

2021 was looming.

A spark.

The light bulb blew.

Lando’s favorite races have to be night races. Not because of the states he’s traveled to, or the tracks. Because of the fireworks.

Bright, blinding, colorful, temporary .

They made people stop and stare, they made people awe in delight, squeal in excitement. They left an impact.

Fireworks were strong. They didn’t flicker.

But they stopped. They fell. From heights much greater than a night light.

But no one thinks of the firework after it’s gone.

No one thinks of where it lands.

2021 arrived with a new teammate in tow. Daniel Ricciardo. Used to be a Red Bull driver. Extremely experienced and seemingly friends with anything that had a pulse and breathed air. 

At first he was weary. His extender hadn’t left, he just became longer, moved further away. This new teammate seemed to be a fuse.

With the new year starting, Lando decided he would be a changed man. His therapist told him change was great as long as it stemmed from a desire to get better.

This year Lando erupted.

He’d gotten a podium as a night light, he’d get more as a firework. 

It took a bit more time, but he warmed up to Daniel. He could see his struggles and understood that they both needed the support from one another. This year’s Lando wouldn’t care about what people on the internet would think. He’s grown. He's changed.

The more success a man achieves, the greater the fall. Points and near podiums didn’t satisfy Lando anymore. He wanted more. 

Sochi 2021.

The firework had done its job.

It was falling.

Doesn’t matter where, cause people weren’t searching.

It fell.

He fell.

He didn’t know where.

Daniel also left. Everyone apparently, did at some point. The night light had its extender and the firework had its fuse, but the distance was greater and the bottle was empty. 

The heat kept burning.

2023 came with new arrivals.

@OscarPiastri

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.

8:00 PM · Aug 2, 2022

44.2K Reposts 50.7K Quotes 386K Likes 4,282 Bookmarks

Oscar Piastri is here. A rookie with a lot of potential.

The roles reversed right under Lando’s feet before he had any time to react. The carpet is pulled, and before he knows it. He’s freefalling into water.

Confetti seemed like a safe bet. It’s light and falls slowly, yet it is shiny and radiates happiness. Lando thought confetti would be his next choice. His next change.

Confetti however tends to be either paper or plastic. It either sinks and disintegrates or it flows, crumbled. 

But Oscar Piastri doesn’t aid confetti. 

He aids a lantern.

2023 started and Lando wanted it to end already. To say the car was bad would be an understatement to the definition of the word bad itself. 

The car was garbage. 

Forget the podiums. They can’t even get to the points.

Along with the car, long before the season started, Lando looked into his new teammate. Things would be different this time. He was the older, more experienced one. He had to be level headed and cool, so the rookie could warm up, feel comfortable. 

However, from the first search result he got on google, he realized that not only has he never done this before, but the new guy was the most impervious man he had ever witnessed upon.

Carlos was warm, bright. Carlos aided him, and still does. He helped Lando come out of his shell and express himself. Losing him had made the light nearly disappear. But he moved on and grew.

Daniel was loud, safe. Daniel helped him as much as Lando helped Daniel. Losing Daniel felt like saving him. He reluctantly moved on and grew.

Oscar Piastri was, according to the internet, quiet, monotone, unimpressed and on the other hand, according to Alpine, he lacked integrity.

At the same time, Oscar Piastri was an amazing talent on the grid, who had set high expectations after showing showstopping results in F2. 

As intriguing as it felt to Lando, he was reluctant to be excited. This man seemed like a mystery, a quiet one at that.

How do you warm up to a man who feels cold?

At least he was cute.

So the car was bad. The season couldn’t get any worse. But Lando couldn’t let Oscar get through his first year like this. Full of disappointments. 

At the beginning he felt stumped. Oscar was polite, incredibly so, and seemed to highly respect him. It made him a bit uncomfortable. This guy was just a year younger after all.

But he still couldn’t figure him out. They did video challenges and media work, and with each one, Lando poked and prodded, anything to get a reaction. 

Slowly, very, very slowly, the ice started to thaw.

On the street, next to the night light, long pieces of metal along with cables arrived. Everyday they would slowly be constructed.

On a lake near his house, a boat would pull its anchor, slowly setting sail.

Its destination?

The heart of the lake.

Its cargo?

A lantern.

The year continued. The air grew warmer. The lights would open later than usual. The city still felt alive.

Summer break arrived. 

And according to the engineers. 

Improvements were coming.

The night light flickered, along with its new companion.

The little cluster of glow anticipated.

The lantern was being held. 

They popped off.

The season continued with a bang. Points were being scored left and right. Lando was getting podiums and Oscar, who was always in points, kept going higher and higher. 

They were thriving. 

The higher a man soars, the higher his chances to burn, get.

Qatar was heat personified.

The light was overheating. Melting.

Help.

Getting out of the car after quali, Lando beelined for his driver's room. Andrea caught up to him, understanding and comforting, and informed him of his post-race duties. Lando wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

He honestly can’t say he remembers anything they asked him. He just remembers his own words. 

Bumping inside of his head. Making sure they’re engrained on the side of his skull. 

‘Nothing. Lack of talent.’ he’d said.

He believed it.

Max called him that night, tried to comfort him. He’ll always be grateful for his childhood best friend. 

Today however he just wanted to be quiet.

He deserved it.

Deserved the quiet air and chaotic thoughts. 

Deserved the cold. The shivering.

The gasps of air. The lack of it.

The room was dark, but his blurry vision wouldn’t have let him see anything anyway.

The sounds moved around the empty room.

He felt alone.

He had jinxed it.

He felt like confetti. Soggy and wet, left on the lake. Floating away.

The clock read 1 AM, he should be asleep.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

At first he froze. It was late, whoever it was should think he’s asleep and leave.

His phone lit up and pinged. 

Oscar Piastri has sent a message

OP: Open the door 

LN: no

OP: please?

Have it be known that Lando Norris was a weak, weak man.

Getting up was a monumental task of its own, but Lando did it. He walked to the door one sock on, the other who knows where. Felt very fitting, similar even, with his current state of mind.

The door opens and Lando squints. Fuck the lights.

Oscar Piastri is standing at his door and it should be criminal how soft he looks. 

Lando has learned from past mistakes. He reminds himself of sacrifices.

They stood there for a bit until Oscar gently pushed him into his own room and closed the door.

He didn’t ask, didn’t talk. 

He just, stood quiet. Moved things around.

He was there. 

He was present .

Lando didn’t know when it happened but he was back in his own bed. Shoulder to shoulder with Oscar. The silence engulfed them but this time it was serene. He felt Oscar’s head turn, felt his gaze stay there for a while.

He melted at the first contact of arms around him. Put his head in the crevice between Oscar’s shoulder and neck and let go.

His body shook. A hand stroked his back, the other playing with his curls. 

He unraveled. But the landing was soft.

The firework got caught.

'Breathe .' was whispered into his ear.

He did.

A gentle hand raised and opened the lantern.

As much as he wanted to strive for a win, Lando was well aware of the realistic chances of anyone winning against Red Bull. Well, against Max anyway.

But still, he came back strong. Another podium, another pole position. His career is thriving. His life is booming. The future is bright. 

His present is warm.

The clock strikes midnight on the 13th of November. 

Gentle hands shake him awake. He opens his eyes, gazing into brown orbs. A curl falling on his forehead. 

Warm lips brush his own. Happy birthday is muttered against his skin. The distance closes. The possibilities endless. 

He smiles into the kiss. Breaks apart and nuzzles their noses together.

Thank you.

He falls asleep. 

The night light doesn’t have to strain anymore. It has a friend to help light the way.

He hadn’t sacrificed anything but his patience.

The lantern is set aflame. Hands push it towards the sky. And it goes up, up , up.

It rises and even if it falls, there is a boat, standing, waiting, right at the heart of the lake. 

And the boat catches.

Lando feels alive.

He's not alone anymore.

Lando feels human.

-End-

Notes:

A short analysis:

Lando himself is the night light. He feels a bit isolated at the beginning as he was a rookie. His anxiety certainly did not help. So when I write the heat seeps out, it is because, he himself is the light. Later on Oscar shows up and gets constructed right next to him, an exact parallel to his first year as a rookie building a career for himself. They become a cluster, one lights the way of the other.

I think it is easily understood but I'll still write it. The cables are his emotions.

Lando is the firework, the confetti and later on the lantern. At last however, Lando is human. Complex and unsure even to our own species. We make mistakes, we make sacrifices, but whether we want to or not, time will move and we will have to adapt.

The boat is Oscar. This is directly inspired by the Tangled, Rapunzel scene as I love that movie.

The boat will catch the lantern, so it can never blow out or get soggy. It awaits in the heart of the lake.

The lake is Lando's mind.

Hopefully I managed to capture the essence of these drivers. <3

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Lando himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some likes, reposts and comments!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my Formula 1 masterlist. Including: Lestappen and Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!

[agendabymooner]

the arrow and the bull speared through the hearth || toto w. scenario

toto wolff x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENSION TO COLOUR ME YOUR COLOUR (can be read as a standalone)

Summary: Toto Wolff and Christian Horner’s arguments weren’t something she minded — seeing as they often argued like old married couples more than she and the Mercedes team principal did. But when a three year old child picked up on their petulant remarks (and even a swear word or more), all Tilly Wolff (née Hearth) could do was intervene and take matters into her own hands. Who would have thought that the bosses of two dominant formula one teams would be scared of no one but her? 

Content warning: Use of explicit language, not proofread, kids learning how to swear, OFC being pissed and suggesting Christian Horner x Toto Wolff, brief angst, mostly humorous, year of setting: 2023 (Tia Wolff's age is three). Based on this request.

Note: In the span of a week, I have written ten smut drabbles/blurbs. I feel appalled because I never wrote any way before that.

I needed some dad!Formula One personnel content. So... enjoy this short Toto Wolff fic xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

💌re:moony’s planner is opened!!!

A relaxed race week was what everyone expected when it came to the Monaco Grand Prix. 

Everyone hoped for a chill week— some Formula One drivers lived in the principality and had hoped to enjoy the end of their weekend at a yacht, partying their asses off. They could care less about how tense it’d end up — they just wanted to have fun at the end of the week.

The same could be said for the superiors of the teams. All they wished for was a chill race week — this was Monaco, after all. It meant a lot but what’s a race in the richest country without a bit of fun? 

Hell. And that’s what the two team principals were experiencing right now as they both sat next to each other; confused about the scowl that sat on Tilly Ford Wolff’s barely-aging face as Toto Wolff and Christian Horner exchanged looks — as if they were asking about what either of them had done to be in the hot seats of Tilly’s office in the Red Bull Racing team area.

And while the terse environment remained as such in the office, Lewis Hamilton and George Russell leaned against the wall outside the office as they patiently waited for Toto. 

Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez both made their way towards the Mercedes duo as the Dutchman spoke, “Hey… what’re you guys doing here in the area?” 

“Oh, hey Max,” Lewis greeted and nodded, “just you know… waiting.” 

“They said Christian’s in Tilly’s office,” Checo told them, watching as the duo nodded in confirmation. “So you guys are waiting for Christian?” 

“No,” George replied before gesturing towards the closed entrance. “Our boss is also there.”

“Oh— why?” Max asked, only to pause as Charles and Lando entered the area and gathered with the four drivers. “What the hell is everyone doing in the Red Bull area?” 

“We were just told by Fred and Zak that Tilly’s called Christian and Toto to her office,” Lando said almost excitedly— too giddily. 

Everyone — by that I meant the Mercedes and Red Bull drivers — must have forgotten that Tilly also owned the Ferrari team and the McLaren team, meaning that news spread easily across the grid thanks to the fact that the two teams (alongside Red Bull) shared the same owner. 

“Do you guys know what it’s supposed to be about?” Max asked before nudging Lewis, “Lewis— you’ve got to know something. You’re married to Stevie.” 

“And you’re not dating my wife’s sister?” Lewis scoffed before looking at Charles as well. “Do you know something?”

“Me? No,” Charles shook his head. “I’m just as curious.” 

And while conversation rose in the group, Toto and Christian immediately looked away from the door as they both heard Tilly clear her throat. 

“So,” she started, her teeth showing as if she was ready to offer the loveliest smile or to tear the team principals to shreds as she leaned against her desk. “I’ve had an interview today— it’s such a lovely day today in Monaco, isn’t it?” 

Christian nodded as he replied, “Quite a good day to take the kids to the paddock, I’ll admit.” 

“Of course,” Tilly smiled — a maniacal smile she offered Christian and Toto as she continued. “The kids are in here and all that— even Geri’s taking care of them right now. But let’s not get into the details of what they’re up to because I’ve heard something quite interesting from one of them.” 

Toto’s face paled. He wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with him and Christian or just Christian only. Her children were Toto’s children so to be in this impromptu meeting was just to get him involved in his children’s life at the paddock. 

But to be sitting next to Christian? The Austrian man knew that he did something.

“Tia,” was the first thing that came out of Tilly’s mouth, to which Christian’s face also paled before exchanging looks with Toto. 

Tia, Toto and Tilly’s middle child and only daughter, was a three year old girl who acted more like Toto. In comparison to her brothers, Soren and Adelmo, Tia was more outspoken. The same could be said to all the things that she could’ve learned a second ago. When she learned how to say or how to know things, she just put her knowledge to work. 

So whatever trouble did Christian and Toto caused, Tia picked up on it and showed what she learned to her mother — who is now watching the two with a death stare while she crossed her arms. 

“So, I took Tia with me for the interview, right? She wanted to hang out with her Mama so who was I to deny my girl such a request?” Tilly spoke as if she wanted things to sound beautiful, but the fury behind her voice only showed when she said, “Then of course we prepared and we stood in front of the camera. The reporter asked her stuff and of course I allowed her to socialize with people!” 

“Now, Miss—“ the reporter looked at Tilly as if she was asking for the little girl’s name. 

“Tia,” Tilly grinned widely, her arms still carrying the toddler. 

“Miss Tia,” the reporter continued, Tia’s dark eyes brightening when she heard her name as she listened to the reporter ask, “What do you think about the Red Bull team?”

“Ich liebe Onkel Max!” I love Uncle Max! Tia exclaimed and looked for an approving nod from Tilly, to which the older woman grinned.

“You have to speak English, little darling,” Tilly spoke sweetly before turning towards the reporter, “I’m sorry— she’s learning so many languages that sometimes she’s not sure which one to speak!” 

The reporter laughed at this and waved off the comment before she asked Tia, “And what do you think about the Red Bull car, Tia? Is it better than Mercedes?” 

“No,” Tia giggled and shook her head insistently before she grinned.

“Red Bull is shit!” Tia repeated what she’s learned from her Papa, the adults surrounding her gasped in shock as they heard what she just said. 

“Mercedes is fucked too!” She repeated again before giggling, proud of what she’s picked up from her Uncle Christian. 

The drivers outside the office looked at each other with widened eyes.

Meanwhile, the two team principals — both reaching the point of midlife crisis — offered her a look like they were both kicked like a dog, obviously guilty at what Tia had heard from the two of them a few days ago when they got into an argument. 

“I can understand quarrelling,” Tilly said, obviously disappointed at the two. “I do. I even joke that you two are more married than I am to Toto— hell, even Geri jokes about it.” 

“I can also understand swearing,” Tilly continued. “Say whatever you two would like— fuck you, fuck that shit, I hope you rot in hell asshole— you two are fucking adults. You’re fine! You can swear as much as you’d like and even lose respect of other people if you don’t use those words carefully.” 

“But this whole petulant attitude—“ Tilly gestured at the two of them, “this whole ‘Oh fuck you, suck my dick’ or whatever the fuck is happening between the two of you? Keep that to yourselves— fuck the shit out of each other if it means that you’re getting that anger out! Hell, I’ll even let Toto get a cheating pass if it means that this unresolved issue is sorted out!”

Both Christian and Toto cringed at the suggestion. 

“But the moment those kinds of behaviour or those kinds of words reach the ears of the kids? This is where you cross the fucking line,” Tilly scolded the two, the team principals jumped slightly on their seats. 

“Guys! Have some decency to at least watch your words around them! They’re kids— you have your own kids, Christian— you know when to watch your words around them,” Tilly exclaimed exasperatedly, sighing before her eyes zeroed in at her husband, who froze in his seat.

She then continued with her lecture, “And those are your kids, Toto,” she spoke. “What if I get called into the fucking school because Tia— or god forbid all of them — learned to act so petulantly and curse her professors? We can’t set ourselves as examples of such behaviours! We’re parents to three kids! Hell, we have two grown children too but they know better.” 

“I know,” Toto nodded solemnly and guiltily, biting his inner cheek. 

“Well then why are we still having this conversation?” Tilly scoffed.

She sat on her chair behind the desk, sighing in exhaustion and massaging her head before she looked back up at them. “You two mean a lot to me— Toto, you’re my husband and the father to those kids. Christian— I trust you fully with the team and hell you’re Adelmo’s godfather—“

“I still don’t know why you did that,” Toto muttered before cowering under Tilly’s glare. 

“And you two promised that you’d make these seasons enjoyable for them and that you’d teach these kids everything about the sports,” Tilly sighed. “All Tia could see was bad blood between the two of you— no matter how much you respect each other, all she can see is you two fighting and that you hate each other so much.” 

“So how can I trust myself to bring them here,” Tilly asked, “and expect them to understand that you two are civilized enough when all they can see is hate? Or worse, shitty behaviours that involve insults and poor choices of words?”

Tilly sighed before gesturing at the entrance, “Sorry for venting— I know that I shouldn’t be taking the kids to the paddock if this was expected but I wanted to work closer and I can’t afford to miss out on their lives in the process.” 

“If it’s alright, I’d like to process this and figure out my next steps,” Tilly murmured, not even watching her husband and her appointed CEO stand from their seats. “Please shut the door behind you. I just need some time to think.” 

The two silently left the office, not even minding the gossiping drivers who stood at the halls as they shamefully walked out of the building.

They really did set a bad example for their kids— and Tilly made sure that they knew that. 

Tilly’s children were Toto’s as well, so the fact that he had shown this behaviour to his children was anything but acceptable. He did have to make it up to Tilly. Almost ten years of being together and she had managed to put up with his bullshit. 

But with the children in the mix? Toto was certain that she’d choose them over the kind of shit he had put her through. 

God he really needed to make it up to her. 

The day ended and Tilly Wolff was still in her office, sending the children back to their vacation home in Monaco with Charles and Aimee earlier today while she remained in the office to do the last of her work. 

A knock interrupted the silence of her place as she uttered a permission, the door swinging open. She already knew that it was her husband; whenever she’d fly to work on a race week, Toto never left the tracks without her. 

“How are you feeling now?” His Austrian accent hovered over her working figure as he sat across her. Her eyes remained at the screen before she gave him a glance. 

“A bit better,” Tilly murmured. “I’ve said what I had to say. And I’ve spoken to Tia about saying such things— not that she wouldn’t understand it easily; she’s a smart girl at her age.” 

“That she is,” Toto chuckled quietly. “She’s always been smart and she continues to show that by saying things aloud.”

“Sometimes the things that she learns aren’t the kind that we like to hear,” Tilly replied. 

Toto sighed, “Which is my mistake.” 

Tilly paused from her work, now paying full attention to her husband as Toto spoke. “I’ve learned a lot just being a father to them— and being your partner. And it’s my fault that I haven’t even considered how my actions and words could possibly affect everything around me. I almost lost you because of it— and now Tia’s learning to say things that she shouldn’t say because I’m allowing her to witness those arguments with Christian.” 

Tilly smiled gently, reaching out to tangle her fingers with larger ones as both their bands glimmered under the light of her office. “I can’t find myself to apologize for such knowing that it wouldn’t fix anything. But I can assure you that I’ll try and take control of the situation before it goes wrong for me and for the kids.” 

“Thank you, bello,” Tilly spoke softly, pressing her lips against his knuckles before leaning forward to kiss him. “I appreciate it. It’s not for me— it’s for our children and I appreciate your efforts.”

“You’re a good father, Toto,” she reassured him. “You just need to teach them how to handle tough situations without cursing the other party.”

“—and that means no swearing in front of them, and no talking shit about Christian,” Tilly and Toto laughed before they both got ready to leave the facility.

Maybe Toto and Christian were too hard on each other, but little did they know it only took Tilly Wolff to set them straight and finally own up to their behaviour.

She was a delightful woman, indeed.

[maxtermind]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

★ : summary :: when he cheats on you ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: angst ★ : word count :: 5k ★ : a/n :: please remember that all of this is fiction! anyway, enjoy the angst <3 cheating is not a slip up but a statement and i will not be writing a part 2 where they get back together :) as usual requests are open for other endings if you're interested (maybe she ends up with someone else on the grid to make it hurt more lol). feedback is appreciated+!! ★ : gifs :: @\f1-stuff @\userhamilton @\slowestlap @\tyrannosaurus-maxy

Max Verstappen

Max and you had a pretty healthy work schedule. Thanks to your flexible remote work, you could travel with him and support him in person. But there were times when you were needed back at the home office but despite the distance, Max made sure to keep you in the loop.

From video calls, to texting whenever one was free, to random pictures shared, you were always pretty aware of what the other was doing. So imagine your shock when minutes after hanging up on a call after congratulating him on his win, you failed to get a hold of him before pictures of him started going viral.

But now, all of that seemed like a distant memory as you stared at the damning evidence on your phone. Pictures of Max, smiling and carefree, dancing with another woman in a crowded club, her arms wrapped around him possessively.

Your heart sank as you scrolled through the images, each one a painful reminder of the betrayal you never saw coming. And then, there it was, the blurry photo that confirmed your worst fears - Max and the other woman locked in a passionate kiss.

The world around you seemed to blur as well as tears welled up in your eyes, hot and bitter against your cheeks. Without thinking, you began to dial Max's number, your fingers trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation.

But each call went unanswered, each voicemail left unheard. With each unanswered ring, your heart broke a little more, until you could no longer bear the weight of your pain.

It was an hour later when you were in your bed, crying your eyes out when your phone finally lit up with Max's name, the screen casting a harsh glow in the dimness of your room.

As much as your head told you to hang up and let that be the final answer, you picked it up and whispered a low. ”Hi?” Your voice barely a whisper, choked with emotion.

”Y/N,” Max’s breathy voice came. It was enough to throw you off again and new tears gathered in your eyes.

”Where were you?” The words escaped your lips before you could stop them, raw with hurt and anguish.

”Baby…” Max's voice wavered, and you could hear the weight of his guilt in every syllable. It spoke volumes, you knew what had happened and he knew that. ”I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the pain of his deceit threatening to consume you whole. And then, without warning, a strangled sob escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the silence of the room.

You could hear Max's sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, a sound that only served to intensify your grief. But you were beyond caring about appearances now, your heart laid bare for him to see.

”I trusted you,” you choked out between sobs, the words a bitter indictment of the love you had once shared. ”Why would you do this to me?”

How could the man that made you feel like the only girl in the world for him do this to you? Did he even love you or was he just a really good actor?

Your voice quivered with pain as you struggled to maintain your composure,”You've broken me in ways I didn't even know were possible.”

Max's voice wavered as he tried to find the right words to express his remorse,”I never meant to hurt you, it was the biggest mistake of my life.” 

The life he has made sure he spent with someone not you. His voice cracked further and you realized that he was also crying on the other end. ”I can't bear the thought of not having you in my life.”

There was a long pause, as if Max was searching for the right words to say. But what words could possibly undo the damage that had already been done, the trust that had been shattered beyond repair?

Your words cut through him, echoing the pain he had caused,”Did… did you even love me, Max?”

”Of course, I love you!” He spoke, his voice carrying a sense of hurt. As if questioning the audacity to even ask that and that angered you. It made you so mad because this was on him. He did this.

”I wish I could turn back time and make things right, I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Max's breath hitched as he spoke before you could. The wounds he had inflicted too deep to be healed with a simple apology. ”I never meant to make you doubt my love for you.”

And as you listened to his voice crack with emotion, you knew that there was only one thing left to do. ”I don't even recognize the person I fell in love with anymore.” You whispered with finality, your voice filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Was this really the man who had promised you a future filled with a family and laughter? The man who just made your heart bleed out?

Max caught on and rushed to get the words out,”Please, Y/N, don't hang up. I need you more than ever, I love y-”

You hung up because how dare he say that after what he did. He called you again and again after that and if you weren’t half dying in your apartment, maybe you could’ve scoffed at how the roles were switched.

However, all you could do was switch off your phone and wonder how the man who once kissed all your scars better, could leave deeper ones in their place. Leaving you to do the work to mend them all alone.

Lewis Hamilton

It had all started the day you had foolishly decided to set up lunch to have the two most important people in your life, your bestfriend and your boyfriend, meet.

Lewis seemed genuinely enthusiastic about finally meeting the person who had been such a solid support in your life. Little did you anticipate that this innocent gathering would unravel into a scene of deception.

The signs were subtle at first. A quick exchange of numbers, a glance shared behind your back– easy to dismiss as innocent. But why would you look for such signs? When it included your most trusted humans on the planet?

But then came the slips, the accidental mentions of knowing each other's whereabouts better than you did.

”I don't think she'll pick up, she said she had an afternoon meeti-” Lewis caught himself on time before shrugging and ending with a: ”She posted it on her instagram, did you miss it?”

You laughed it off though it irked you. You were just glad that they were close before...

After an especially tiring day, you finally entered your house. Surprised to see the sitting room empty, where Lewis waits for you every time he's home early.

You sighed, instinctively petting Roscoe before moving inside the house. Desperate for a shower and clean clothes to get the day's stench off of you.

So imagine your shock when you walked into your bedroom,to discover Lewis and Rachel entwined in your bed, their bodies exposed and vulnerable. In your bed.

It took a second for you to process it while they both scrambled to get their clothes on. You just stared in disbelief while Rachel cried on the bed under covers and Lewis frantically wore his clothes while saying… something?

You felt like you were underwater for a second because you saw his mouth moving before his words started registering and tears started to pool in your eyes. The pain felt tangible, like a weight pressing down on your chest, as you confronted the unthinkable reality of their infidelity.

”Baby, let me explain. Ple- Please, this isn't what it looks like... I-”

You tore your eyes away from him before looking over at Rachel who was crying because she probably understood exactly what was happening.

You wanted to ask what exactly Lewis thought was going on but decided not to because your throat was closing up. The image of them together was burned into your brain. You just shook your head as tears fell from your eyes before turning around and walking out of the room.

As Lewis desperately jumbled to dress himself, his hands fumbling with buttons and zippers, he pleaded with you, his voice cracking with desperation.

”Y/N, please, you have to listen to me. This isn't what it looks like, I swear,” he implored, his eyes wide with panic as he reached out to touch your arm, but you flinched away as if his touch burned. Feeling disgusted and deceived.

”What do you mean it's not what it looks like?!” you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling with damage and betrayal. ”I come home to find you two... in our bed, na- naked!”

Lewis's face contorted in anguish, his mind racing for the right words to say, but nothing seemed adequate in the face of your devastation.

”It's... it's a misunderstanding, Y/N, I promise,” he stammered, his voice strained with emotion. ”Rachel and I... we didn't plan for this to happen. It's just... things got out of hand, and we never meant to do you wrong.”

You shook your head in disbelief because you didn’t know what else to do truly, feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath you. ”How could you do this to me, Lewis? I thought you… that you loved me,” your voice turned in a whisper.

All the times he had discussed the future rushed through your mind. He wanted to retire and repeatedly told you how he wanted to marry you. Your hands trembled as you suddenly remembered asking Rachel to be your bridesmaid.

Suddenly, the pressure on your chest got worse.

Lewis's eyes pleaded with you, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. ”I don't know, Y/N. I don't know what came over me. I love you, you have to believe me. Please don't leave, we can work through this together.”

But his words fell on deaf ears as you turned away from him, the pain in your heart too raw to bear. ”I trusted you, Lewis. I trusted both of you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

As you moved towards the door, every step heavier than the last, Lewis's voice trembled with desperation, his hands reaching out to grasp yours, pleading for your attention.

”Y/N, please, don't leave,” he begged, his voice cracking with raw emotion. ”I messed up, I know I did, but I love you. Please, let me make it right.”

You paused, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. ”How can you say you love me after what you did?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, thick with pain.

And with that, you turned away, leaving behind the shattered remains of the life you had once shared, the echoes of Lewis's pleas fading into the emptiness of the night. Swearing to never put your trust in anyone else ever again.

Carlos Sainz

You had sworn off of relationships for so long after your last one that it was honestly a miracle, as your friends and family put it, that you agreed to go out with Carlos. But he was the perfect gentleman to you. The person who gave you hope for a better future. Giving you hope that maybe all the ‘cheesy’ discourse was for you too.

He knew how you were hurt the last time and reassured you about how special you were to him and how you were always enough. Enough for him.

It slowly became a running joke once you guys hit the two year mark. You were finally at a stage where you had a loving partner that you could trust blindly.

So to say that you were blindsided would be an understatement…

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled through Carlos's phone, your heart racing with each new message that appeared on the screen.

You never thought you'd be the type to snoop, but the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach had become too much to ignore. He was so distant lately and so secretive about his phone, it was slowly killing you.

There it was, undeniable proof staring back at you in blue and white. Messages from an unknown number, filled with suggestive language and promises of secrecy. Your breath got caught in your throat as you read through the damning evidence, your heart sinking with each word.

‘Hey babe, can't wait to see you tonight ;) xoxo’

The message hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could Carlos do this to you? You thought you had something special, something worth fighting for. But now, all those hopes and dreams lay shattered at your feet.

You tried to push down the rising tide of emotion, to find some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But deep down, you knew the truth – Carlos was cheating on you.

When he emerged from the bathroom, you were waiting for him, phone in hand and tears in your eyes. And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

”Carlos,” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy in the air as he stepped into the room, his tousled hair and relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you.

You weren’t really sure why you weren’t screaming and thrashing things around already. It was like you were frozen on the spot.

”What's wrong?” he asked, concern etched into his features as he took in your tear-streaked face and the phone clutched tightly in your hand. Though, when you looked at him, all you could see was how he was your everything. How you had given him your everything.

And you still weren’t enough.

You struggled to find the words, to articulate the emotions coursing through you. ”I found... I found something on your phone,” you finally managed, your voice trembling with emotion.

Carlos's expression faltered, his eyes flickering with uncertainty as he took a hesitant step closer. ”What do you mean?” he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation to come. ”Messages,” you began, your voice barely audible as you held up the phone, displaying the incriminating evidence for him to see. ”From someone... someone you've been seeing behind my back.”

Carlos's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the screen, his hand instinctively reaching out to take the phone from you. ”Y/N, I swear, I can explain,” he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. Why was he reaching for the phone and not your hand?

But the words fell on deaf ears as the full weight of his betrayal hit you like a ton of bricks. ”Explain?” you echoed, your voice trembling with disbelief. ”How can you even explain this, Carlos? How could you do this to me?”

He reached out to touch you, to offer comfort or reassurance, but you recoiled, the sting of his infidelity too raw and painful to bear. ”I trusted you,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face as you backed away from him. ”How could you-”

Can love like this be lost too? You’ve been on your knees begging the universe to grant you one love that wouldn’t be snatched from you. Thinking all your prayers had been heard only for him to do it too.

Carlos's expression crumbled as he watched you retreat, his own anguish mirroring yours. ”I never meant for this to happen,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. ”Please, Y/N, give me a chance to make things right.”

As Carlos pleaded with you, his words heavy with desperation, you couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. His promises of love and devotion clashed with the evidence on his phone, leaving you torn between the man you thought you knew and the painful truth staring back at you.

You met his gaze, seeing the desperation etched into his features as he struggled to make you believe him. ”Can you hear me?” he implored, desperation lacing his words. ”You are always enough for me. Please, you have to believe me. I love you more than anything, Y/N.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, the sincerity in his voice almost convincing you to give him another chance. But deep down, you knew that trust once broken was not easily repaired.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his plea bearing down on you. ”I hear you,” you replied softly, nodding through your tears, your voice tinged with sadness. ”But it's not that simple, Carlos. I want to believe you, but...”

Carlos's grip on you tightened, his body pressing against yours as he sought solace in your embrace. ”Please, don't leave,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make this right, to prove to you that you're the only one for me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you pulled away, the pain of betrayal still raw and agonizing. ”No,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the sound of your breaking heart. ”You did to us. You made me believe… I'm leaving. This is goodbye.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Carlos standing alone in the wreckage of your brutally murdered relationship.

Charles Leclerc

You had rushed back home because for the first time in what feels like forever, your boyfriend was back home. Charles was a man of many charms. Despite being with him for so long, he still had you blushing and getting butterflies every time he was around.

He was busy when you got home so you decided to wash up but as you paced back and forth in the living room, your heart racing with anxiety, you didn’t know what to do to figure out what exactly Charles was doing.

Charles had been on the phone for what felt like hours, his voice hushed but urgent as he spoke to someone on the other end of the line. Normally, you wouldn't think much of it, but something about his tone tonight had set off alarm bells in your mind.

You tried to focus on a book, anything to distract yourself from the gnawing feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. But every word you read seemed to blur together, your mind consumed with worry.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. With trembling hands, you set the book aside and made your way to the kitchen, where Charles was still on the phone.

”...I can't risk it tonight,” you heard him say, his tone strained ”She's coming home soon, and I don't want to risk it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Who was he talking about? And why did he sound so nervous?

Curiosity getting the better of you, you crept closer, straining to hear the other end of the conversation.

”...I know, I know,” Charles continued, his voice growing even more frantic. ”But I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to you.”

Your blood ran cold at his words. What did he mean, ‘not fair to her?’ And who the fuck was he talking to?

Before you could process it all, Charles abruptly ended the call and turned to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes wide with shock and hurt.

”Y/N,” he started, his voice wavering as he took in your expression. ”I... I didn't realize you were there.”

You struggled to find your voice, your mind racing with a thousand questions. ”Who were you talking to, Charles?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles' eyes flickered with guilt as he shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. ”It's... it's nothing, Y/N,” he stammered, but you could tell he was lying. ”Just a friend.”

But you weren't buying it. Not after what you had just heard. ”A friend?” you repeated, your voice rising with anger and hurt. ”Is that what you call my replacement?”

Charles' face paled at your accusation, his eyes widening in shock. ”Baby, it's not what you think,” he protested, but you could hear the desperation in his voice. He looked so scared, as if he knew he was gonna get caught up into lies.

”Then what is it, Charles?” you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. ”Enlighten me.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering away from yours as if unable to meet your eyes. ”It's... it's complicated,” he finally admitted, but his words offered little comfort.

”There's nothing complicated about cheating on someone you claim to love.” You were trying to compose yourself, not show him how deeply his words had cut you but your hands were trembling and your voice was cracking. Face pale and eyes glassy.

Charles winced at your words, his guilt written plainly across his face. ”You’re the only person I love,” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. ”It's just... things got out of hand.”

You felt like you had been punched in the gut. How could he stand there and try to justify his betrayal? How could he expect you to forgive him after this? Why the fuck was he the one looking distort?

”I trusted you, Charles,” you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. He shouldn’t be expecting you to treat him as a victim too when he was the one guilty. ”I thought we had something special.”

Charles' expression softened, his eyes brimming with remorse. ”We do, Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. ”I love you, more than anything. Please, you have to believe me.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by his infidelity. ”How can I believe anything you say after this?” You scoffed bitterly. Angry at yourself for crying in front of the man who has probably been sleeping with someone else for months now.

Charles reached out to you, his hand trembling as he brushed a tear from your cheek. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. ”Just give me a chance to prove it.”

You whispered, your voice heavy with resignation,”There are no second chances for cheaters.”

Lando Norris

Because of multiple torments inflicted by past lovers, you were always resistant to fall head first in any relationship. Hesitant to give your heart knowing recovering was going to be the absolute worst.

Comes in, Lando. The man who broke through all your barriers, took down the walls you put around yourself and had you love struck in a matter of time.

For a moment, everything was amazing. He was the best person you could've asked for. He looked at you as if you put the stars up in the sky.

Who could've thought?

Who could've thought that the same fucking man would have you breaking down at a family event in front of everyone.

The room buzzed with conversation as you sat at the dinner table, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air.

Lando's hand found yours under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. ”Are you okay?” he whispered, concern etched in his voice.

You forced a smile, nodding faintly. ”Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed,” you murmured, hoping to brush off your unease. Why was everyone looking at you with such pity?

But Lando's gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. ”You know you can talk to me, right?” he said softly, squeezing your hand gently.

Before you could respond, a sudden hush fell over the room, drawing your attention to the commotion across the room. You followed Lando's gaze, your heart sinking as you saw him make eye contact with one of your cousins, their faces morphing as if they were having a whispered conversation.

”What's going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as dread coiled in the pit of your stomach.

You have seen this scene before and you did not like where this was going. Feeling overwhelmed, you got up and excused yourself from the table. Slightly glad to have Lando do the same.

This was all a confusion. You repeated in your head before standing outside the venue, away from distressed eyes and hushed gossips.

Lando's grip on your hand tightened, his expression unreadable as he turned to face you. ”I... I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice strained with emotion.

Your heart plummeted as you watched him fidget, every step feeling like a weight bearing down on your chest. ”What is it?” you asked, your voice trembling with apprehension.

Lando hesitated, his eyes darting away from yours as if unable to meet your gaze. ”I... I don't know how to say this,” he began, his voice faltering.

Just then, your cousin appeared at his side, her expression a mix of guilt and defiance. ”Y/N, we need to talk,” she said, her voice tinged with remorse.

They exchanged another glance and something in your mind stopped working.

Your breath caught in your throat as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, the truth hitting you like a sledgehammer to the chest. ”No...” you whispered, the word barely a breath as tears welled in your eyes.

Lando reached out to you as you took a step away from them, his voice a desperate plea. ”Please, let me explain,” he begged, his eyes brimming with regret.

But you pulled away, the sting of deceit too raw and painful to bear. ”Not you too,” you choked out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”How could you do this to me?”

There were no answers, no explanations that could erase the pain of their breach of trust. They both just watched as you started crying softly. Apparently everyone in your family knew too.

As tears welled in your eyes, Lando's pleading voice cut through the air. ”Y/N, please, just give me a chance to explain.” His hand reached out towards you, but you recoiled, his touch now feeling like a betrayal.

”Explain what?” you retorted, your voice laced with disbelief. ”That you cheated on me with my cousin?”

Lando's eyes widened in panic but instead your cousin's voice broke through the tension, filled with regret. ”Y/N, I'm so sorry. It was a mistake, it shouldn't have happened.”

Anger surged within you at her words. ”Sleeping with my fucking boyfriend was a mistake?” you shot back, incredulous at the audacity of her apology.

Lando stepped forward, his expression a mix of remorse and longing. ”I never meant to cause you any pain, Y/N. Please believe me,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your trust had shattered along with your heart. 

His voice quivered as he spoke again, desperation lacing his words. ”I love you, Y/N. I made a stupid mistake, but it doesn't change how I feel about you.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by their adultery.

”If this is love, I want no part of it,” you declared, your voice filled with anguish. Knowing deep down that you meant it.

Your cousin reached out to you, her eyes brimming with tears. ”Y/N, please, you have to understand...” But understanding felt beyond your reach, lost in a sea of pain and betrayal.

”Understand what?” you cried out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”That my own sister betrayed me with my… my boyfriend?”

Lando's plea echoed in the air, his voice thick with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N. Just give me a chance.”

But the chance had already been squandered, lost in the wreckage of their infidelity.

”You had your chance, Lando, and you blew it.” You wish you could be angry and put them to their places but your chest was hurting so much that it was almost dizzy.

You felt sick and on the verge of passing out.

”I'll do anything to make things right, Y/N. Just tell me what to do.” But there was nothing they could do to undo the damage that had been done, no words or actions that could mend the broken pieces of your heart.

They have insulted you in front of your whole family.

”There's nothing you can do to fix this, Lando. You've ruined everything,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned away, the weight of their betrayal too heavy to bear.

As you walked away, their voices faded into the background, drowned out by the deafening roar of your own heartbreak. And as you stumbled out into the night, the stars above offering no solace, you vowed never to let anyone break you again.

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[adventuringblind]

“My Favorite Sainz”

Carlos Sainz x sister!reader & Charles Leclerc x Sainz!Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

Request: yes! I hope this is what you were thinking! My requests are open so please send your ideas!

Summary: Carlos has a new girlfriend, one who obviously didn’t care much to get to know him. When his sister starts getting bullied by her, it’s time for someone to step in.

Warnings: toxic behavior, bullying, social media being poison

Notes: written in third person. Kinda short compared to my other fics.

Masterlist

She was definitely more private than her brother. All her socials set to private. She only used her last name if it was necessary. So it didn’t shock her that her brothers new girlfriend didn’t know they were related.

Most of the staff around the Ferrari garage knew. Simply because Carlos was so excited when she finally decided to come to the paddock that he introduced her to everyone as “my baby sister,” much to her dismay.

The Leclerc family was instantly warm towards her. She liked teasing both Carlos and Charles. If she wasn’t with Carlos, she was probably with Charles.

When Carlos mentioned he was going on a date with a model, her and Charles teased him. It went on for months until he finally let the two meet her at the paddock during a race weekend.

It was obvious that the woman didn't care much to get to know him. The younger Sainz picked up on the way she practically ignored him when he spoke.

She pointed it out to him a few times but was just dismissed. Thankfully, Charles also saw it and reassured his favorite Sainz that she wasn't crazy.

Carlos simply pointed out that she didn't know her and that since she's a model, she deals with media and interactions differently.

She felt hurt by his words. Why didn't he see what she did?

Then the jealousy started.

Being a sister obviously meant being there for Carlos when things came up. No matter the result, it became routine for her to find him after races and slather him in sibling affection.

Depending on his mood, he’d either bat her away playfully or let console him. It was one of these moments that someone took a picture of. The culprit was Carlos’ girlfriend. She knows because she watched her take a picture with the flash on.

She let it be though. Maybe she thought it was cute.

The reality of what was really going on set in when she woke up that morning to the image circling the internet. Gossip articles claiming Carlos to be a cheater and her to be a slut.

Was it that difficult to want privacy? She wanted to watch her brothers races in peace. Do her job without interference from fans. Now, her want to remain unnoticed was the cause of drama for Carlos.

She tried to keep it to herself. Tried to let it all go because she knew the truth. But the fans were getting out of hand. They’d dug up photos where she appears with other drivers. Charles in particular.

As the words they used got stronger, she found herself struggling with how to cope.

She tried to talk to her brother about, but he’d just said he hadn’t seen anything and not to pay any mind to the haters.

It didn’t surprise Charles to see her at his door the following afternoon. Carlos had called him saying he couldn’t understand what was going on. Charles didn’t really know either. But when he saw the tears in her eyes, he knew it wasn’t good.

“What can I do for my favorite Sainz?”

~

Charles made a mental note that day to talk to Carlos, but he could never find a good opportunity to do so. In the meantime, he tried to help get rid of any rumors sounding the two.

She had bigger things to deal with then fans. Mostly the now very aggressive comments that came from a certain model. She was constantly telling her to back off.

“Can’t you take a hint?”

“I’m his-“

“I don’t care what you are, leave us alone.” She sneered. Again not bothering to listen to what anyone had to say.

Carlos had started noticing that both his sister and friend had been pulling away from him. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. But his girlfriend always placed herself between him and any answers. It was starting to become frustrating for the Spaniard.

~

This weekend she was going to celebrate Carlos’ birthday. He’d planned a large party at his apartment. She knew who was going to be there and almost decided in feigning sickness. She couldn’t do that to her brother, though. She’d just do her best to avoid any sort of spectacle.

When she arrived, the anxiety had already set in. More pictures. More words. More confrontation. She hated what this had done to her.

She takes a deep breath, opens the door, and immediately looks for her brother. He was easy to spot in the sea of bodies. Thankfully he spotted a her as well and pushed past the group to get to her.

He embraced her and planted a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m so happy you’re here! I feel like we haven’t seen each other in forever!”

She lets out an airy laugh. “We just saw each other last week and you said I was the worst sister of all time.”

“You ate my food.”

“You didn’t label it yours.”

The conversation was quick but she was relieved to be on her own again. No sight of anyone sneaking pictures of her or wanting to start anything. She made small talk with a few friends and family members. Then decided a drink was necessary if she was going to get through this party without passing out from the anxiety.

Before she made it to the bar, someone had snagged her wrist. Her body being dragged through people into the hallway. The two now secluded and away from earshot if any of her friends.

“How many times to I have to tell you? Stay away from him.” She could smell the alcohol on the woman’s breathe. She didn’t want there to be a scene. Not tonight.

She looked for a way to escape since words would do nothing. Being pinned to the wall by her shoulders was not helping her options.

~

Charles had arrived a few minutes ago. She had texted him before the party started admitting her nerves. He promised to find her as soon as he got there, but she was nowhere to be found.

Eventually he ran into Carlos. They greeted each other with a hug and a course of happy birthdays from the monegasque.

“Have you seen your sister anywhere?” He asked. His concern for the younger Sainz only growing as he’d yet to see her.

Carlos looked at him in confusion. “I was hoping you would know.”

The two split off to find her. Looking in places where you may have gone to get away.

Charles found himself down a hall that looked relatively quite. Until he heard the slurred words of a familiar female. He peeked around the corner and saw the girl he was looking for being held by the shoulders against the walls. Eyes glazed over like she wasn’t present.

Charles jumps out from around the corner and clears his throat. “There’s my favorite Sainz! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

The model and the monegasque stare at each other as one slowly releases her into the arms of the other. Carlos peaks around the corner in confusion. Not understanding why his sister was shaking, his girlfriend looked like she might punch Charles, and Charles looks like he’s going to run away with his sister.

“I’m so tired of this!” The mode, finally scream out. Loud enough for anyone nearby to stop what they’re doing. “Did you marry her or something now too?!”

Carlos deadpans and Charles starts laughing. The model only continues her monologue. “She’s a slut and want all your attention all the time, Carlos!”

Now they’ve switched. Carlos looks like he might punch the wall and Charles expression immediately deadpans.

“Get out.” Carlos spits. His voice firm and determined.

“What?-“

“I see what’s been going on now. Nobody gets to disrespect my family.”

“Your sister?”

The model begins fumbling around in confusion and embarrassment. Not knowing how not understanding what anyone was trying to tell her. Someone made sure she was escorted out.

Carlos thanked Charles for stepping in and helping his little sister. She smiled at her brother. “Never doubted you for a second.” She chuckles.

After she is in the safety of her own home, she sighs heavily. Charles had brought her up and walked her inside to make sure she was ok after everything that happened.

She almost tackled him with her surprise hug and muttered a ‘thank you’ into his chest.

He embraced her back. Whispering “of course, anything for my favorite Sainz.”

[scuderiahoney]

hello! Congrats on 1k, you're the best writer! Could I please request charles and “please, never apologise for wanting to be loved.” thank you!

1k celebration! thank you my love!!

“S’it too much to ask?” You say into the night air.

You’re laying on the bench seat on the boat, staring up at the stars. It’s just you and Charles for once- no friends, no family, just the two of you. You’d showed up at his front door, tears on your cheeks, having been dumped by your boyfriend. It’s not a new occurrence. Charles is always the one you run to when you need your pieces picked up and glued back together. Today, he’s decided the sea air will help. Your verdict is still out.

“Is what too much to ask?” He asks back to you, from his spot on the couch across from you.

You trace constellations with your eyes. “I just. Just once, I want… you know. I want something like the movies, like my parents, like-“ you groan, and the stars blur in your vision as you fight to keep yourself from crying.

“I know,” he says softly. “It isn’t too much to ask. I promise.”

You wrap your arms tight around your stomach. “Sorry. I’m being dramatic. It’s not like we’d been together that long. I just. I wanna be loved, you know? Yeah. Sorry.”

He shifts- you hear it more than see it. Then you can feel him right next to you. His head pops into your vision- he’s kneeling on the floor next to your seat, and you let out a laugh that turns into half a sob as he stares down at you, and you cover your mouth with your hand. His smile is half amused, half sympathetic.

“Please, never apologize for wanting to be loved,” he says, quiet but firm. You whimper behind your hand. His face blurs in your vision, and so does the night sky behind him. His hand brushes over your hair. “Also, you should know that you are so loved already. I promise you.”

He kisses your forehead. You wrap your arms around him and hold on tight. For a moment, this can be enough. Maybe even more than enough.

[xdacted]

The theory of goodbyes

Pairing: Reader x Pierre Gasly

Warnings: emotional cheating, angst, hurt/no comfort, reunions

Word Count: 2,544

Status: Completed

Pierre was terribly bored. 

His head pounding with the music that blared over the speaker, struggling to breathe in the crowded mess of the gymnasium. Sweat beads along his hairline, and he collapses in a nearby seat, raising a hand to protect his eyes from the strobing lights. He tries to take in the room, silver balloons that float above a floral archway and his former schoolmates cluster around the dancefloor. Truly, he can’t decide what he regrets most coming to the reunion or coming without Charles for support. He invited Kika, but she was swallowed in the pack, lost to other girls pulling each other apart to know, “How are you?! Let’s get lunch!”

Pierre can’t fight an eye roll, downing the rest of the burning liquid that someone had offered him - they were never friends, but Pierre assumes that they must have been friendly enough as he had taken it with a grateful nod. Racing and karting pulled him away from school far too often to ever develop lasting relationships. There was no one like that except Antoine and well - 

He shakes the thoughts from his head before they can even form. 

He looks around him, staring back at the old gymnasium. He’d never really been forced to be in here, never forced to drag his feet across the polished wooden floors. The walls stand tall, banners hanging from the pins in the brick announcing years of their athletic excellence. 

The school mascot is painted across the center of the walls, and Pierre doesn’t stop the feelings of pride that swell within him. His days are long gone but never forgotten. They live within him, hovering just beneath his skin, something akin to a different life. A life that was filled to the brim with freedom and carelessness. When he was able - 

A cackle pulls him back to himself and he sits a little straighter. He blinks, the lights passing over his face. Pierre adjusts the thin chair below him, scooting closer to the road table with a squeak of protest. Setting his elbow on the cloth, he reaches down to adjust his shoe, tight around his ankles - he just wants to go home. 

But before he can commit to pushing himself up from the lone table, he sees someone through the sea of people. Sunken in her chair, legs crossed before her, she sits with an uninterested expression. To Pierre, she is the most interesting person he’s seen all night. The light dances upon her face, and he can see the line of her cheekbones and the curve of her lips. Her hair curls away from her face, coils bouncing when she runs her head. In the darkness, he can see the glimmers of rings on her fingers as they drum mindlessly against the table. 

Pierre can feel the air leaving his body, mouth going dry. He stares, burning a hole through the throng of dancers. 

It can’t be. She couldn’t be -

He tries to blink, but when he opens his eyes once more, she’s gone. The small window of nostalgia collapses, filled by the bodies of strangers. 

Pierre doesn’t feel himself standing, craning his neck over the crown. He steadies himself on the table, raising on the tops of his toes, an ache running up his calf. Silently, he adjusts the chair, raising a leg to rest upon it, fingers gripping the back before he stops himself. 

What was he doing?

Foot dropping back to the floor, hands going limp at his sides, he can’t believe himself. He was about to make a fool of himself and to what? For a girl that probably doesn’t even remember him? 

He flicks his empty cup. What kind of loser has he become?

Pierre was never reckless. Never this indulgent, cameras could be anywhere, everywhere. He shakes his head, he had Kika anyway. What was the point of reminiscing over a high school - 

He sees her again. 

Only this time, she sees him too. Her eyes fixated upon him, an unreadable look on her face. Something twists in his gut, heart pounding in his rings. 

She is just as beautiful as he remembers. 

He whispers her name, voice swallowed by the music. 

It’s a secret, a declaration to the world, whispered to the timber of the gymnasium, to the steel of the basketball hoops. Before Pierre can stop himself, he’s walking. Parting through the sea of reality, ducking beneath hands, waving off conversation. With every step, he pulls himself under, below his skin, drifting back to the world long dead. 

He stands before her. 

A breathing memory. Looking up at him with her crooked smile, he can see the way that time has sculpted her clearer now. Carving her cheeks, her chin, hardening the lines of her eyes, darkening the color of her hair. 

Beautiful. 

Absolutely beautiful. 

“You got a haircut,” her words startled him, a shiver running down his spine. 

“I did,” He swallows, trying to calm the pounding of his heart as it threatens to burst from his ribcage, “You - uh - your hair is different too.”

She lets out a soft chuckle, a hand coming up to hold at a strand of hair, “I did.”

Pierre opens his mouth to speak, but the words are trapped in his throat, too much he wants to tell her. Too much he needs to tell her. His hands busy himself with the ends of his blazer, picking at a loose thread. 

A stutter on his lips, she grabs at his hand, stopping his fingers in their movement. 

“Sorry…just, we wouldn't want to ruin your fancy jacket.”

He stares down at her hand. Rings prenup at him, and he catches sight of her class ring. 

A Pierre’s class ring.

She pulls her hand back with a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, almost as if she’s been burned, “Sorry.”

Don’t go, he doesn’t say. 

He shrugs instead. 

Silence pool covers them, and he thinks, he doesn’t want this conversation to end. He doesn’t want to walk back to reality. He gently nudges her crossed legs with his show, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, “Do you - uh…”He turns to the overcrowded dance floors, “...wanna…?”

He offers her a hand, and she takes it. He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, his heart leaping up his throat. He waits for her to slide her jacket off, pulling it over the fabric of her turtleneck. 

As they walk, sidestepping pulled-out chairs and maneuvering the in-betweens of tables, they don't speak. They don’t look at one another. Just walking until they reach the edge of the crowd. He turns to her, and the song around them slows, it’s a mellow tune. Something about love and about forever, but Pierre couldn't care less. 

“You know I’m a terrible dancer,” She groans, stepping towards him. 

All Pierre can do is stifle a chuckle with the back of his hand. She sends him a glare with no real malice, a smile pulling at her lips, “What?” 

She gently shoves him with her shoulder, “Is something funny to you, Jean-Jacques?”

Jean-Jacques. He hasn’t heard his middle name uttered in a long time. He hates the way it makes him sound like a round-bellied aristocrat, but he desperately wants to hear her call him that again. Because she’s the only one that can, he’s her ‘Jean-Jacques.’ And only Jean-Jacques. 

He shakes his head with a shrug, “Nothing, nothing.” 

They settle with each other, finding an open space behind strangers. They’re hidden in bodies, encased in the music that blares over them. Pierre puts a hand on her waist and takes her hand in his. She looks up at him, she is tentative to step closer, but she does. With her so close, her name sits upon his tongue. He hasn’t spoken it in years, the very sound of it painful.

He mutters it like a prayer

She hums, never breaking eye contact, lights dancing on her skin. Pierre has forgotten his headache, he’s forgotten his boredom, his readiness to leave. He never wants to leave this place. Not now. Not when she’s here. They’re both trapped, stuck between reality and what they want. He can see it, he can feel it. He can - 

“How’ve you been?”

The question creates a painful space between them. 

“Good,” He lies, “I’ve been good. You?”

She nods along, “I’ve been good too,” the tips of her ears begin to glow red, the way they do when she lies, “I’ve been great, actually.”

She turns away, staring into the distance, “You made it to Formula One.” 

Pierre winces, her words burn. 

“Yeah, I did.”

“Was it worth it?” 

There's a waver in her voice, and it grows thick with emotion. Pierre closes his eyes with a sigh, leaning his head against the pole behind him. It was and it never will be. He has a career that he excels in, all the money he could ever want, and his parents couldn’t be prouder. But he’s - he’s always known that something was missing. A feeling. A light, something to keep him afloat. 

“No,” He breathes. 

She looks at him, her eyes wide and full of emotion. She doesn't look angry, she just looks sad.

“Did you ever go to med school?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it worth it?”

She pauses for a moment, taking her lip between her teeth, “I’m not sure.”

He can hear her unsaid sentence, the only thing stopping the onslaught of relief is the wave of shame he feels. He wants to be happy for her, he wants for her to have everything she ever dreamed of. 

But with him. 

He wanted her to have it with him. 

He hates his selfishness. Hates that he hasn’t changed a bit since they were in school. Ready to ask her to give up her dreams to follow him around the world. Unable to understand why that would ever be an issue. Love could only justify so much.

Silence bubbles over them. They sway to the distant song that plays, and he holds her close. He worries he’s holding her too tight, but when he tries to pull away, the grip she has on the fabric of his shoulder tells no differently. So he presses her closer still, cheek lying on the crown of her head, her ear pressed against his chest. With them like this, in the walls of their old school, he can almost convince himself he’s sixteen again. He can almost convince himself that she -

“I’ve missed you,” She whispers, her words muttering into the fabric of his button-up shirt, and he nearly misses it. 

Her words are almost swallowed by the noise around them. But Pierre hears, saving the words. He feels as if he’s floating, head high in the clouds of their youth. There’s nothing that can hurt them here, nothing they have to go back to. 

Nothing is waiting for them outside this moment. 

“I’ve missed you too.:

He hopes that she can hear everything he wants to say. Everything she should’ve said all those years ago when their youth could have torn through it all. Everything he should’ve said when he stood on her porch that night, cradling the box of his things she pushed into his chest with a curse of his name. Everything he should’ve said when she begged him not to go, to stay. 

To stay with her. 

With the regret heavy in his stomach, Pierre tightens his hold on her hand. He’ll hold her here with him now. He’ll keep them together, he won’t let anything pull them apart. He opens his mouth to say something. To tell her while they’re still in the clouds, while they’re still miles away. He’s gripping her hand in his, and he wants nothing more than to pull her closer. Time has been so cruel, it has stolen so much from them, so much life, but he’s here now. And so is she. 

They’re here now. 

“I -”

“Pierre!” Reality cuts between them, pulling him away. Reality pecks him on the cheek, snaking her hand on his bicep, “I was looking for you!”

Pierre can do nothing but fall apart, closing his eyes with a strained sigh. He can feel them fall back to Earth, the painful crash of time against them once more. 

And he feels as if he’s lost her all over again. 

“Who’s this?” Kika questions, a bright smile on her face, always kind.  

When Pierre doesn’t speak, reeling from the pain of the space that’s wedged between them, she does, introducing herself as, “An old friend.”

Pierre almost laughs, under the weight of reality pressing against him, he can almost burst into tears. Friends. They are so much more than that, they always were, and he always wants them to be. 

“Oh!” Kika jostles him, “Yes! Pierre has told me so much about you! I am so glad to finally meet you in person!” Kika’s laughter fills their shattered bubble and she begins to laugh alongside her, stale and empty. 

Then, there’s a call of Kika’s name, it pierces the noise of the bass, having filled the dance floor with a pop song, lyrics melting into the background, “It was nice to meet you!”

“You too!”

They watch Kika walk away, with unreadable expressions on both their faces. 

He starts, an explanation on his tongue, eyes wide and pleading, “It’s just-”

“I’m glad you found someone, Pierre,” She wrapped her arms around herself, fingered digging into the material of her sweater, a strange look on her face, “I’m happy for you.”

He is inclined to believe her. 

“I really am, Pierre.”

His name sounds so cold as it falls from her lips, almost like he’s a stranger, shattering to the ground, he winces. Pierre reaches for her, wanting to feel the warmth around his hands once more, but he pulls away, averting her eyes. 

He calls her name, begging for her to listen.

She is doing the right thing. 

“You look good together,” Unshed tears brim in her eyes, eyebrows pinched together, a hand pressed against her cheek, “You - you look happy.”

She is saying the right thing, but that doesn’t change the way his heart pounds in his chest. 

“I - I,” His words are stuck, lodged behind the lump of emotion. But Pierre isn’t strong enough to fight against reality, not when it presses against their chests

‘I’ll never love anyone the way I loved you, the way you loved me,’ Goes unsaid. 

There would never be another her. Never another woman to make Pierre feel whole, never another hand against his to hold in the rain, never eyes to stare into, never another to waste days away with. He will never be sixteen again, and he will never have her again. 

An ‘I love you’ nearly comes tumbling out, and the words burn against the roof of his mouth. He can do nothing but breathe, trying to ground himself against the burn of her gaze. She sees right through him, but he can’t hide. He doesn’t want to. She’s the only one he would ever let look straight through.  

“Thank you,” Is all he says. 

It sounds like goodbye. 

“You’re welcome.”

And Pierre knows that it is.  

____________________________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

[konaanaria13]

Alcohol is Toxic as well

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of swearing cuz that's my fav thing to do.... ahm idk just like oh google translated French, Its a big one and I've been working on it for a while so I don't remember!

word count: around 8K

so its enemies to Lovers but also their toxic friends who are friends but just always fight and kind of are very nasty to each other yep yep yep!

nice.... (also rly bad grammar I think, nobody proof reads this)

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It was as if we we're just meant to like each other.

Both of our Families we're high in status so it was just natural that we had to spend a lot of time in the presence of rich people.

Wearing the right clothes and The right smiles, It was rather a surprise for my Mother when she heard the absolute disliking I took in The Leclerc boys.

Arthur and Charles the most since Arthur was just always repeating what Charles was doing and oh gods Charles was so irritating.

Enzo wasn't. But since I already Disliked two I went for the three while talking.

Sooner or Later My mother made me wear the Ferrari colours and stand in the paddock and having to watch the races so everybody knew that we we're connected of sorts.

She wanted me to marry rich and in High status so she could be happy.

Me and Charles we're different, he liked car's and I like Quiet study sessions so we simply didn't get along very well, but we had to spend a lot of time together as my mother and his mother we're basically best friends even though they we're two completely different people.

But it wasn't as if we didn't talk, we talked a lot, me and Charles the most since we we're about the same age and it was easy to talk with him, to sneak out at a gathering and get drunk on a rooftop talking about our lives as if we weren't screaming the dumbest insult at each other five seconds earlier.

It was an understandment that even though we didn't like each other we we're in the same boat both holding our heads high and smiling when the camera was in our face.

But Charles family was supportive, I loved his mother almost more than mine, but i couldn't since she wasn't my real mother.

My parents always needed me to be the perfect Daughter, I was the middle child before me came the Golden Boy who went on as a doctor and below me came the baby Boy who sailed the world and did whatever he wanted with our parents money but never got scolded for it.

I stayed. not that I wanted my parents we're cruel... or rather strict, They words stung almost harder than they're open palm even though my mother hasn't dared to lay her hands on me. at every gathering I liked having the Leclerc family there, for Charles mother to pull me into a hug, for all three of the boys to kiss both of my cheeks with a smile and for Charles to notice my exhaustion.

"You look wonderful" Charles handed me another glass of champagne.

We we're on a yacht in Monaco, a weekend before the race. The Stroll Family had organised some of the upper class people to attend it and My mother couldn't miss the opportunity to show of her new earing's, she looked beautiful as always.

"Thank you" I took a sip and we watched as Arthur and Lance talked.

The boy was talented and attractive. Just maybe I could try...

"Do you like him?" I ask Charles and he raises an eyebrow.

"As a driver I mean? Lance? He seems nice-"

"Very nice. He's naïve" Charles agrees and I roll my eyes as Charles takes out a whisk of Alcohol and pours some into my empty glass of champagne.

"How's University?" Charles asked.

"Fucking boring. I've been stuck on like five paragraphs and I have to attend this stupid Party rather than go to an actual one on my Saturday evening" I complain and he laughs.

"It does surprise me that you chose law" he says and I frown

"Why's that?" I ask annoyed.

"You just never seemed the type-" Charles started and I rolled my eyes again

"Cause I'm a woman?" This time he rolls his eyes

"No! Oh my god you always have to do this!"

"Maybe if you weren't a sexist dick-"

"I was ten! And I was simply surprised that you wanted to go karting! It wasn't about you being female!" He whispered so he didn't have to scream.

"Well I beat you anyways-" The race of luck I liked to call it.

"You could never beat me now so"

"Yes but the last time we raced I did so be quiet" The pure luck i had in that race was unbelievable.

"I am a literal formula one driver and you have karted twice how could you beat me now?"

"I don't have to beat you again. I already did so it doesn't matter" Charles looked like he was gonna explode.

"Your such a cunt" Charles whispered under his breath and I chuckle.

"Says the raging asshole" I mutter and suddenly I feel a harsh slap on the back of my head.

"Ow!" Charles had already turned to slap the person back just as I did but we both turned away as it was Enzo.

"Y/n your mother told me to tell you that if she see's you roll your eyes again she will kick you out of the house and Charles Mamon said that if she see's you insulting her again she will also throw you out of the house-" Enzo had that strict look on his face but me and Charles glanced at each other

"I don't live with her anymore-"

"Me neither"

"Both of you. Be nice and fucking smile."

"Yes." I whisper and Enzo leaves.

"You wanna ditch?" It was maybe thirty seconds after Enzo told us to be nice.

"Yeah. You got you car?" We slowly made our way to the stairway only to be greeted by Arthur and Lance.

"Hey- oh Lance its nice to meet you I'm y/n I'm sure Leclerc has mentioned me?" Charles pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Yes... nothing nice I believe" I glare at Charles.

"Snitch" Charles mumbles

"We'll he's simply always embarrassed because i am a better driver." I laugh it off and Charles roll's his eyes.

"So not true do not believe that-"

"I have a video? Dm me on Instagram and I'll send it to you? Maybe we can talk more on there as well?" I flirt my way in a circle so that now the two boys were in our spots and we we're at the staircase.

"Oh- yeah sure?" Lance smiled like a puppy.

"No. Your not getting her socials. Arthur take him away." Charles put his hand on my waist and pulled me away and off the boat.

"Hey! I was getting myself a date?" I push his hand off.

"Your not dating another driver on the grid!" He objects and I push him away.

"And why not?" I walk on the pond until I reached the side walk going into the harbour.

"Because your mother won't allow it- come on I'll drive you home? Or anywhere come on?" I pushed him away.

"Leclerc fuck off, I'm calling a Taxi it's fine" I hated when he did that. Interfered in a perfectly fine build up.

"Stop being a bitch and come with me" he grabbed my wrist

"Oh I'm being the bitch?! You always fucking do this and I'm so not putting up with it"

"Y/n I will literally drag you come on"

"Don't you dare" We've been in this situation before, if he pissed me off he would always make me go with him anyway and either walk me home or drive me home or drive me to his place it was all the same.

"Are you coming?"

"No go away." I try to take my wrist away but he pulls me closer and there it is again. When he is close and for a second I forget all the insults and stupid remarks he makes, all the pranks and games he's played on me. All of the rumours he made up and all of the harsh slaps i got because of him. In a second where he is so near its almost frightening me.

"Please y/n? I'll drive you home and you can sulk and cry about how much your parents hate you there." But it only lasted a second.

"You fucking asshole" I slapped him

"Let me go or I'll scream" I've slapped Charles plenty of times and every time he looked like he wanted to straight up punch me back but he never did.

"I will literally choke you to death" I couldn't help but laugh.

"I really didn't think of you as the kinky type Leclerc" I chuckle and Charles rolls his eyes.

"Come on" He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me to his car.

It was funny how i never got interested in formula one over the years or racing of any sorts, even though I had to attend a good amount of the races.

"My mother is calling" Charles informed me about ten minutes into the drive.

"Yes Mamon" I looked in the backseat to see the duffle bag of Clothes

"Charles where are you two? Y/n moth is about to explode in anger, reporters came and you two are nowhere to be found" I chuckled while i got some boxers and one of Charles shirts out of the bag.

"Yeah Y/n got sick so we had to leave? I told Arthur to tell you" Charles raised his eyes brow at me as I put the shirt on and took the dress off beneath it.

"What its uncomfortable?" Charles looked way embarrassed as his eyes glued to the road.

"Noh Chére, Arthur ne nous a pas dit" and there was the French again.

"mère j'emmène Y/n dans mon appartement elle va bien" I heard his Mother frown

"S'il te plaît?"

"Fine, I'll tell her mother something"

"Mercy"

"Mercy Pascale!" I shout into the phone and Charles chuckles as he puts the phone away.

"What did you tell her?" I ask and Charles shrugs.

"Your coming to my apartment because your sick we can get drunk and watch a movie?"

"Do you maybe have....?" Weed brownies, It was Pierre's recipe and the first time I had them I wanted to merry Pierre.

"I can't I have a race next weekend" The stupid FIA and their stupid drug test...

"Yes but do you have?" Maybe it was mean but it wasn't my fault that Charles became a driver

"I do and yes you can have some" I smiled at him tossing the rest of my clothes in the back.

"Thanks gods its night or people will think we fucked" Charles says after it got dark.

"Hah?" I look up from my phone putting my legs up.

"Your dressed in my old shirt and my boxers what would you think?"

"That their comfortable" I remark and he smiles.

"Can you put your seatbelt on?" He asks after another beat of comfortable silence

"Are you worried about me?" I can't help but smile.

"No we're about to pass The police." I roll my eyes putting the seatbelt on.

As we get to his apartment my mother calls me.

"Are you absolute mental?!" Charles leaves me alone in the car.

"You cannot just leave! I will talk to you Father!"

"Mom Just- I was sick and I'm at Charles I'm sorry I should've told you? " I tried to avoid arguing with her.

"I'm still here so I won't talk about this now but your going to the race next weekend and I won't tell you father about your stupidity"

"Yes yes. Mom Leclerc is waiting I've got to go ill talk tomorrow" Charles was waiting he opened the door for me and helped me out giving me his coat so I wasn't completely naked in the street.

"Thanks." I mutter And he lets me hold onto his arm noticing my unstable state.

"How much did you drink?" He asks and I shrug.

"I had like three shots before I got on the yacht" I mutter.

"Why didn't you tell me I would've drove slower I don't want you throwing up on me."

"I'm not gonna throw up on two shots of vodka Leclerc" He opens the door for me and I enter his apartment.

"Never say never" Charles mutters with a laugh.

"I'm just annoyed at my mother" I explain and jump up on the counter while Charles gets me a glass of water as well as a shot.

"You're being nice today?" I take the shot

"Had a rough week" He says and I smile.

"What movie do you wanna watch?"

"Something scary so we can laugh" I ask and Charles takes another shot to survive the night.

"Alright you chose I'll get you your brownies" I jump down and find myself into the couch where I put Anabella on.

The next morning was torture. Not only did this bitch let me sleep on the couch and not bother to put me into the guest bedroom he also left with no breakfast in the fridge.

I cleaned the kitchen from last night's drinking session and took a shower until a friend picked me up with a fresh change of clothes.

The Monaco Grand Prix was the most grandiose GP and Everybody wanted to be the one holding the trophy at the end of the dat.

I arrived at the Paddock at Saturday walking in all black and wearing my sunglasses so people got the hint that I wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Yo! Y/n" Pierre kissed my cheek and I wrap my hands around his neck.

"Hey" I take my Sunglasses off.

"You don't look good.

"I was up late studying. I had an essay to write till today and I forgot about it."

"Come I'll walk you" The alpine boy hocked his arm with mine and walked with me to the Ferrari paddock.

"Leclerc hasn't returned any of my calls since last weekend do you know if he's alright?" I ask and Pierre shrugs.

"Has been running around a lot doesn't really have time to breath" Pierre says and I nod.

"Do you think he will win?" I ask and Pierre sighs

"I mean Ferrari started pretty bad but I think if he gets a good pole position then yes. I believe, also your here" He gives me a gentle smile and i raise an eyebrow

"I'm here?"

"Yeah don't you read headlines? Your like his lucky charm" I stop walking and stare at him puzzled.

"Like he performs better if he knows your watching, He would never admit it but it show's, every time you attend the race he relaxes of sorts because he knows your gonna support him no matter what." Unconditional Love. Pascale told me that one's...

"Its easy for you two to love each other, you don't expect anything"

"So he never has to worry about performing bad which leads to him performing good" Pierre talked as if he didn't just made me realize things.

"Oh." Oh

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you that he will kill me" Pierre laughs it off and I look up to see us standing in front of the Ferrari paddock.

"Don't worry, our little secret as always." He smile's and I bite my lip as I wat for Pierre to leave so I can walk into the Paddock but he stay's which must only mean one thing.

I turn around Charles smiling down at me.

"Hey" he kissed my cheeks and I greet him.

"Hey, how are you? Why haven't you picked up your phone?" I scold him and he rolls his eyes.

"I was busy calm down-"

"I am calm Charles but you can't just ignore me-"

"Hey Pierre" He ignores me greeting Pierre.

"Oh fuck you" I walk away from Charles into the Paddock And putting my sunglasses back on.

Charles got P1. It was rather surprising. The car wasn't that fast but Charles knew how to push its limits.

"Rather surprising" I set in the Paddock as Charles assistant comments on the subject with a down right look.

"Why? Charles is an excellent driver no one should expect less of him" I snap rather angrily and she nods embarrassed.

"I just meant-" Charles enters the Paddock getting out of the car.

"You did good" he walked over to me taking the bottle of water beside me.

"Best I could" He didn't look at me.

"Are you alright?" I reach out but he almost flinches.

"Yes I'm just stressed that's all love, don't worry" He makes sure to look me in the eyes now so that I know he isn't lying.

"Alright, yeah I'll see you tonight? After media?" I ask and he nods.

"Come by? we can have a drink?" He proposes and I nod.

"I'll meet you there" He let's me touch him, A brief second where his fingers brush mine.

In the evening I waited in the lounge for Charles, then i waited in my room, until I went to his knocking on his door.

"Yes I'm coming!" He sounded stressed and when he opened the door he stared at me.

"Shit- fuck I'm so sorry I completely forgot" He was in his boxer's and his shirt was unbuttoned, it wasn't like I haven't seen him naked, we ended up skinny dipping with Pierre and his friends a few year's back but it was always a pleasure.

But gods, he looked like a mess, his face was slightly red and his eyes we're as if he had cried and his lip's trembled when he talked.

"Jesus Leclerc- you look horrible what's gotten into you?" His hair was wet from a shower and i stepped inside reaching to touch his face.

"I just don't think-" he swallowed running his hand through his hair.

"I don't think I can lose this race, I don't think I can" He was having a panic attack. I pushed the door close and took my shoes off.

"Come on" the first time I saw Charles have a Panic attack was after he lost a karting event, I didn't know why it was so important to him since I rarely listened to them talk about the importance of races but I noticed his jittering fingers so I followed him into the cabin an. I tried to get him to breath, Enzo came thankfully and got him to calm down so I left them. Maybe it sounded cruel but I wasn't going to do him good back then since we we're so immature and I might even say I would have used it against him.

"Hey come on you wanna take a bath?"

He likes cold bath's

I tried to remember what I did the last time when I was alone with him like this but it was all gone.

"No I just need to breath" He looked up to the ceiling his eyes we're read, his skin felt hot and his breathing was uneven always taking one faster than he ended the last one.

" come on you need to breath" I lead him to the balcony where we we're met with the chill air and he set down, his hand's came up to his chest and his fingers trembled as he swallowed a sob after the other.

"Oh fuck- I'm so fucking done Jesus y/n I can't do this anymore" He cried out and I rubber my hands over his knees.

"Come on try to breath you fine" I waited until he leaned into my touch to take his hands where i made sure to give him a rhythm, I took his hands up when i wanted him to breath in and pushed them back down when He should exhale.

"Your doing great" I nodded at him and he nodded back.

After fifteen minutes he was calm and quiet.

I got up and got him water with some gin.

"You need a hug?" I ask and he shakes his head.

"Ew y/n" he was fine. I breathed through.

"I should've called Enzo" I mutter as he drinks the water.

"No. Your good." I don't think he was able to complete his sentences that night.

"I'm sorry. I'm really stressed." Short words. He was looking into the night sky trying to find the stars but the lights around us we're to bright.

"Do you want me to stay?" I ask and he find my eyes.

"Yes. Please." He adds and I smile standing up.

"Come on" he took my hand and I lead him to bed where he fell in comfortably.

I looked for his clothes from where i took one of his shirts and changed into them before laying down beside him.

"I am still angry at you" I whisper and he raises an eyebrow

"You couldn't have bothered to put me in the guest bedroom could you?" I ask and I see his faint smile.

"Room's are for people. Not for dogs." I gasp and slap his arm and I can't help but smile when he laughs.

"Gosh I wish I could help you" I whisper and I notice how harsh my words we're.

He didn't seem to mind.

"You are helping me" He says and I smile.

"I hate you with a burning passion" I tell him and he nods.

"Good. At least one thing that doesn't change" He says and I laugh.

"Yeah" He fell asleep first, It was late when I set up and brought my knees to my chest sucking in a shaky breath with a following sob.

It was Hurting me, of course he was an asshole, he did terrible things and made me cry uncountable times.

But I would never wish to have to sit there again, his shaky hands in mine, it was so fucking scary. I felt as if his heart was going to stop any second, His skin felt so cold, His eyes we're losing their pretty colour into a red teary Breath taking pain.

"Fuck" I let my nails dig into my skin.

"Be quiet" He turned around and I scoff returning to reality.

"Fuck off"

"Shut it" He frowned taking the blanket

"Wanker" I fell asleep.

The first time I was interested in a formula one race was in 2020 Baku race where Daniel and Max where on edge, I found myself in a bit of a crush for the Dutch Driver so I paid attention.

The second time was the morning after I had to hold his shaky hands in mine trying to be as steady as possible for him.

The entire race my skin was so itchy, so I scratched it off staining my fingernails.

My mother hated it when i did that but I didn't even notice till the end of the race.

Charles stayed in P1 for 80% of the race, at the start he lost it to Max but quickly got it back when max ran into a wall because his rear end hit the wall.

The second time he lost it was because of a pit stop fail and I swear I was ready to punch the crew member myself.

"Just push a bit" I muttered and he did, he caught up pretty fast as he thankfully changed to soft tires.

When he won My heart skipped a beat, I heard his scream over the radio, It was so full of beauty I needed to breath.

I took the headphones off and waited.

"Y/n Charles asked if you could put the headphones on?" One thing I hated more than Charles was Phone calls (which i got used to) or even worse radio calls (which really wasn't necessary for survival)

"Tell him he can come find me, I'm not talking to him over a radio." I wasn't that desperate was I?

"Yes ma'am" His engineer told the message to Charles and then Looked at me blankly.

"I'm not telling her that" The engineer said into the radio and I smile.

"Did he call me a raging cunt?" I ask and The engineer looks at me in shock

"Yes." He laughs.

"Tell him he can drive into a wall for all I care" I leave the paddock soon after not wanting to be on Charles last person list.

He called me when I got back to my apartment.

"Where are you?" He was clearly in a rush.

"At my apartment?" I asked as if I didn't ditch him.

"Come to the party?" He asked and I laughed.

"I'm not really in the mood-"

"Y/n i just won the most important race in my career put your favourite dress on and get the fuck to the Party or I'm gonna drag you here" His voice was filled with laughter, even though he wanted to sound convincing or demanding he was so over joyed that it was simply impossible for him to be angry.

"Do you want me to pick you up?"

"No, no, you go have fun I'll join you in an hour" He hummed and I Heard the voices around him pulling him away.

"Promise you'll come?"

"Yes. I'll be there don't worry"

"I'll come to your apartment if you don't"

"I'm already on the way" I lie before hanging up and phone down.

I chose a red dress for Charles victory and made sure to wear the Necklace his Mother gave to me on his account on my birthday since he was 'occupied'.

I called an Taxi and took a shot so I wasn't completely sober when I got there.

It was rather cold, the party was on a massive yacht and It was almost overflowing.

I made my way up the steps carefully looking for Anybody I knew.

People seemed to know me and some came over to say hi but my brain was completely shut down.

"Y/n!" It was Pierre, Lovely Pierre who had a girl in his lap and called me over handing me his drink.

"Why did you leave early? Charles was worried! Where is he? Charles!"

"Pierre the night just started how much did you drink? " I laugh and Pierre took his drink back rolling his eyes at me.

"Are you really the right person to mother me? Miss let's see who can chug the most beer? When she was 17?" I laugh.

"Exactly I was 17 how old are you right now? 12?" Pierre scoffed and I looked around spotting Charles.

He wore a black suit and a white shirt underneath the first three buttons undone and he was talking to Max.

He looked pretty, his cheeks we're flushed red and he had a glass of cranberry vodka in his hands which was even more attractive now that i think about it.

"Pierre calm down on the drinking I'm going over to Charles yeah?" He gave me a thumbs up and I smile at the girl apologetic before making my way over to the bar.

"Hey Max" I ignore Charles leaning in front of him.

"Hey Y/n" He noticed my intention thankfully and decided on Ignoring Charles as well.

Charles put his hands on my waist and pulled me closer to him and Max laughed at me as I rolled my eyes at him leaning back comfortably.

"Clingy much?" I ask and he gives me the glass of vodka.

"Its an open bar for you" He tell me and I smile.

"Why be as clingy as you want then" I take the glass.

"Somebody know the real value" Max mutters and I raise an eyebrow in question.

"Free alcohol" He explains and I laugh.

"Congratulations on p2 btw" Max scoff's.

"Thank you but no thank you"

"What? P2 is amazing! It just proves that next time you will so better" I slap his arm as he roll's his eyes.

"You know for all the things you two say behind each other's backs you do make a good couple" Max leaves us and I scoff's pushing Charles away and turning to him.

"Red for me?" He asks ignoring Max's comment.

"No for Carlos I wouldn't wear shit for you." I drink my drink.

"Really? I'm pretty sure I chose that necklace for your 20th?" Charles picked the small red heart shaped gemstone.

"It was from your mother."

"No! I chose it and I wanted to give it to you myself but I had a race you cunt" he dropped it, my skin missing his touch.

"Liar! Your mother didn't tell me you had a race and we all knew you didn't chose it you we're off somewhere while I had to spend five hours in a thight dress smiling for pictures. " I scoffed at him and he stared at me.

"It was a Sunday. I had a race in Spa Belgium. My mother didn't tell you because she didn't want to worry your Mother who always made a big fuss about it and would've want you to join me. But it was your birthday and you hate to attend the races" He explained and I swallowed.

"I got you that necklace a month even before your birthday. I got it In France, me and Pierre we're driving around all afternoon because I knew you wanted That exact one. It was the one you asked your Father to buy you that summer" Charles just talked and explained while i stared at him, how could such an insufferable annoying little shit be such a sweetheart all of the sudden rather has always been and how was I only noticing it now? Charles kept defending himself for another 5 minutes calling me a raging cunt five times as well.

"Thank you" I interrupt him at some point.

"It's one of my favourite necklaces. Thank you" It became my favourite in that moment.

"and I don't hate attending your races"

After another two drinks Lando and Carlos came over and started to talk to Charles about the race.

"Lando you wanna dance?" I asked the brit and he Looked at Charles for an answer.

Charles wasn't listening so he just shrugged and offered me his hand.

"Why not" He let me walk behind him until we got on the dance floor where he put his hands on my waist and guided me to the music.

"Did you and Charles fight?" He asked over the music leaning down so i would hear him.

"I mean we always fight" I shrug letting my hands fall around his neck.

"Yes but like why did you want to dance with me and not with him?" He asked and i raise an eyebrow.

"Maybe Because i don't like Charles?" I laugh and Lando scoffs.

"To be honest The first time i saw you two i thought you we're dating" I laugh at his stetment.

"But then you trippee him and walked over him so I was like nah... But it did take Carlos to tell me that you weren't dating so i would belive it.

"Oh?" I laugh at him and He smiled.

"Well We're really not- so yeah I'm single like a Pringel" I joke and he laugh's again.

The first time I met Lando Charles had told him that I was a huge McLaren hater which obviously wasn't true but Lando believed him and would straight up ignore me for a month.

Carlos confronted him for me and then he laughed at the both of us for a week before clearing it all up.

"Come on let's get another drink before i start sobering up again" Lando took my hand and got us back to the bar where I ordered two beer's on Charles account.

"I can pay its fine" Lando tried but i Scoffed.

"Charles is paying don't worry" I hand him the bottle and he smiles.

The night went away quick and soon the people started to leave, Lando had pulled me into his lap as we set in a couch cirlce where the other drivers had started to gather around aswell.

"To be honest I though I was gonna spin out in the fifth lap but i somehow stayed in control" Lance had started talking to Lando and I watched as the two drivers exchanged infos about they're car's.

"Y/n whats your favorite car?"

"Oh I'm not really intrested in car's" I sip on my drink and they laugh.

"Its a Ferrari" Charles set down beside me and I waved a Pierre who took the seat beside Charles.

"Hm?" I Raise my eyebrow.

"Your favorite car is a Ferrari." He says and I smile.

"Is it now?" I ask and he nods taking my hand.

"Yes so you can get down from the McLaren now." He yanked at my wrist and I almost fell off Lando but Lando made sure to Hold me not paying attention to Charles.

"Ow fuck you" i take my hand away from him as he smiles.

"Y/n i swear if you fuck one of the Drivers im calling your mother" Charles says and I scoff.

"You wouldn't dare! And im not fucking anybody anyways... just having fun" I turn away from him but he doesn't let me.

"I'm being sirius. Nobody on the grid."

"How about I fuck you engineer and check if he will be able to focus on you again while I'm in that fucking garage?" I push his buttons.

"Y/n I'm not joking-"

"Stay out of my love life Leclerc. It doesn't concern you." I spat and Charles stared at me for a while, My head kept spinning and gods his lips looked angelic.

"Don't be like that" he asked and I swallowed harshly.

"You were the one who just tried to push me off a man's lap"

"I didn't push you off your over reacting"

"Maybe because i've been drinking for five hours straight to a party you made me come to?" Charles noted my comment and nodded then turning away.

"Well good point, still you try to much Xavi and I'm actually gonna punch you" Charles Grabbed his beer bottle and I scoff.

"Xavi and I have already fucked-"

"No!" Charles and his nöh's we're rather interesting.

"Yës!" I mocked him and he yanks my hand again.

"Say your joking!" He pull's me off Lando's lap and I stand up so that Lando let's go off my hip.

"Make me" I laugh and jump over some peoples feet as Charles launges up to catch me.

"Y/n i swear to god! Say your joking" I run through some people and out on the open where Charles catches me pushing me against the rails. His hand's lock me in place and I push mine on his arms trying to push him off

"What if I'm not?" I ask and he groan's his hand falling on my waist.

"I'm gonna push you off this boat" Charles said and I smile.

"Push me" I dare him and suddenly his hand's come up beneath my thighs picking me up and I shriek putting my arms around his neck and wrapping my legs around his waist as he set's me down on the railing.

"Okay, okay fine I'm kidding! Don't let go" I eased when he didn't push me further and simply let me sit on the rail and look down on him.

Charles breathed through and let his head fall in my lap for a bit.

"Your a torture"

"The best you can get" I lift his head he smiles.

"I don't get us" he says and I nod.

"Yeah you we're about to kill me and now your simping for me again, chose a side will you?" I laugh and he groans again.

"You wanna go home?"

"Can I sleep in an actual bed rather than Your old couch?" I ask and he scoffs

"That's a brand new couch" he protests and I frown.

"Alright get me down" His hand's came up on my thighs again and he put's me down and guides me back to the bar so he can pay his hand resting on my lower back.

"Alright we're off" Charles Kissed Pierre on the cheeks and I hugged Lando kissing his cheeks.

"Bye" I hit Pierre on the back off his head and ducked behind Charles when he hit me back.

"Fuck you" He muttered and Charles guided me down the yacht.

"The cab should be here any minute"

"Ugh" I took my phone out and leaned against his chest with my back.

"What are you doing?" He put his head on my shoulder.

"Following Lando On Instagram" I mumble as I go to DM him

"Why?"

"Maybe we can go out sometimes" I muse and he snatches my phone putting it in his pocket.

"No" I roll my eyes.

"Jesus I'm just being friendly Leclerc, give me my phone"

"No your fine, come on get in the cab" I stumble along the pavement until I Reach the car where He opens the door for me and lets me inside.

I take my Highheels off and he takes them holding them for me. I watch him.

His eyes as he thinks, his lip's as he tries to form words, his hand's (gods his hands) the way his fingers lingered on my shoulder and the way He breathed slower.

He helped me out of the car as i tip toed up the stairs to his apartment so I wouldn't get my feet dirty which he picked up on so he grabbed my by the waist and i shrieked again as he carried me up the stairs in a second.

"Jesus Leclerc you got to stop doing that! How do you have this much strength anyways?" He set's me down on the cold apartment floor after he opened the door for me and I walk into his Bathroom washing my face off and breathing through.

I take off the necklace and my rings leaving them on the small plate where all of his Rings we're placed.

Charles was sitting on his bed scrolling on his phone as I got into the room looking through his closet to get my favourite shirt.

"Can you help me with the dress please?" I ask and he got up unzipping it for me.

"Thank you" I mutter covering my chest as I pulled his T-shirt over my head and turning around to face him.

"Are you tired?" He asked and I nod with a smile.

"Yes very" I look at the clock at his desk which said 05:00 AM.

"Are you still drunk?" He asks and I shake my head.

"Are you alright?" I ask and he smiles.

"I don't think I've ever been happier." He tells me and I smile.

"I don't understand us" He tells me again.

"I know. I don't either. Not since we started to... I don't know become friends." I nod and throw my head back in despair.

"But let's not tonight, let's just be happy tonight and fight about it tomorrow?" He asks and I nod.

"I'm gonna go wash up you can go to sleep already?" He breaks us back into life and I push myself over to the bed falling down.

I don't know if I fell asleep or not but I felt him beside me after some time. I didn't want to open my eyes when I felt his finger's push my hair behind my ear, I didn't want to open them when he pulled me closer by the waist and I didn't want to open them when his lip's touched my forehead whispering a good night.

We didn't talk for a month after that. I went back to studying and he went back to racing, I got out of my mothers way when ever she tried to get me to something he was attending, we had both come to a realization that we did like each other, that we didn't hate each other and I noticed how people had started to ease around me when they knew Charles as if he had stopped Saying all those things about me so Initially I stopped as well, Just skipping over him when he came up in a conversation trying to get myself away from thinking about him.

"Come on we're going out" it was about 11 P.M. and I was sitting in the Library going over some material trying to memorize several text's.

"Hm?" It was a friend of mine Ashley who already took my coat and helped me up.

"You've been stuck here for five hours we're gonna go change and then go drink.

"I really have to finish this" I tell her but she already pulled me away.

We went to a shady club somewhere at the end of Monaco and she made me take about ten shot's one after the other before taking me to play bear pong.

"Y/n I'm off with- what's your name? Julio you have fun!" it was about two when Ashley left, I kept on drinking feeling myself in the moment and dancing with random guys I found at the bar.

It was four when i ended up outside walking along the street trying to think of somebody to call.

"Pick up" I pled Having Charles number pulled up while The phone started to ring.

"Oui? c'est quoi ce bordel? qui est-ce?" Charles picked up his deep voice made me blush immediately.

"Hey where are you?" I ask and I hear him shuffling.

"What? Y/n its 4 A.M? I'm at my apartment? where are you?" I heard him shuffle some more and yawn.

"So your in Monaco?" I ask and I hear him frown.

"Yes? Its summer break? Are you drunk? Where are you?"

"Not drunk! Just a bit tipsy" I balance myself on the pavement falling down.

"are you alright? where are you?"

"Fuck, I'm I don't know where" I look around.

"Are you alright? what happened?" I heard him stand up and go through his closet.

"Just fell down. Uhm I'm sorry I just wanted to.. I don't know we just haven't talked and My mother has been pushing but I just didn't want to see you" I explain and I hear his house door close.

"Send me your location I'll be there in a second" He orders and I sigh Trying to do as he says.

"Y/n can you hear me? your location?" Charles asked again after a while and I swallow a sob. I send him my location looking at his message which was sent a fucking month ago.

"Yeah, yeah, You don't have to come I'm alright I'm just sorry... I kind of messed us up" I tell him and hear him scoff.

"We're fine, your fine, I'm fine, I'll be there in a second just wait" I nod and hear how he gets in his car. I get up and start walking again.

"Y/n?" He asks and I wipe away my tears.

"Just breath alright?" He asks and I Breath through nodding.

"I'm sorry" I whisper and hang up looking around while i wait for him.

Gosh how I love his car. The black Pista pulled up on me and He got out putting his coat around me in a second.

"Jesus you look fucked-"

"Fuck you" I scoff as I wipe away my tears again trying not to cry as I lean into him.

"Hey, hey come on your fine" He pulled me into a hug and I nod against his chest and he Helps me into the car opening the door for me.

"Come on you wanna go to your apartment?" I shake my head.

"I wanna go to yours?" I ask and he smiles.

"As you wish Chérie"

We drove in silence and I took my High heels off.

"Thank you for getting me" I whisper after a while.

"Always" He smiled and I lean my head against the window watching him drive.

"I think you we're right" I tell him and he raises his eyebrow.

"I do like Ferrari the most.... at least if your driving" I add and Charles smiles.

"Thank you I believe myself to be a quiet good Driver" I stare at his hand's.

"can I hold your hand?" I ask and he frowns but holding me his hand anyways.

"Why? Don't bite me please" I laugh leaning into his direction as he let's me hold his hand, i don't hold it but rather examine it letting my fingers run over them, they we're solid and his skin was hard in some places.

"What are you doing?" He asks after a beat of silence.

"I don't know, trying to figure out why I'm attracted to somebody's hand's" I state and when i look at him I see how flushed his face has gotten.

"Alright stay for a second" he stopped the car and I look outside seeing that we have arrived. He opened the door for me and helped me out taking my high heels and I go up the stairs faster than he so he doesn't attempt to carry me up again.

"Let me" He opened the house door for me and I walk into his apartment falling onto the couch.

"Don't do that, go to the bathroom and wash up yeah?" He tapped my leg and i rolled off the couch doing as he told me.

I washed my legs in the shower for a second and cleaned my face off before finding myself to his bedroom where he got me a hangover drink and some water.

"Do you just have those laying around?" I point to the hangover drink which he hand's me.

"I do actually yes" I drink the shot of whatever the fuck is in those things and Cringe handing the empty bottle back to Charles who was smiling at me.

"Thank you" i mutter and see that he already laid out the shirt I liked.

"Can you help me with the dress?" I ask and he does unzipping it for me.

"Thank you" I mutter again and cover my chest as I slip into his shirt.

"Are you alright?" He asks as I sit down on the bed.

"No... I'm so fucking Tired" I laugh and he hands me the water bottle.

"Me too" he informs me and I press my lips together.

"I shouldn't have called you" I tell him and he scoff's taking my hand and pulling me into him so I flop down on his chest in exhaustion.

"I'd rather have you call me than anybody else" he tells me as I curl up into his side, he holds my waist and I feel how his breath steadies.

"Thank you Charles"

"I love it when you say my name" He tells me and I Smile turning around so I'm facing him, I lift my finger and push his hair out of his face so I can touch him.

"I think we're kind of unhealthy" I tell him and he laughs hugging me a bit more giving me enough room so I can bury my face into his neck and breath in his scent.

-K<3