#no of course he's not going to say anything bad about Ferrari when he has one more year with them and he wants to stay in the team
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#people really expect Carlos to say exactly what he thinks lol#no of course he's not going to say anything bad about Ferrari when he has one more year with them and he wants to stay in the team#it's a PR answer and no i don't believe they treat him and Charles the same way idc what he says because I have eyes#he can't be honest in that sense and i understand it#what surprises me is some Carlos' fans believing this#like i understand we all want him to be happy and to believe in fairytales but... this is not how F1 works#and if you have been paying attention you can see what's going on#just my opinion#with this I'm not saying he and Charles don't have a good relationship because I think they do#it's more about the team and how they are managing things#Carlos always has to prove twice as much as Charles to be taken seriously
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All You Got
Charles Leclerc x teammate!reader
Masterlist
Summary: You hate Charles Leclerc. The feeling is mutual. He’s made that clear from the very beginning. enemies to lovers anon I hope you’re still here and I hope I got this right!
Word Count: 5.4k
Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild swearing, mild car crash (everyone is fine), panic attacks, comments about sexual activities (but no actual sex/smut)
Everyone in the entire world seems to love Charles Leclerc. Honestly, you can’t blame them. Objectively, you get it. He’s the total package- good looks, kind, generous, rich. They fall at his his feet, and they worship the ground he walks on.
Everyone except for you.
To you, everything he does rubs you the wrong way. Charles Leclerc annoys you to no end. You can’t even pinpoint what it is, just- you can’t stand him. Which is becoming a problem, seeing as he’s your teammate, so you have to deal with him constantly.
Charles was a constant thorn in your side when you were just competing against each other from separate garages. Now he’s your paddock next door neighbor, your supposed collaborator, and the only person who you can truly be compared to. Equal machinery and all that. The truth is, he’s good at what he does, which only makes it so much worse.
You’re having a good season, a great one, even. You’re not a rookie, but it’s your first year with Ferrari, your first year with a car that isn’t a tractor. It’s just that you’re constantly being compared to and overshadowed by him. It’s awful and exhausting and you sit in the briefing before the race glaring daggers at the side of his head.
He’d slowed you down in Q3. You were on a flying lap and he got in the way, left you starting in 9th when you were on track for your best qualifying yet. He’d said it was an accident, and everyone else believed him. Including your own race engineer. You think maybe if you stare hard enough you could actually light all the product in his hair on fire. Then he has the audacity to come up to you after the meeting, to lay his hand on your upper arm softly. You wrench yourself out of his grip, turn to him with a snarl. He must take it as surprise rather than what it really is, because he has a soft smile on his face.
“I’m sorry, again, about quali,” he says, and you spot a camera over his shoulder and fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you, yes?”
“Crash out at the start,” you tell him, raising one brow. There’s a smile on your face and venom in your words. “And take Max out with you.”
“Anything but that,” he says.
He winks before he breezes past you, and if there hadn’t been so many people around, you think you may have actually slapped him this time.
…..
You collapse into a chair in a swanky restaurant that night, resting your chin on closed fists, elbows on the table. Lily, jumps when you do. Alex is sitting across from you, doing a bad job of hiding a laugh behind his hand.
“I’m gonna kill him,” you tell them, knuckles digging into your cheeks. “I’m going to pass all the cars between us tomorrow and ram him into the wall.”
“No, you’re not,” George says as he sits down, Carmen following behind. “Because when you do pass all those cars tomorrow, you’re going to want to stay in the race.”
“I was going to qualify second,” you groan. “I was, seriously-“
“I know,” George says, patting your shoulder. The waiter has appeared at the end of the table.
Alex points at you. “She’ll have a shot of tequila, please.”
“She has to drive tomorrow morning,” Lily reminds him.
“And we have to sit through dinner tonight,” George says.
You slap his shoulder, glaring daggers at him, now.
“Did he apologize?” Lily asks.
“Of course!” You snap. “Because he’s fucking Charles Leclerc, and-“
Before you can launch into one of your tirades, Lily waves her hand. “Forget I asked. Never mind. This subject is banned until the weekend is over- we’re all here, this is supposed to be a nice dinner.”
You sigh and slump into your chair. “Okay, mom.”
Once the conversation starts, though, and you have your shot of tequila, you forget about Charles. You’re here to spend time with your friends, not worry about your teammate. It’s the first time in a while that both of their girlfriends have been able to make it to the same race. You’ve been looking forward to it all week, and you refuse to let Charles sour it. Besides, they’ve all heard it before, they don’t need to hear you complain again.
The next day, when you take 5th and Charles takes first, you don’t let him see you cry. You sneak out of the celebrations as early as you possibly can and head back to the hotel.It’s just so frustrating. You’re trying so hard, giving it your all, and it’ll never be enough. You want the podiums, the trophies, the champagne spraying in your face. You want it all, everything Charles has. He takes it for granted.
When you open your hotel room door, there’s a giant bouquet of flowers on the dresser. For a moment, you think maybe it’s from your family, or maybe George and Alex, a sympathy present for a race that held so much potential. You slip your finger under the flap of the envelope and pull the card out of the white flowers.
Sorry about Quali,
CL
You throw the flowers and the note in the trash and cry yourself to sleep.
…..
Lily tried to convince you that the flowers were actually supposed to be an apology, but you’d refused to see it as anything other than what it was- a way to get in your head. So at the next race, you leave it all on the track. You manage to qualify 4th- not the best you’ve ever done, but you feel pretty good about it. You feel even better that Charles is starting in 7th. He’ll be stuck in the midfield, in the dirty air, while you fight with the big dogs. You’re on cloud nine, floating around the garage, thanking your crew and your engineers and offering drinks on you if you get a podium on Sunday. It wouldn’t be your first, but it would be your first in a while, and it would really crush Charles, you just know it.
“Congrats,” he says, standing next to you in the media pen.
You think he waits to talk to you until there’s cameras around. It makes him look good, being nice to his teammate. You can play the PR game too. You plaster on a bright smile. Behind Charles, Alex raises his brows at you. You tone down the smile and he gives you a thumbs up.
“Thanks,” you say, shrugging slightly. “Sorry about seventh.”
He shrugs. “Could be worse.”
You head into the lion’s den just after that, hit with a barrage of questions about every aspect of the weekend. How does it feel to be starting fourth? Good. Do you feel good about your chances tomorrow? Yes. How’s the car feel? Good. Are you hoping for a podium? Always. What did you give Charles to convince him to let you qualify higher than him this weekend? What?
The reporter who asked it is sneering at you. Your media handler balks at the question, fumbles to grab your arm. She’s afraid you’re going to snap, but to be honest, you’re too dumbfounded to find the words. Maybe he doesn’t deserve a response anyways.
“She didn’t give me anything,” Charles says, grabbing the microphone from your hand, and now you’re seeing red for a different reason. “She didn’t need to. She did it all on her own.”
Which is true, and nice of him to say. Objectively. But he’s not saying it because it’s true, or because he wants to be nice. You can already picture his devoted fans, clipping the video and making TikTok edits that make him look like a saint. He is, in their eyes. In everyone’s eyes.
You leave the microphone with him and stalk back to your driver room.
You run into Charles in the hallway later, when you’re slinking your way to catering to try and find something good to eat. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, broad shoulders taking up all the space. You try to slip around him, but he moves with you.
You look up at him, raising your brows and throwing your hands up. “What, Leclerc?”
He raises his brows, too. “Just wanted to say sorry. For what he said. It’s not true, you know.”
“Yes, Charles, I know I didn’t… blow you or whatever to get you to let me qualify better,” you say, and he rears his head back. “Can you move?”
“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “Look, I just wanted to say-“
“I think you’ve said enough,” you snap. “You said it all, live on camera. The whole world heard it.”
“I was just trying to stand up for you.”
“I can stand up for myself,” you say, throat feeling tight. “I’ve been doing it my whole career. No need to step in now. And honestly, we both know you get off on being the savior, so cut the shit.”
You finally find a gap and slip around him. You walk out of the garage and all the way down to Williams. Nobody stops you when you head to Alex’s room- he’s there, and George is too.
“We were wondering when you’d show up,” George says, as Alex holds his arms out wide. “Fucking bullshit, the whole lot of it.”
You nod and collapse into Alex’s chest. Neither of them comment on your tears.
“At least Charles stood up for you,” George says brightly.
“Fuck off,” you say, and Alex slaps his shoulder for you.
…..
They call a red flag three laps in, and your team calls you into the pits before you can even figure out what’s going on. You’re in third, having moved past Lewis in the opening chaos. Your heart sinks, knowing that when the race restarts you’ll have lost the lead you’d built up. You search the big screens as you pull into the pit lane, trying to figure out what’s happened, and then your heart sinks even more.
It’s a Mercedes, crumpled against the barriers. They only show it for a second, and you can’t hear any of what the commentators are saying. You hadn’t caught the number or the helmet, and- it’s either Lewis or George.
As much as you like Lewis, you’ve been friends with George since you were little. He and Alex had taken you under their wings, accepted you when a lot of the others wouldn’t. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as they help you climb out of your car.
You flip your visor up and look to the nearest mechanic. “Who is it?”
He stares, blankly, and you already know.
“Who is it?” You ask, louder, looking around the room frantically.
“S’George,” someone finally answers.
“Is he-“
“We don’t know yet,” someone says, gently. “Just-“
The panic claws at your chest. You haven’t felt like this a long time, not since Lily called you from the hospital when Alex had appendicitis. You can’t breathe, can’t see, can feel your fingers.
There’s a ripple of noise, applause from the crowd. You look at the TV, see George, standing strong and holding up a thumbs up. It should be a relief, but the panic doesn’t fade. Suddenly someone’s hands are on your shoulders, guiding you into the hallway. Fingers brush against your jaw, unbuckling your helmet and wiggling it off your head. You gasp for air, and strong hands hold you steady.
“Breathe, breathe, it’s okay, he’s okay,” Charles says.
You should be shocked it’s him, but right now all you can feel is panic. You grab onto his wrists, looking for an anchor in the storm. He doesn’t let go, just holds onto you, squeezes your shoulders until you start breathing slower and slower. He only drops his grip when you drop yours. You wipe tears and snot and sweat from your face and sigh.
Suddenly it hits you- it’s Charles, holding onto you, witnessing your panic attack. You take a couple steps back.
“It’s okay,” he says again, reaching out. You brush him away. “Hey, how about we go sit, yes? Have some water?”
“I’m fine,” you sniffle.
“You’re not.”
“Why do you care?” You ask, tears springing to your eyes again.
“Because you’re my teammate,” he says. “Because your friend crashed and you are upset.”
You roll your eyes. Charles has the audacity to look confused. Like he doesn’t know.
“You don’t have to act like you like me, Charles. There aren’t any cameras around,” you snap.
Charles blinks once, then again. “What?”
“You can drop the act,” you say as you cross your arms over your chest. “I already know you hate me, you don’t have to pretend. You can go.”
Charles looks utterly and completely perplexed. For a moment, you falter. He hates you. Why does he seem so confused? It’s not that difficult to understand. Why had he even come back here with you in the first place? He could’ve let one of your crew members help you, or left you to deal with it alone. What the hell is going on here?
“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice soft. “Why would you think I hate you?”
“You’ve hated me since I got here,” you remind him. “Actually, since before I even signed the fucking contract.”
“What are you talking about?”
You stare at him, wide eyed. Is it possible he doesn’t even remember? Maybe he hates you that much.
“When I came to the factory for contract negotiations,” you start, “you made it very clear I was the last possible person you wanted as your teammate.”
You’d been leaving the factory. He’d stopped you in the hall. Sounds like you might be my new teammate, he’d said. Hopefully, if it all goes well, you’d replied. Any advice?
He’d looked around, checked to see that nobody was there. Then, voice low and serious, arms crossed, he’d said, this is the last place you belong. If you know what’s best for you, you will not sign that contract.
You’d left that day heartbroken and with a vendetta against him.
Charles’ eyes go wide when you repeat his words back to you. “I did not say that.”
“I think I’d remember,” you tell him, trying again to shove past him.
“No, no, I mean- I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, insistent, grabbing onto your arm gently. “I- that was before they hired Fred, yes?”
“Yes?” You answer, furrowing your brows at him.
“And before they changed the staff, before they-“ he sighs. “I had a shit year. I was worried the next was going to be the same. I was trying to warn you.”
Now it’s your turn to blink once, then again. “No, you…”
“I swear,” he says. “On my life, I swear.”
He draws a tiny cross with his finger, right over his heart. You take a step back and drag a hand down your face. Your head is spinning, tilted on an insane axis.
“You thought I hated you, all this time?” He says, brows furrowed. “I sent you flowers, after the quali thing-“
“I thought you were playing mind games!” You cry out.
He’s reaching for your arm again. This time you let him. His fingers dig into your skin pleasantly- not enough to feel bad, just enough to know he’s there. It’s like the fight has suddenly left your body. He doesn’t hate you. He sent you flowers because he really was sorry.
And you threw them in the trash.
“So when I stood up for you with that reporter, you thought…” he trails off, then laughs. “What, you thought I was- this is why you reacted so badly. This explains so much.”
“Yes!” You say, nodding. “Why are you so fucking ominous with your warnings? Why were you so cryptic?”
“English is not my first language and I had to be careful about how I said it, there could have been people listening!” He says, laughing again. “You didn’t listen, anyways.”
“No, because then I wanted to prove to you that I could handle myself, that I deserved the seat!”
“Of course you deserved the seat,” he says, wide eyed. “That was never a question.”
The two of you stare at each other for a beat. Then you double over in laughter, tears streaming down your face for a different reason. Charles joins you, his laughter mixing with yours for the first time ever. The noise of it sends a jolt through your heart.
He doesn’t hate you. How crazy is that?
…..
When you run into Alex in the paddock later, he’s staring like you’ve grown a second head. Actually, with the intensity of his stare, you think you may have grown two extra heads. Maybe even a third eye. He comes to a stop in front of you, and you cock your head at him.
“Hey, Al,” you greet him. “Have you seen Georgie? He’s not at Merc.”
“Yeah, he’s… he’s at the stewards, doing a debrief,” Alex says. “He said he’d meet us at the driver briefing.”
“Oh, cool,” you say. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine,” Alex says, eyes flickering across your face.
“That’s good. I’m glad,” Charles says from his spot next to you.
His arm is slung around your shoulders, his race suit tied around his waist, just like yours. You take it in from Alex’s viewpoint- the proximity, the fact that you’re even letting him touch you, and the look on his face makes sense.
“Hey, did you know Charles doesn’t actually hate me?” You ask Alex, and next to you, your teammate laughs.
“I told you that a million times,” Alex deadpans.
“Huh. Weird.” You shrug. “We should go, the briefing starts in five minutes.”
Alex trails behind the two of you, quiet the whole way there. Charles peels off when you arrive and stops to say hi to Max. George is already sitting down in a chair near the front. You sit down next to him, eyes tracing over him like you’re looking for injuries. Alex sits on his other side.
“I’m fine,” George says, nudging your shoulder lightly.
“Excuse me if I’m worried,” you say with a roll of your eyes.
Alex opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, someone sits down next to you and elbows you lightly. It’s Charles, a cold water bottle in hand, extended towards you. You take it eagerly. His knee nudges against yours, and you nudge him back. You thank him, opening the water bottle and taking a drink.
“Mate, I think I hit my head harder than I realized,” George whispers to Alex.
“Nope, you’re seeing correctly,” Alex says, holding his hands up when George turns towards him. “I don’t know either!”
…..
It turns out that when you’re not busy thinking Charles hates you, and hating him back, he’s actually pretty fun to be around. The two of you have nearly everyone else bewildered for the next few races, because you’re suddenly attached at the hip. You’ve always been civil in public, but this is a different story.
In briefings, Charles saves you a seat, and Alex and George have to fight over who gets to sit next to you. You eat lunches and dinners together in the paddock, out in the open at a patio table. Charles brings you coffee in the mornings, and you bring him pastries. During breaks, the two of you can often be found hunched over your phone, watching YouTube videos together. You have a surprising amount in common. You wonder how you never saw it before.
Charles even takes you with him to play padel one morning, brings you a half hour early to try and show you how. When George and Alex show up to play against you, they stare at you in confusion for a solid thirty seconds.
“You don’t understand,” Alex says over lunch with you and Lily later that day. “He had his hand on her waist.”
Lily is the only one who hadn’t been surprised. She shrugs.
“He was correcting my posture,” you say. “Alex is just mad that I beat him.”
“Charles beat me, you were just on his team,” Alex corrects. He’s not exactly wrong. “Come on, like, two months ago she hated his guts. Tell me this isn’t crazy, Lil. I think we need an intervention.”
“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about the intervention in front of the intervention-ee,” you say, stirring your pasta. “Intervention-ette?”
“She’s fine,” Lily says, smiling at you. “She’s just finding out that hate and love are a lot more similar than you’d think.”
You drop your fork, wincing when it clatters. “I don’t love him.”
Lily cocks her head at you. You freeze. Alex is looking back and forth between the two of you like it’s a tennis match. You can feel your face growing hot.
“I don’t,” you repeat. “We’re friends, that’s all.”
Lily blinks, feigns surprise. “I never said anything about romantic love.”
You swallow. “Yeah, but that’s what you meant-“
“That’s what you assumed I meant,” she says, and you blink.
There are butterflies in your stomach- where did those come from? You definitely don’t love Charles. Like Alex said- two months ago, you hated him. Well, you hated that he hated you. You hated the way you thought he was treating you. But now, in a different light, his actions seem a bit endearing. You’re just swept up in the new friendship, that’s all. Lily’s reading too far into it.
You tell her as much, and she drops the subject. Alex seems happy to move on, a bit unprepared to handle the whole conversation. But Lily watches you, and you can’t help but feel like maybe she knows something you don’t.
…..
It sticks in your head, is the thing. Hate and love are a lot more similar than you think. And to be honest, it sort of makes sense. Both very strong emotions, both making your chest feel tight and your cheeks feel hot. You’re not in love with Charles, though. You can’t be. He’s just- a friend. He’s a friend, and it’s new, and of course you’re going to spend time together. You’re getting to know each other! This is normal, this is teammate bonding like you were supposed to do when you joined the team.
It’s not weird that Charles introduces you to his family when they come to one of the races. It’s not weird that you’re inviting him out for drinks when you go out with George and Alex after a race. It’s not weird that you start actually playing padel and asking him to help you practice- it’s fun, and he’s good at it, that’s all.
Then you’re out at a club in Monaco one night, surrounded by other drivers. You go to leave, Lily tugging on your hand. The two of you are having a sleepover without Alex. You’re saying your goodbyes, waving and smiling and-
Charles grabs onto you, hauls you into a hug. He’s a little tipsy, you think, but not drunk. You laugh and lean into the hug, wrap your arms around him, breathe in the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. Then he pulls away, puts his hands on your shoulders, and kisses both of your cheeks.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach. Lily has to drag you away as you giggle before you make a fool of yourself. Charles waves and smiles brightly when you turn around. You burst out onto the sidewalk and cover your face in your hands. Really, it means nothing. It’s just his way of greeting people or saying goodbye, it’s a thing he does. But your chest feels warm and your head is swimming, and it’s not the alcohol.
“Oh, shit,” you say to Lily, who’s smiling at you.
“Love and hate,” she reminds you.
…..
You swear Lily to secrecy, and though she loves Alex, she would never sell you out, thank god. You’re determined to act like everything is normal. You can’t be in love with your teammate. That would be crazy. It would be awful. It would be everything that everyone has ever said about female drivers, all confirmed. You’d get torn apart on the internet.
It’s not easy, though, because it’s Charles. Because he’s sweet and kind and handsome, and he cares about you. He doesn’t hate you. He wants to spend time with you, all the time. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you think they’ve got it backwards. Maybe there’s a second part- presence makes the heart go crazy.
When you qualify in pole position for the first time in your F1 career, you have a panic attack. It’s a massive one, one that has your legs giving out and leaves you hyperventilating. It’s bad enough that Charles almost goes and gets George or Alex, but you beg him to stay with you, so he does. Eventually, he just wraps you up tightly in his arms and holds you there until you can breathe again.
“I’m not going to be able to do it,” you sniffle, as he runs his hand over your hair and rocks you from side to side. “I’m gonna crash on the first turn and then everyone is gonna be right, and I’ll lose my seat, and then-“
“No, amour, that is not going to happen,” Charles soothes, chest rumbling against you. “It is not. You are going to do just fine.”
“But what if I don’t? What if I can’t win, what if I don’t do it-“
“Then you will try again next time,” he says, so sure of it, like he can see the future. “You are starting on pole tomorrow. It’s scary, I know. But it’s just another race. You just… go out and give it your all. The same way you do every weekend.”
“You’ll keep them away from me?” You ask. Charles is starting third.
“No,” he scoffs, a laugh bubbling up from his lips. For just a moment, your heart breaks. Then, he says, “I will not need to. You will be so far ahead you’ll forget anyone else is even there.”
You laugh, press your teary face into his chest. “Shut up.”
…..
You check your rear views before the race starts, something comforting running through your veins when you see Charles behind you. You can’t see his face, can barely see his helmet, but you see the red. Then the lights go out, and he disappears in a blur. Give it all you got, you hear, unsure if it’s your race engineer or you or a voice in your head. You hold your breath for the first few turns, maybe for the whole first lap. And then your race engineer is talking about gaps and clean air and tire management, and you’re looking ahead, trying to see what car you need to try and pass next, trying to tell if you’re in DRS range, and then-
There’s nobody in front of you. Clean air. You’re in first. You’re leading the Grand Prix.
When you come careening over the line at the end of the race, when you see the checkered flag first, when you spot your crew on the pit wall, you swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Your race engineer is yelling in excitement. You think you’re yelling too, but you have no idea what you’re saying. It doesn’t matter.
You pull the car into the first place slot and climb out. You have to wrack your brain to remember what you’re supposed to do- it’s been so long since you’ve won a race, back when you were still in F2. Hug the team, get weighed, shake hands, grab the hat- Someone grabs your arm. You spin around and come face to face with Ferrari red. Charles.
He pulls you into a tight hug. Your helmets knock together. He’s saying something, over and over again.
“-told you, I told you, I knew you would do it,” he says. “I’m so proud of you.”
Charles takes your helmet and balaclava for you when you finally get them off. He takes his off too, and his face is red, dimples deep as he grins at you. He’s finished 7th, he tells you. Got passed in the first lap and never recovered.
“-told you you didn’t need me defending,” he says, and you’re laughing, shoving his shoulder. “You did so fucking good-“
The butterflies are going crazy in your stomach. You want to kiss him. The helmet has left a little indent on his cheek- you want to run your finger over it. But there are so many cameras and people watching, and suddenly you’re being pulled away from him, sent to the cool down room. Then it’s shaking hands with Max and Lewis again, watching the race highlights, basking in the excitement of it all. There’s the podium, the champagne, the trophy that you don’t let go of until you get back to the Ferrari garage. The giant group photo with the trophy, more champagne dumped over your head, Charles lost in the sea of red somewhere. It’s all such a blur.
You finally stumble back to your driver’s room, in a rush to change out of your race kit and grab your stuff. Someone has rented out a bar- they apparently did it when you qualified on pole, and didn’t tell you for fear of jinxing it. You text George and Alex, tell them where to meet you. With your stuff in hand, in a pair of sweatpants and a Ferrari sweatshirt, you finally stop and look in the mirror.
F1 Grand Prix winner.
There’s a knock on the door. You open it and find Charles standing there, in a very similar outfit. The line on his face has faded, but his hair is still a mess. You step back from the door and give him room to step inside. He’s staring at you, a soft look on his face. You’re holding your breath again. It’s the first lap. You just have to make it through the turns, get out ahead into clean air. His lips are parted, eyes wide and sparkling.
His hands are shaky when they cup your face. Yours are even shakier when you fist your hands in his sweatshirt. But the kiss he pulls you into is steady and sure and true. You melt into him, shoving your hands under his sweatshirt as he pulls you close with an arm around your waist. You reach up, thread your fingers through his hair, let his tongue slip into your mouth.
When he pulls away, his eyes are wild.
“We have to go,” he says, squeezing your hip. “You have a party to be at. Also, you are so pretty.”
You can remember the way he looked at you at the start of the season. How you thought the fire in his eyes was going to burn you alive. You’d stoked your own fire to burn him up first. Now you’re blazing, and you never want the fire to go out.
“I can’t believe I thought you hated me,” you say, muffling a laugh into his chest. “You’re coming to the party, right?”
“Of course,” he says. He cups your face in his hands again and presses another kiss to your lips. “And tomorrow, you are coming on a date with me, right?”
You laugh, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Of course.”
“Perfect,” he says, kissing your forehead and then letting you go. “Come on, winner. You have so many people waiting to buy you drinks.”
…..
When you walk into the bar hand in hand with Charles, Lily slams her hand down on the table.
“Pay up, boys,” she says, a wide grin on her face.
“Never in a million years did I see that coming,” George says.
“I’m never betting against Lily ever again,” Alex adds.
Max leans down over the table, holding his hand out, too. George and Alex groan and start pulling cash from their wallets.
“Hate and love,” Max says, a smirk on his face. “Very thin line, huh?”
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A Cinderella Story
Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader
Summary: Y/N, a McLaren mechanic, dances with the prince of Ferrari, at a Rolex masquerade charity ball. Charles has no clue who he danced with and is trying to find the girl of his dreams.
Warning: bad writing I guess, spelling and grammatical errors, inaccurate events
A/N: like i said before, I’m new to F1 so I don’t really know what kind of events go on so bear with me, please. Also, thank you so much for liking my other Charles Leclerc one shots, you have no idea how much it means to me that you like them. Y/N’s relationship with the Lando and Oscar is very much like brother and sister. Y/N is younger, mainly because I’m 21, hope all of y’all are okay with that.
Y/N was talking to Lando about his car after the Monaco Free Practice 1. (As a mechanic, she has her hair up)
“I am almost finished fixing your car, I think there’s something missing but it could be that I’m overthinking. You think you can test it out before FP2? That’s allowed, right?” Y/N asked, fishing her bracelet out of her pocket and putting it back on.
“Yeah I can drive it, 10 laps should be enough, yeah?” Lando asked, putting on his race suit and helmet.
“You’re the best, Lando!” Y/N exclaimed.
“I know.” Lando teased as he got in the car.
After the 10 laps, Lando got out of the car, took his helmet off, tied the suit around his waist, and walked to Y/N.
“The car is good, you worry too much, there is a reason why Zak hired you as a mechanic. Listen, I’m going out with the guys from Quadrant, want to come? I’ll invite Oscar too.” Lando said.
“Yeah sure I’ll come, when?” Y/N asked.
“I was thinking after the second practice, we can hit the showers, change, and go straight to the club.” Lando said.
“Okay, sounds good, I’ll go ask Oscar if he wants to come.” Y/N said, she was clearing her stuff and was on her way to talk to Oscar when she bumped into someone. “Que torpe soy, I'm so sorry.” Y/N apologized without looking.
“My fault, chéri, you alright?” Charles asked, looking at Y/N for signs of discomfort.
“Nah I'm good, thank you.” Y/N said flustered, unbeknownst to her, Oscar saw the whole thing go down and he was holding in his laughter. “Don’t you dare, Australia.” Y/N warned.
“Your crush on Leclerc is so obvious, America, it hurts to watch.” Oscar said between laughs.
“Ha ha, like you weren't like this around Lily?" Y/N asked.
"Yeah, I was nervous, but I definitely wasn't as bad as you." Oscar said.
"Anyway, Lando invited us to go out after FP2 with the quadrant gang, you coming? Please say yes, Lando is probably going to spend all night talking to Max anyway, I can’t be alone.” Y/N practically begged.
“Yeah sure, I’ll go, you need a few drinks to erase what happened with Leclerc.” Oscar said.
“Awesome! So Zak sent an email saying that he has a surprise for us tomorrow, do you have any idea what that might be?" Y/N asked, showing Oscar the email on her phone, Oscar took her phone to read it better.
"I don't know what it could be about. Anything that needs to be fixed in my car or is it good?" Oscar asked.
"it should be fine, i checked everything with Henry and Bryan (other mechanics), nothings wrong. It’s ready for the second free practice." Y/N said.
“Great. You'll be watching, right?" Oscar asked.
"Of course! Need to make sure my papaya boys get fastest lap." Y/N said.
"And your monegasque too." Oscar teased.
"Don't make me hurt you, Australia." Y/N said.
"You love me too much to do that, America." Oscar said, walking.
"Whatever." Y/N replied.
Two hours later, FP2 started, Y/N was watching everything with the rest of the team, eating chips.
“Is that necessary?” Andrea asked.
“You have no idea how much.” Y/N commented.
FP2 went well, Charles Leclerc got fastest lap. Lando and Oscar took off the helmets and balaclavas, tying their suits around their waists.
“Great free practice, sorry you didn’t get fastest lap though.” Y/N said.
“No your not.” Lando commented.
“Bet you were happy when Leclerc got it.” Oscar said.
“Well I can’t say I wasn’t happy.” Y/N said.
“Alright so let’s start getting ready. Will you drive or am I driving you?” Lando asked.
“I carpooled with Henry, drive me?” Y/N asked.
“Yeah sure. Shit, i can’t, gotta pick up Max.” Lando said.
“I’ll drive you.” Oscar offered.
“Thanks, Australia.” Y/N said. “Now both of you hit the showers, y’all are sweaty.” Y/N said.
After the boys showered, they changed, Y/N changed into something more club appropriate and let her hair down.
Y/N walked to Oscar’s car.
“What took you so long?” Oscar asked.
“Im a girl, guys can wear a shirt and jeans and everyone will freak out, if I wear the same thing, I get told I look crusty.” Y/N said.
“But you just had that outfit with you?” Oscar asked.
“If I learned anything from watching Crazy Rich Asians, you should always have a clubbing outfit and a cocktail outfit with you at all time.” Y/N said, getting into the passenger seat of Oscar’s car. “Lando sent you the address right?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Oscar said. He started the car, they listened to music and talked until they got to the club. They got in, Y/N said hello to everyone with a kiss on the cheek because that’s how her mom raised her. She sat at their booth and Y/N spotted Charles at the bar.
“Bro, Charles is here.” Y/N said, patting Oscar’s arm.
“And? You gonna do something or observe from afar like you always do?” Oscar asked.
“Well…” Y/N started but she saw a woman approach Charles. “I don’t want to interrupt his scintillating conversation.”
“I Don’t understand, you talk to Lando and I just fine.” Oscar commented.
“I was nervous around you guys too, don’t lie. I just got used to y’all, but I never had a crush this huge before, I’ve never been in a relationship, had a first date, or even a first kiss, I’m very inexperienced, okay?” Y/N admitted (guilty).
“So you’re just going to be pining away for him?” Oscar asked,
“Yep.” Y/N said.
The table ordered drinks, designated drivers get 2 drinks max. The night was fun, Lando got to deejay again, Carlos was also there so he joined their group. Since they had free practice 3 tomorrow, they needed to rest up. Oscar dropped Y/N off at her apartment, she changed, washed her face, put on a silk bonnet to protect her hair, and went to sleep.
The next morning, Y/N had her hair in two French braids and wearing her favorite bracelet. She drove to the the track and walked to the Lando’s garage.
“Are you as tired as I look?” Y/N asked.
“No, I feel fine, really.” Lando said,
“Lucky, i had trouble sleeping.” Y/N said. Lando was going to say something else when Zak came into the garage.
“Alright, I have an announcement to make. As you know, F1 is partners with Rolex, so we are invited to Rolex’s masquerade charity ball. It will be on Sunday after the Grand Prix. It starts at 8, it gives you plenty of time to get ready after the race and podium interviews.” Zak said. Everyone was excited.
“Would you give me money to buy a dress? And shoes?” Y/N whispered to Lando.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll go shopping with you.” Lando whispered back.
“This is why I love you.” Y/N teased. Zak walked towards Y/N and Lando went to talk to Oscar.
"Y/N, I need you in the McLaren Technology Centre on Monday." Zak said.
"Really? For what?" Y/N asked.
“For mechanical stuff. We’re planning on creating a new McLaren, you like the creative process, and I still need Henry and Bryan here if we have anything major to fix after the Grand Prix. I already got your ticket, first class too. Don’t miss your flight.” Zak said.
“Of course, I won’t.” Y/N said. Zak gave Y/N her ticket and she started checking the information. Her flight leaves at 3am. “Wait, isn’t this flight a little soon?”
“I know, but I need as many people working on the new McLaren as possible. You’ll only be there for 4 days, then you can relax in Monaco before we go to Canada.” Zak said and he walked away. Lands came back with Oscar and saw Y/N’s worried face.
“Whats wrong, America?” Oscar asked.
“If i go to the Rolex ball thing, I would have to leave before midnight so I have time to change and go to airport in Nice. Oh shit, I have to pack my luggage.” Y/N said.
“Can’t you just skip the ball?” Landon asked.
“Dude, when am I ever going to get invited to theses kind of events? I’m going and you’re taking me shopping.” Y/N said, pointing at Lando.
“Fine, but we’re getting food after. You think we can do it after qualifying?” Lando asked.
“I guess, but you’re calling the store, they know you.” Y/N said. “How do y’all feel about this race?” Y/N asked the boys.
“Max is definitely winning, but hopefully we’ll get on the podium.” Oscar said.
“I believe in you guys, really.” Y/N said before hugging them.
“But you also want Leclerc on the podium.” Oscar said.
“I’m just a girl, leave me alone.” Y/N said,
FP3 and Quali went by fast, no accidents. Max got pole, Charles P2, Oscar P3. During the break between FP3 and Quali, Y/N tried fixing up her Jeep Wrangler Sahara, with Zak’s okay so, of course. Lando texted Y/N the address to the shop and she drove there, parking right next to Lando.
“Alright, love, let’s get you that dress.” Lands said, guiding Y/N into the store with his hand on her lower back. “Hello, we’re looking for an evening dress for her.” Lando told the sales associate.
“Of course, all these dresses right here should be in your size, we have a selection of heels that would go well with these dresses as well.” The sales associate, Ana, said.
“Do you have any dresses in pastel blue?” Y/N asked. Ana started looking through the rack and pulled out a dress that she thought Y/N might like.
“Here you go. Because this dress has a slit, I recommend some tall high heels to elongate your legs. I prefer the platform ones like these.” Ana said, showing Y/N the heels. “Here is a dressing room, I’ll be right outside if you need help zipping it up, okay?” Ana said, handing Y/N the dress and heels.
“Thank you so much.” Y/N said, stepping into the dressing room and getting changed. She got the dress on and sat in the chair to put on the heels. After she strapped on the heels, she tries zipping up the dress, but can’t make it to the top. “Ana, I need help.” Y/N said. Ana pulled the curtain and helped Y/N zip the dress.
“You look beautiful.” Ana said. Y/N walked out of the dressing room, and she looked at Lando, who was on his phone, he looked up and his jaw dropped.
“Wow Y/N, you look great. You’ll be the most beautiful girl there.” Lando said, getting up to get a closer look. He made the motion to have Y/N twirl and she did.
“Not bad for a mechanic, right?” Y/N joked.
“Not bad at all. We’ll take it.” Lando said.
“I’ll change and we’ll be on our way.” Y/N said. Lando unzipped the dress, stopping right above her waist and Y/N unzipped the rest already in the dressing room. She changed, putting the dress on the hanger and the heels in its box, she got out and gave the things to Lando so he could pay.
After paying Lando handed Y/N her things and they walked outside to their cars.
“Thanks again for buy it.” Y/N said.
“Yeah of course. Where do you want to eat though? I’m starving.” Lands said.
“You pick.” Y/N said.
“If you say so.” Lando said. “Just follow me.” Lando got into his car, Y/N got in hers, and she followed Lando to Graziella, an Italian restaurant.
They were seated, Lando had beef tagliata with Gorgonzola sauce and French fries, Y/N had penne alla carbonara (I looked up the restaurant menu to be as accurate as possible). When they finished eating, they went to the parking lot to get their cars.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lando said goodbye, they hugged before driving off to their apartments.
When arriving to her apartment, Y/N started playing music as she packed for a four day trip. She hung her dress right in front of her closet. She finished packing, had a late night snack, and went to bed.
Tonight’s the night, after the Grand Prix with Max P1, Charles P2, and Lando P3, Y/N was getting ready, putting on her dress, her shoes, styling her hair down, and putting on her bracelet. Everything looked good, her luggage was already in her car. She drove to the venue where the ball was taking place, gave her name to the people in charge, and Y/N was given a masquerade mask.
(Choose whichever dress you like better)
Y/N walked in and all eyes were on her. She began fiddling with her bracelet until two guys approached her.
“America, you look great.” Oscar said.
“Thanks, Australia, Lando showed you the picture he took yesterday huh?” Y/N asked.
“He did.” Oscar said.
“I had to show you off. I don’t see you with your hair down that often, you know.” Lando said.
“I’m a mechanic, can’t have my hair in my face.” Y/N commented. “I’m gonna get a drink, okay, I’ll be right back,” Y/N said, she walked to the drink table to get herself some champagne and another guy walked up to her.
“You made quite the entrance, you know. You Commanded the attention of everyone in the room.” The guy spoke, his voice seemed familiar to Y/N but almost everyone in Monaco has a similar voice.
“Why thank you, kind sir.” Y/N feigned an English accent as she curtsied.
“Do you go to these events often?” The guy asked, also sipping champagne,
“Not really, it’s technically a work thing, but this is my first time going to a charity ball.” Y/N replied to the mask stranger. His eyes a beautiful shade of blue-green, his eyes feel so familiar to her, why the hell can’t she figure out who this guy is.
“I’m here for work as well.” The guy replied. They kept talking until a slow song started playing. “Care to dance, chéri?” The guy extended his hand to Y/N
“I’d love to.” Y/N said, taking his hand to dance.
“Baby blue is actually one of my favorite colors.” The guys admitted.
“It’s mine too. I love all shades of blue, but pastel blue is just beautiful.” Y/N said. “So since you’re here for work, what do you do? I’m a mechanic.”
“You’re definitely the prettiest mechanic I ever saw. I’m a driver.” The guys replied. What’s going on in Y/N’s mind is that he’s a driver and has a French accent, it could be Pierre, but he’s with Kika. She’s hoping it’s Charles but she doesn’t want to get disappointed either.
“Thank you, that’s cool that you’re a driver.” Y/N said.
They talked and danced some more, it was all going well until the clock chimed, saying it was 11:55pm.
“Listen, Frenchy, it’s been fun, but I gotta go,” Y/N said, pulling away from him.
“I’m not French, I’m monegasque.” The guy said, the confirmed Y/N’s suspicions. He took off the mask.
“Charles.” Y/N said.
“Yes, I’m Charles Leclerc, what’s your name?” Charles asked, Y/N heard the clock chime again.
“I’m sorry, I really have to go.” Y/N said, she exits the hall and puts the mask on the table before running out the the parking lot to get into her car to drive to her apartment. Charles chased after her but she saw her car leaving. He looked on the ground and he saw the bracelet that she was wearing on the floor.
“I will find out who you are.” Charles said, placing the bracelet in his suit pocket.
Y/N made it to her apartment, parked her car, went upstairs, got changed, and went downstairs to her car but it won’t start.
“Hijo de la chingada, this can’t be happening to me.” Y/N said. She got her luggage out of her car and order an Uber to nice airport,
The car arrived and dropped her off at the airport, she was on time for her flight, everything was good, but Y/N noticed her bracelet was missing.
“Ah, for fucks sake.” Y/N exclaimed as she waited in the terminal for them to call her flight.
Meanwhile Charles got into his Ferrari and drove back to his apartment. When he was home with his dog Leo, he was looking at Instagram to see if anyone posting from the event was the girl he danced with.
"What do you think, Leo? Am i going crazy?" Charles asked the blonde dachshund on his lap. He gets no answer. "Okay, maybe a little, but I had a wonderful time with her."
Charles decided to do the reasonable thing and posted a photo of the charm bracelet he found with the caption "Does this belong to you? Found on the floor of (venue) on May 26th. Contact me if this bracelet is yours." Charles turned off his phone and decided to go to sleep.
The next day, Y/N got off the plane, she turned off the airplane mode on her phone, and that's when she started recieving calls from Lando, she answered.
"Dude, what is wrong with you? I just got off the plane, who died?" Y/N asked, confused why she had so many texts and missed calls from Lando and Oscar.
"Charles posted a photo of your charm bracelet last night. You fucking danced with Charles and you didn't tell me or Oscar? We're happy for you." Lando said. "You should tell him its yours."
"No way, I know i told him i was a mechanic last night, but he is definitely expecting someone as beautiful as Kika, he would totally be disappointed if he finds out it was me." Y/N said, getting an Uber to drive her to the hotel Zak also booked for her.
"You are beautiful, Y/N, honestly, if we weren't friends, i would have flirted with you everyday until you gave me a chance." Lando said.
"Thank you but i can't help but feel how i feel. I gott go, I'm heading to my hotel then i'll go to McLaren, talk to you later." Y/N said.
The four days Y/N was in Woking, Charles was answering DMs of women claiming it was their bracelet. He would follow up with the questions "What do you do for work?" and "What color was your dress?" No one has answered those two questions correctly. Charles was starting to think it was a lost cause and he would never find her. He decided to go out with Pierre and Kika and he brought Leo with him.
"Still haven't found her, Charlie?" Pierre asked.
"No! It has been four days, everyone in my DMs who is claiming the bracelet is not her." Charles said.
"Charles, do you even know this girl's name?" Kika asked.
"I don't, i just have her bracelet and there is no indication of a name or anything that could be useful." Charles said.
"I'm sorry, Charles." Kika said, rubbing his arm.
"I felt we had a connection, even if she did call me frenchy." Charles said.
"Well there isn't a way to shorten 'monegasque' you know." Pierre said.
"Yes, I am aware." Charles said.
It was now the Canadian Grand Prix, Y/N flew with Lando and Oscar obviously. When they landed, they went to their hotel rooms, to leave their stuff and went to the hotel restaurant to order some food. Y/N had her hair down becasue she was not risking a ponytail headache. She was sitting with Oscar while Lando was talking to Carlos. Charles came downstairs and he spotted Y/N with her hair down. It looked remarkably similar to the girl he danced with. She saw Lando with Carlos so he sat right next to Lando.
"Hey Lando, quick question, did Y/N attend the Rolex thing?" Charles asked.
"She did, yeah, why?" Lando asked the monegasque.
"Does this happen to be her bracelet?" Charles asked, pulling out the bracelet from his pants pocket.
"Okay, why are you carrying that around?" Lando asked curiously.
"Just answer the question, Lando." Charles said.
"yes, yes, thats her bracelet." Lando admitted.
It all made sense, Charles started thinking about the first time he met Y/N and she called him 'Frenchy'.
It was Y/N's first day in the paddock and she walked into Charles's garage by accident. She was looking around and she bumped into him, Charles exclaimed something in French.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry, frenchy, I'm just a little lost." Y/N said.
"First, I am not French, i am monegasque." Charles said.
"Oh my god, you're Charles Leclerc! Sorry, I'm Y/N, I'm looking for the McLaren garage." Y/N said, holding her hand out for Charles to shake, which he did.
"Its on the other side actually. So why are you here?" Charles asked.
"Oh, I am McLaren's new mechanic." Y/N said.
"Nice to meet you, I'll walk you to McLaren." Charles said.
Charles had a tiny crush on her since that day but Y/N hardly spoke to him so he thought she didn't like him. He wlaked over to the table where Y/N was with Oscar.
"Y/N, can i talk to you for a second?" Charles asked. Y/N looked at Oscar.
"I'm gonna sit with Logan." Oscar said, getting up. Charles took his seat.
"I think this is yours." Charles said, showing Y/n the bracelet.
"Are you disappointed to find out that i was the girl you danced with?" Y/N asked, too shy to look at him. Charles lift her chin with his finger so she could look in his eyes.
"Why would i be disappointed? I don't know if you noticed, amour, but I've like you since you came into my garage by accident." Charles admitted. "Were you disappointed to find out you danced with me? Is that why you rushed out so quickly?"
"No, of course not! I had to go to Woking for some McLaren business and my flight was at 3am so I had to leave to change and have time to go to the airport in Nice. I was so shocked that it was you though, like i was dancing with my celebrity crush the whole night." Y/N said.
"Good to hear I'm your celebrity crush. Let's get this bracelet on." Charles said, opening the bracelet, Y/N held out her wrist, and Charles successfully secured the bracelet on her wrist. "That's better."
"It is. Thank you for finding it, I would have died if i lost it." Y/N said.
"It's no problem. So i was wondering if you would like to go on a date with me, we could go after FP2." Charles suggests.
"I would like that a lot." Y/N said.
"Perfect. Is it alright if i kissed you? I've been imagining this moment for months." Charles said.
"Go ahead." Y/N said. Charles moved her hair behind he ear and kissed her softly. They pulled away. "That was way better than my dreams."
"You dream about kissing me, mon ange?" Charles teasingly asked.
"You imagined kissing me too." Y/N said.
"True, I'm glad i don't have to imagine it anymore though." Charles said, wrapping his arm around Y/N's shoulders as they looked over the menu.
The End
Hope y’all liked it! Was it too long? I thought it was okay
#hispanic reader#latina#hispanic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#formula one#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula 1#f1 fanfic
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Can I suggest a lewis hamilton fic where the reader is their teammate they've basically been through through thic and thin and they have an argument abt lewis not tell you abt going too ferrari and they confess their feelings and let their frustrations through sex??? (( THIS IS LITERALLY SOO MUCH TOO ASK FOR SO UF YOU CAN WRITE IT ITS FINEEE)) - anon 🌺
lost in the fire — LH44 x reader
cw: switching control, sexual tension, angry sex, dirty talk, age gap
note: first ff I write in a while, please y’all be kind with my english :3 hope you like it, I thirst way too much for this man
masterlist
The way the evening is ending is making you nervous and you’re not very good at hiding it. Well, you didn’t expect to discover the worst news possible in the middle of the after party of a fashion show in Paris and above all you didn’t expect to hear that from a stranger and not from the person concerned. Such person concerned is now driving you back to your Paris hotel because according to him you are “too upset” to take your own car.
Now, while you’re looking outside the window without saying a word, you hope he told someone to take your car to the hotel, or you swear to God you’re gonna scream to his face. You want to scream to his face so bad.
The city night lights are magical but you can’t think about anything that isn’t what you had just discovered. The atmosphere is awkwardly silent. Lewis is keeping his sight straight on the road, hands on the wheel. His profile is a picture you know way too well. It’s obvious he wants to say something. Anything.
“You know we’re still gonna see each other every week, right?”
“That’s not the point.”
He lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
“Then what do you wanna talk about?”
“Nothing.” You miss the awkward silence.
You already had arguments during your friendship/coworking/whatever that is, but never like that. That’s different. You feel hurt.
He finally reaches the hotel. He can’t stop right in front, so he parks in the next street. You open the door.
“I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to.”
He gets out of the car anyway. You’re not surprised he’s acting like a gentleman even when you’re so angry you could punch him. “It’s 2 AM and I won’t leave you alone.”
You walk alongside him, trying not to look at his open jacket. The fact that he’s wearing absolutely nothing under it isn’t helping. Damn this man and his impeccable fashion sense. “You weren’t so kind when you lied to me about your new contract.” At this point you don’t even care if people hear you argue.
“I didn’t lie.”
“Oh right, you just forgot to tell me.”
“I was going to.”
“When? When you’re already driving a Ferrari car? Don’t worry I’m not colourblind.” Great, now you reached the point where you can’t keep your mouth closed. And he’s following you to your room because he’s just like you, he has to have the last word.
“Soon. And stop using that sarcastic tone with me, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Of course, my bad, you’re always right about everything. You’re so selfish and childish, running away from the things you love just because you’re scared.” You ask yourself if you’re provoking him too much. No, he deserves that. You’re about to open the door with the electronic key when he takes you wrist and pulls you away. He stands right between you and the door, preventing you from getting in. “Leave me alone.”
“I’m not scared, I don’t like to be ignored. You are the selfish one here, not trying to see things from my point of view. You think it’s so easy for me?” He’s raising his tone. He never did it with you and now you find yourself holding back the tears. “You can’t even imagine what does it mean to leave my team, to leave my friends, to leave… you. But I can’t stay anymore, it’s dragging me down and you know it.”
Those words touch your heart. You feel sorry for him but you just can’t forgive him. You simply can’t stand the thought of racing without him as your teammate. “Then why didn’t you tell me? We can fix this, we can make changes and…”
“I don’t want change, I want to be myself and I want to be listened to. I would have told you sooner but I didn’t want to hurt you. See, now you’re hurt and I don’t know what to do because…” You’re eyes are on him but he’s looking down. He’s still holding your wrist and you bet he feels your heartbeat going faster than him in a Mercedes. “Because I care about you and I don’t want to lose you.”
You try to release from his grasp but he pulls you close. “Well done, now you lost me.”
“You sure?”
“I hate you.”
He kisses you, immediately moving his other hand to your neck to pull you even closer. His dreads brush your shoulder. You try not to shake for the emotions filling you. You lose yourself in the kiss. You can’t think about anything else than your tongues tangled, so you completely forgot you’re still in the hallway. Lewis takes the electronic key from your hand and unlocks the door. He brings you in and closes it behind your back, pushing you on the door. It frustrates you that he always has you under his thumb, no matter how much effort you put into escaping it.
He wouldn’t force you to do anything, ever. You know that he will keep away his hands if you won’t make a move in that direction. However the moan you let slip makes him inevitably smile. You lick the gap between is teeth and proceed to kissing him more passionately.
He shouldn’t dare to laugh at you right now, not even if you’re probably about to explore each other bodies. You put your hands on his chest and push him on the wall of the bedroom so violently that you worry you’ve hurt him. Bold of you to even think you can hurt a F1 driver’s back. A seven times world champion F1 driver’s back.
Your hands travel under his jacket, brushing his nipples and causing him to hold his breath. His naked chest feels smooth. There’s no better feeling than having him finally in your hands. It’s a dream coming to reality.
“Oh you hate me so much.”
Can he read your thoughts? Or did he just say that because you’re mapping his upper body with your fingers? His kisses continue on your chin, then on your jaw and then on your neck. They’re soft yet so hot. You want to reply but you’re too worried to make another sound. His strong hands are now on your hips, they slide up to your waist, stroking it up and down, his mouth now reaching your naked shoulder and leaving marks on it.
He’s definitely now in control of the situation, as always. You want to regain it, but he’s good at making you melt under his palms. You want him in you so bad and you’ll have him. You take him by his jacket and drag him in front of the bed, quickly getting rid of his jacket. You push him on the white bed sheets, climb and sit on top of him. You can feel him hard.
He has the body and the face of a young god, he’s so flawless that makes your almost 20 years age difference look 0.
“Take off your clothes.” He commands.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
You pin his hands on his sides and begin slightly moving your hips. His eyes turn to the ceiling for a moment and his breath becomes louder. “You can’t torture me like this.”
“I think you deserve that.”
You stop and sit back in his lap. He looks up at you with his dark bambi eyes. They’re the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You take a moment to appreciate the sculpted inked chest he likes posting on instagram so much, thinking about all the times you spent trying to hide how jealous those fuckboy pictures make you feel. Maybe the jokes you always make on the topic betray you.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
You’re unsure about that, but what you’re definitely sure of is that you’re falling deeply in love with this man. Those puppy eyes are making you regret all the bad things you said to him.
That doesn’t change that you’re still mad. “We’ll see.”
He helps you unzip your dress, moving his hands across your back and slowly down on your ass, and you let him. The straps of your dress fall down on your arms and he stands in order to press his mouth on your collarbone. He takes your dress off, it falls down on the moquette. “I want you.” He gets rid of your bra and begins kissing your breasts like they’re the sweetest fruit on Earth. “I want you so bad.”
Years of friendship colliding into that moment. You want to shout, insult him, hurt him because it hurts you so much watching him leave, but the only words that escape from your mouth are: “L-Lewis I–“. You bite your bottom lip.
You can see through his pleased smirk that he couldn’t wait to make you eat that “I hate you”.
He takes advantage of your moment of weakness to take back control. He flips your positions and frees you both from the last clothes. God, his arms are perfect. “Open wide for me, darling.” His hands on your thighs are making you unable to speak. “Good, just like that.” He licks his lips at the sight of your wetness.
You can’t take it anymore. “Stop playing Lewis, just… just do it.”
He bends over you, a few centimetres from your mouth. “Pretty please?”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
And so he does.
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comfort ~ charles leclerc
Summary: Race after race after race where his team failed him, Charles only needs the comfort of your touch to feel better.
Words: 1.0k+
Other works: my masterlist
♡♡♡♡♡
Ferrari had done it again.
Yet another failed strategy, yet another shitty race.
You couldn't even keep count of these anymore. Weekend after weekend, race after race, everything seemed to be going against your boyfriend.
From failed hydraulics, to bad-times pit stops, to bad strategies, to crashes. You name it, Ferrari did it. You knew how much the team mattered to Charles, but it was getting out of hand and ridiculous.
When it was time for the Brazilian Grand Prix, you had hoped that it would be different this time. That maybe, just maybe, the team wouldn't mess this one up.
But of course, you had been wrong once again.
The hydraulics had failed, leaving your boyfriend out of the race in the Formation Lap.
"Why am I so unlucky?" your heart broke when you heard the broken voice of your boyfriend on the radio.
You could feel, even from just hearing his voice, how hurt and disappointed he was that he found himself, once again, out of the race before he could prove himself.
You waited impatiently for him to get back to the Ferrari garage, knowing he was going to be in a foul mood and you would have to figure out a way to cheer him up and make him feel better about himself and the situation.
Seeing his car being hauled towards the garage and him slowly stomping after it made your heart hurt for him.
The moment he looked up and noticed you waiting for him there, he sped up and crashed into your arms, letting his helmet fall to the ground.
"You're okay, baby. I'm here, it's okay" you whispered in his ear, running your hand through his hair softly.
"Let's go" he mumbled in your ear before he pulled away, took your hand and started leading you to his driver's room.
You followed him in silence, knowing it was best to let him come to you and talk whenever he was ready. Pushing him did nothing but worsen his current state.
After you had made it to his room, he locked the door behind you before collapsing on his couch with his face buried in the pillow, grunting.
You slowly walked up to him and sat down on the edge of the couch, your hands slowly starting to massage his back and his shoulder.
He moaned at the feeling, his hand finding your knee and gently rubbing his hand over it.
As you worked on his back and shoulders, you could feel the tense knots slowly dissipate, his muscled finally starting to relax after hours and hours of soliciting.
"How are you feeling?" you had asked him after several minutes of silence, your hands now only dragging your nails up and down his back like you knew he liked.
He sighed, leaning into your touch.
"Like shit" he mumbled, his thick Monegasque accent rippling through.
"I know, baby" you comforted him, continuing to run your hands up and down his back.
"I just don't understand why this keeps happening" he began, turning around on his side so he was facing you. "Every single race, something has to go wrong for me, but never for Carlos. It's always be that's out, always me who has car problems, always me who crashes, me every single time. I'm starting to think they're doing it on purpose" your heart broke hearing him talk like this about the team he had dreamt of being a part of since he was a little child.
"Hey, hey, don't think like that. I know it's incredibly frustrating, and you've had a tough year, but that doesn't mean that things aren't going to get better. You just need to have faith in yourself and in the team" you tried to comfort him, despite knowing that no words could make him feel better about the situation.
He nodded but didn't say anything, just closing his eyes in hopes to escape the world and everything around him.
♡♡♡♡♡
You had hoped it would be different now. The car was looking good, he was flying in qualifying, securing his spot in pole, everything seemed to be going perfectly.
Until it didn't.
Chaos in the garage preparing for a pit stop and a bad strategic decision later, Charles found himself out of the race, once again.
You couldn't watch the screen where your boyfriend was retiring his car, feeling furious beyond words.
The amount of sweat, tears and pain that Charles had poured into the team, the loyalty he had for Ferrari even when everything proved against the team, and still they failed him every time he needed them.
You stormed out of the garage, making your way to Charles' room where you knew he would appear as soon as he got out of the car.
In times like this, you knew the last thing he wanted was to linger in the garage with his team, angry as he was, not wanting to cause a scene where everyone could see and hear.
True to your word, not even 10 minutes had passed by until the door opened and in came Charles, looking sadder than you had ever seen him.
When his eyes met yours, he couldn't hold in the tears that started running down his cheeks. You pouted and quickly got up, enveloping him in your arms and squeezing him tightly.
Charles hugged you back just as tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out sobs that chipped away little bits of your heart at a time.
You stayed like that for a good 10 minutes, letting him get everything out of his system while kissing every inch of his body that you could reach and whispering sweet reassurances in his ear.
Once he started calming down and his tears were no longer flowing down his cheeks, he slowly lifted his head from your neck, his beautiful eyes now swollen and red.
"Oh, my sweet love" you whispered, giving him a gentle smile before pecking his lips and cradling his face in your hands.
"I'm sick of this" he said, his voice hoarse and croaky.
"I know, I know" you nodded and brought him in for another hug, making sure he could feel your love and support in his time of need.
Despite being once again disappointed by Ferrari, in that moment, Charles couldn't help but smile a little, knowing that despite everything, he had you by his side.
And you were all he needed.
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grace , send me a trope + a character and i’ll write a short drabble from it
hii, can i please request best friends to lovers with ollie?
congrats on 1k btwww 🫶🫶
call me cupid — ollie bearman
pairing. ollie bearman x best friend!reader
word count. 2.7k (i swear i tried to make it short lmao)
warnings. kind of a weird fusion of fluff and angst ??? unrequited love vibes (that’s not actually unrequited but u get what i mean), pining ollie, pining reader, arthur lowkey is the mastermind, and is also sick of said pining, abrupt ending i’m sorry 😭
author’s note. hello anon! thank you so much for your request ☺️ i hope this is ok ! i know it cuts off quite abruptly, but i’d be open to writing a part 2 with the confession if you want one <3
read below the cut
He’s staring again.
It’s becoming a problem, but can anyone really blame him? You look nothing short of angelic under the strobe lights, your shimmering dress catching his eye every time you move. You’re dancing with a girl he doesn’t recognise, that beautiful smile he adores stretched across your crimson-painted lips. It makes him wonder what she’s saying to you to make you seem so content.
Best friends shouldn’t look at each other the way he’s looking at you now. Ollie knows that. Yet on days like today, he really can’t help it. This is your party, celebrating your third Formula 2 victory in a row. He’d watched from way back in P5 as you stormed through the field, fighting off every challenge your opponents tried to throw your way. There’s a reason the fans call you the Queen of Formula 2, after all. You’re practically untouchable. All it does is heighten his awareness of his own pounding heart whenever you’re around; turn his insides to velvet when you so much as smile his way. Yes, it’s becoming a problem — and Ollie isn’t sure there’s anything he can do to stop it.
“You know, I’ve just thought of something you should try.” A voice speaks up to his left, breaking him out of whatever trance you’ve unwittingly put him under. He turns. Arthur Leclerc stands like the devil on his shoulder, arms folded, expression unimpressed. When Ollie says nothing, he goes on, “It’s called talking to her. Works wonders, really, I’d highly recommend. It’s how I met Carla.”
The younger of the two rolls his eyes. Arthur is the only other living soul on earth who knows about his infatuation with you — officially, at least. In reality, almost everyone in the Ferrari Academy has long since figured it out. Everyone except you, ironically. But Ollie supposes it makes sense; why would someone like you ever even consider him as something more than just a friend?
“Can we not do this tonight?” Ollie sighs, exasperated, “I’m just trying to forget about…all of that for a moment.”
This time it’s Arthur who rolls his eyes. Ever since he first caught on to his friend’s crush on you a little over eight months ago, he’s been trying every method under the sun to try and make him see that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be so pessimistic about his chances. But the answer is always the same. Ollie remains convinced, like some poor, naïve, completely oblivious child, that you’d never so much as give him a second glance if he told you how he felt. It’s complete bullshit, of course. Arthur has seen the way your eyes search immediately for his after a race, be it a good result or even a bad one. He’s watched you brush off close friends (including him, many a time) even family members, to get to Ollie. But of course, Ollie himself doesn’t notice. No fool in love ever does.
“You’re not going to forget though, are you?” Arthur muses, glancing at his friend out of the corner of his eye, “I know you, and I know you can’t stay away from her for that long. You’ll cave eventually.” he smirks. At the sight of Ollie’s pink cheeks, he knows he’s caught him out.
“Why don’t you go annoy someone else for a change?” the Brit grumbles. There’s the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Arthur could pick it out even in the pitch dark.
“Don’t pretend you don’t love me.” he teases.
Within moments he’s cowered behind Carla on the other side of the room, chased away by Ollie’s (half joking) threats to crash him out of the next race on purpose if he doesn’t shut his mouth. But Arthur’s words stick with him throughout the entire night. Somehow, they always do.
In truth, Ollie's been grappling with the idea of telling you for quite a while; to put him out of his own misery more than anything else. He's sick and tired of the 'best friends' label. It seems so trivial, so reductive to say that it hurts him, when in fact, every time you refer to him as such, he’s sure you must be ripping his heart out of his chest. But then he can’t help but feel melodramatic — at least he has you, even if only as a friend. Even if you don’t love him in the way he loves you, you’re still there. Close, though perhaps not quite close enough. Ollie has decided not to take that for granted. He knows how easily it can be snatched away from him.
In the end (just as he always seems to be) Arthur is right — it’s not even an hour before he finds himself gravitating towards you; unwittingly being pulled into your orbit from which he fears, if he’s not careful, he’ll never be able to escape. You’re hovering on the edge of a group of engineers now, sipping on a glass of sparkling water out of a straw. How you can appear drop dead gorgeous yet so damn adorable at the same time, he has no idea. Ollie feels he’ll be spending the rest of his life trying to figure you and your many layers out.
“Hi, Ol.” you greet him with a smile like the sun when he finally plucks up the courage to approach. He mutters something in reply, though as soon as the words have left his mouth he’s already forgotten them — he could have said something completely unintelligible for all he knows. That’s the effect you have on him.
“Having fun?” you prompt again, your soft smile spreading into a full-blown grin. Ollie glances briefly around the room. It’s absolutely packed full of Ferrari Academy members, both drivers and personnel. Normally, this kind of event would be his worst nightmare. Even if he’s known these people for years, the idea of having to socialise and look like he’s having fun makes him feel sick. But then he remembers all this is for you. It’s to celebrate your achievements in a male dominated field, which no woman has ever managed to do before. When he reminds himself of that, all his anxiety suddenly seems to melt away.
“Of course.” Ollie grins back. His heart soars to see you light up at his words, to see you giggle behind the rim of your glass and look at him as if he’s the only person in the world. At times like this he can truly believe that maybe Arthur is right — maybe, if he confesses, his world won’t come crashing down. Maybe you’ll light it up for the better.
“What happened to you at turn one? Nic told me you dropped out of the points." you go on, eyebrows furrowing with the remnants of confusion. Ollie had begun the feature race in P2 behind you, yet you'd find that the competition you'd so anticipated disappeared not even before the first lap had ended. The Brit sighs, shaking his head.
"I collided with Jack trying to defend." he tells you with a wince, "Damaged my sidepods."
Your expression twists into one of sympathy. There's almost no coming back from that, even for a driver as talented as Ollie. Still, you think, to climb back up to P5 after sustaining damage like that is no mean feat. You don't miss the way he flushes bashfully when you tell him as such.
"It was my own fault." he mumbles, trying desperately to cool the flames in his cheeks as you watch him, eyebrows raised. He always feels like he's been put under a microscope when you look at him like this. There's no escaping the calculation in your stare, the curious scrutiny. "I took too much of a risk."
You shake your head. There's the tiniest of knowing smiles on your lips. Ollie is always so hard on himself. It's something you both admire him for, and find yourself exasperated with; he never seems to be able to see how brilliant he really is -- or at least, how brilliant he is in your eyes.
"Well, whoever was at fault, it's a real shame." you dismiss with a wave of your hand, "I miss sharing the podium with you."
Ollie is sure he must be melting. He can't figure out if it's from your words alone, or from the tiny pout that's fallen on your lips, or even the soft glint in your eyes as you gaze up at him. Suddenly the proximity between the two of you seems to have all but diminished. He chuckles nervously.
"Next race will be ours." the Brit murmurs. Little by little you inch closer to him, your hand resting on the ledge you're leaning on, just ghosting over where his own lays flat. He breathes in sharply.
"Promise?" you whisper. The point of your heel bumps against his foot. Ollie glances down at it in a panic, before his head snaps up to meet your piercing gaze. He fears that if he rocks forwards only the slightest bit on the balls of his feet, he'll be close enough for his nose to bump yours. He's never felt so consumed, so intoxicated by another person in all his life. He can smell the honey scent of your hair, feel your warm breath tickling his cheek. His gaze flickers down for the briefest of moments to your lips - soft and pink, parted as if there's something else you want to say, but the words have gotten trapped in your throat.
"I promise." Ollie croaks.
Just one more step, you think. One more step, and he'll kiss you. He's so close, closer than he's ever been before, and suddenly you can see everything falling into place: all the nights spent crying on Arthur's shoulder, wondering whether Ollie is truly just scared as your friend says he is, or whether he simply doesn't feel the same. It will all fade into a distant, long-abandoned memory. Finally, you'll be able to call him something more than just your best friend.
But then he steps away.
You flinch, taken aback at his sudden movement. Ollie stares at you, wide-eyed, breathing heavily as if he's just run a marathon. He can't believe what's just happened — can't believe he was about to kiss you. How could he be so stupid?
"I —" he stammers. The look on your face is hard to decipher: shocked, confused, hurt. If Ollie looked a bit closer, he'd be able to see the last of those emotions, or the way your shock is mixed with a horrible sinking feeling of disappointment. But, of course, he doesn't see it that way. He's stuck on the same, poisonous idea that's been plaguing his mind ever since he first figured out his feelings — you don't feel the same way.
"I'm sorry." Ollie gasps. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and runs, leaving you stood alone, arms half outstretched as if to try and stop him. You're too late, of course. Within moments he's out of sight. Gone, just like your hope.
"Well that was a train wreck." a familiar voice speaks up from somewhere on your left. You spin around, groaning as you spot Arthur, arms folded, eyebrows furrowed in what you can only imagine is frustration.
"You don't say." you drawl bitterly, glaring down into your empty glass. Wordlessly, your friend passes you his own half-full one. You lean down to sniff at its contents, and pull away, nose scrunched in distaste — definitely not water. But you think, at this point, you're owed some kind of distraction.
"Why does he keep running away from me?" you grumble. It's been months of this cat and mouse game now. Tonight is the closest you've ever got; the first time you've seen with your own eyes that Ollie does reciprocate your feelings. Yet it feels like for that step forward, all you've gone and done is taken another two back.
"Because he's an idiot." Arthur answers plainly. The Monégasque watches as you take a gulp of his drink, pulling a face at the burn in your throat, and wordlessly reaches forwards to take the glass back from your hands. He's grateful that you don't complain.
"Well I wish he'd stop." you mutter. As much as you're willing to wait for Ollie for as long as he needs, it's painful, having to go on loving him from a distance like this. Every time you lock eyes, the longing grows more intense. You're not sure how much longer you can take it.
"You know, you're just as bad as he is." Arthur speaks up. Once again, your head snaps towards him, eyes narrowing.
"What?"
"You heard me." the Monégasque says with a sigh, "Look, I want to help you, I really do, but you could make all of this so much easier for yourself if you just tell him how you feel."
And there it is. You can’t help but let out a bitter chuckle. It sounds so simple coming from Arthur’s mouth — so easy. God knows you’ve tried, time and time again, to be honest with Ollie about your feelings, to rip off the plaster in the hopes the pain of it won’t be too great; that he might just tell you he’s been trying to say the same thing all this time. But whenever you feel as if you might be ready, the words catch in your throat. You just can’t stomach them. It’s a kind of vulnerability you’ve never shown to anyone before, let alone someone who already means so much to you. At the end of the day, you’re still young. No matter how much you love Ollie now, the chances of him being the one are low.
At least, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself. But a part of you knows already — there’s no one else on earth you’ll ever feel this way about. Young or not, it’s always going to be Ollie.
“I don’t know if I can take that risk, Arth.” you say quietly, “If Ollie and I — if we’re not meant to be together…isn’t it better just to have him, even as a friend, than risk losing him entirely?”
You’re honestly not sure which is the most painful: having to pretend that you don’t love him, or the idea of one day not having him at all. Yet, you still know which one you’d choose — even if it hurts like ripping your own heart out of your chest.
“Huh.” Arthur says, eyebrows furrowing again. There’s something different in his expression this time, though. It’s less frustration, more a spark. As if he’s realised something you and Ollie may not have just yet.
“What?” you ask. Suddenly, Arthur begins to smile. You watch him disbelievingly, none the wiser as to what on earth he has to be so happy about at the present moment. Then he’s laughing, shaking his head as if in mirthful despair.
“You really are soulmates.” the Monégasque snickers, watching almost gleefully as you grow even more confused.
“What?” you ask again. Part of you begins to wonder if Arthur has lost his mind — you wouldn’t blame him after the game he’s been playing: acting as some sort of secret go-between in the middle and your and Ollie’s back and forth self-doubts. But Arthur hasn’t lost the will to live with it all just yet. In fact, he thinks he’s finally figured out how to make the both of you see sense.
“He said the exact same thing to me.”
And with that, Arthur turns on his heel, leaving you stood alone, your mind racing. All this time you’ve been trying to play the long game; trying to anticipate what Ollie is thinking, when in reality, your thoughts are practically shared. You’re both afraid. More than you ever have been in your life. But for the first time you begin to think, perhaps fear doesn’t have to be the dividing factor.
“Why do you look so pleased with yourself?” Carla Brocker asks her boyfriend as he retakes his familiar position at her side, still grinning like a child who’s just been told Christmas is coming early. Arthur says nothing, merely tilting his head in the direction of where you stand motionless. It only takes a few moments for Carla to catch on. She turns to face her boyfriend again, mouth hanging open.
“You think you’ve got through to her?” she whispers urgently.
Once again, Arthur Leclerc grins proudly.
“Just call me Cupid.”
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MORNINGS [CHARLES LECLERC X READER]
This is NSFW, containing BDSM elements and sub!Charles. If you're under 18 or don't like the sound of that, then scroll past. If you're 18+ and like the sound of this, then carry on. And if you like what you read, then check out the rest of my blog for more NSFW and SFW F1 content :))
The first thing you notice when you wake is a warm body plastered against your side. That isn’t odd, considering Charles likes to cuddle up to you when he sleeps. The next thing you noticed was that Charles was moving, slowly rocking his hips against you, his erection pressed against your thigh.
You smile to yourself, chuckling a little. Charles couldn’t even get through first breakfast on his week off before getting horny. Though you shouldn’t be surprised.
He had come back from his race like a dead man walking, whining and fussing the moment he put his bags down, tired and frustrated from Ferrari’s performance. You had a quiet dinner and then let them rant to you about his weekend, he likes to you use a soundboard when he gets back. Then it was time for a relaxing bath before going right to bed.
There was no time for anything less PG than that, so really it shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s hard and needy now.
“Mommy…” he whines, having realised you’re awake, “mommy help!!!”
You smile and lean over, kissing his forehead and then shuffling up the bed so sit up against the headboard.
“Morning darling,” you say, “come sit in my lap, yeah? And then I’ll play with your pretty cock.”
He’s up in an instant. He gets caught in the blankets as he moves, ending up falling into your lap with his legs stuck in the blanket. You laugh at his antics but he whines and tears well in his eyes.
“Mommy!” He says, “mommy help, please?”
You shush him, feeling bad for laughing at him. He’s clearly feeling submissive and vulnerable and you should know better than to laugh when he’s like this. He’s always a little clumsy and unsteady when he’s feeling subby, his brain turning off and focusing only being a good boy.
“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, pushing the blankets off him, “there you go, all fixed! Come sit here now.”
He smiles then, quickly positioning himself on your lap, straddling you. He’s smiling at you, sitting comfortably in your lap with his cock forming a tent in his boxers. He’s wearing only his boxers and one of your sweaters, his hair still a mess and eyes still blinking out sleep.
“Hello,” you say, kissing his nose and putting your hands on his hips. He giggles, moving forward to get a proper kiss. Of course you kiss him back, giving your sweet boy a nice kiss and letting your hand trail down his back and slip under his boxers, squeezing his ass.
He squeaks into your mouth, mumbling “Mommy…” and blushing.
“What?” You ask, squeezing his ass again, “I can touch my good boy however I want, can’t I?”
He blushes and pulls away from the kiss, nodding and squirming in your lap.
“Yours?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. The little shit just loves to be owned.
“All mine,” you confirm, removing your hand from his ass and slipping it down the front of his boxers, cupping his cock.
He whines, bucking his hips into your hand and letting his head fall back. He’s always so sensitive in the morning, his cock already leaking in his boxers despite barely being touched.
You wonder how long he had been laying next to you before you woke up, how long he was desperate and horny beside you. You know he would never wake you for being horny, never wanting to bother his mommy.
But you’re awake now, and you’ll take good care of him.
“Alright,” you say, keeping your hand down his boxers, “take these off.”
He gets off you with shaky legs, falling onto his back and pushing his boxers down, not even getting off the bed. His cock springs free, just has hard as you expected and bright red at the tip. He throws his boxers off the side of the bed and quickly gets back on your lap. You don’t even have to ask him to.
“Good boy,” you praise, rubbing his thighs and leaning over to grab lube off the bedside table.
He whines at the praise, his cock twitching as he bucks his hips forward to try and get some friction. You just smile at him and kiss his cheeks, pouring some lube on your cock and kissing away the hiss that leaves him at the cold feeling.
“Mommy,” he whines, “cold!”
“Aw I’m sorry baby,” you say, quickly stroking his cock, “better?”
He doesn’t answer you, instead choosing to whine and cry as you stroke his cock. The poor thing is so sensitive and overwhelmed, tears quickly beginning to stream down his face. He hides his face in his sweater paws, crying out and shaking.
You strop stroking him, ignoring his disappointed whines and using your free hand to pull his hands away from his face.
“No hiding,” you say to him, “I’m stroking your pretty cock for you, so no hiding. Okay? I want to see that pretty face.”
He blushes, mumbling, “Sorry mommy,” and putting his hands on your shoulders.
“Good boy,” you tell him, starting to stroke his cock again.
He becomes a mess very quickly, tears running down his face freely now that he’s now trying to wipe them away. He shakes in your arms, dropping his head down onto your shoulder as his pleasure builds. You know he won’t last long, he never does in the mornings.
“Can I cum?” He asks, “please mommy? Please?”
On another day you might flip him over and edge him, maybe putting a little plug in to dial up the intensity.
But not now, not after the stressful weekend he’s had, and not after he crawled into your arms all soft and sleepy and asking for pleasure.
“Of course you can,” you tell him, kissing his cheek, “come nice and hard for me, yeah? Make a big mess.”
And he does.
He’s so sweet, cumming all over your hand and your sweater he’s wearing, legs shaking as his thighs squeeze around you. He cries against you, body shaking and shivering through the aftershocks, a few more dribbles of cum leaking out his cock before he’s whining and trying to get away from your hand.
You remove your hand from his cock, not wanting to overstimulate him get. The moment you take your hand away, he’s opening his mouth, sticking his tongue out and holding out one of his hands
You silently put your hand palm up on his hand, letting him take it and lick it clean. He picks your palm and wrist, removing all the cum and then suckles on each of your fingers individually, cleaning it all up and smiling when he’s done.
He’s a good boy, always cleaning up his messes.
“Thank you,” you tell him, opening your arms to let him dive in. He needs to be cleaned too, and you have to wash your hand properly of course.
But first he needs his cuddles.
He’s always sensitive after an orgasm, always a little weak and shaky and unhappy with being left alone. So he gets gets first. You don’t care if you end up messier by the end of the cuddles, anything to make him happy.
You know he’s ready when he pulls away from you, mumbling a thank you and then letting you gently push him off your lap. He falls onto his back, sprawling out like starfish as you get up to go to the bathroom.
You clean your hands and then get a warm washcloth to wipe Charles with.
You take your time in wiping his cock, cleaning around his groin and balls, making sure there’s no cum and lube left. He lets out little whines as you clean him, still sensitive. You just kiss his thigh when he whines and carry on cleaning him.
The cloth gets chucked in the basin and then it’s time for more cuddles.
You lay flat down on the bed, opening your arms for him to crawl into. He ends up laying on top of you, legs between yours and his arms crossed over your chest to rest his head.
“Thank you mommy,” he says, words a little slurred.
You cup his cheek, “Of course darling. Only the best for my boy.”
He smiles, turning his head to nuzzle into your hand and kissing your palm. You can tell he’s getting tired again, and since you have the whole day, you tell him he can take a nap on your chest, that you’ll wake him for breakfast.
You know he’ll wake himself in half an hour or so, once again horny but this time he’ll be desperate for permission to shuffle down the bed and make you feel good.
#sub!charles#cl#Charles Leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc smut#f1#f1 x reader#f1 smut#formula one
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Need a one shot of Lewis comforting Charles (because he has experience with this from before)(or them comforting each other) after the disqualifications today to be able to move on😭 im speechless.
Oh anon, trust me, I can't believe it either... This is so messed up, we really can't have anything good. My poor babies...
Here's a little ficlet, I hope it will cheer you up ❤️
It's a little poetic, Charles thinks, that they picked a picture of the two of them congratulating each other to announce their disqualifications. A little cruel, too.
Lewis is curled up against him, his cheek resting on Chalres' chest. It's still a bit damp with tears, wetness piercing through the fabric of his tee-shirt.
He doesn't mind. He lets Lewis cry all he needs because what else can he do? He had been magnificent the entire weekend, not making a single mistake. Charles is used to be let down by his team, Lewis, not quite yet. He hopes it'll never get as bad, that Lewis will never have to be used to that kind of things.
They cried, they talked, they cried a bit more, and they kissed. They didn't have sex, but it has been a while since they used that as a way to cheer each other up. It's better this way, better to keep negative feelings out of the bedroom.
Lewis' motorhome was in a terrible state, when Charles sneaked inside, and he can't blame him. It's really not in Lewis' nature to lash out like this, he tend to keep everything inside and plaster a smile on his face. It's good to know even he has his limits, no matter how good he got at losing.
Lewis also monologued for a solid ten minutes about how he hated Mercedes, and Toto, and everyone involved. About how he should dump their sorry ass and go drive to redbull.
He can get a bit dramatic, and none of his words are to be taken seriously, of course. It isn't often that Lewis can say things without any consequences, so Charles let him.
He would've found it funny, even, if he wasn't busy wallowing on their messed up races.
Lewis is probably asleep, Charles guesses from his quiet, regular breath.
Charles should sleep, too, but he can't. There's something in him that's too restless for it.
He feels Lewis move against him, hear him take a long inspiration that tells him he's awake.
"I can hear you think," he hums, the sound resonnating in Charles' chest, and he feels overwhelmed with love at this instant.
"I'm gonna leave Ferrari," he says simply. Lewis lifts up his head, looking at him with piercing eyes, and nods before plopping his head back against him.
Charles doesn't need to precise he's being serious.
"I'll support you no matter what," Lewis says softly.
"I know," he replies, and kiss the top of Lewis' head. Then, after a few minutes of silence: "Let's go get dinner and celebrate. I'm talking fancy restaurant, maybe hit a bar, after."
"Celebrate what, our DSQ?" Lewis snorts, unkind, annoyed.
"No, but it took me four years to come to this decision. And you deserve a proper way to celebrate your podium. It doesn't matter if it was taken from you, you fucking deserved it. You've been amazing, mon amour."
He can hear Lewis cry again more than see him, as he buried his face against Charles' chest once again.
"Okay," Lewis agrees eventually, a hint of a smile in his voice. "I know just the place. But this time, you let me pick your clothes. No way I'm letting you wear those ugly pants."
"Whatever you want, Lew," Charles smiles. They will be fine.
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ARTICLE: Charles Leclerc: "Ho imparato anche a dire le parolacce" (2020)
source: alessandra retico for repubblica.it
translation: lovingleclerc2 on twitter
series: f1, 2020
Might your arrival in Maranello negatively influenced Vettel’s performances?
I don't think so, on the contrary I think he was pushed even more to show what his true value is, although we all already know that he's a great driver.
Do you have any advice to give him?
I would never allow myself to, he has done much more than me in this sport and he deserves respect.
But between you, there were contrasts and sparks on track.
Yes, but our relationship has always been very good. Maybe at first it was a bit strange because of my 'fault': I was next to a 4-time world champion. It intimidated me, it made me anxious. He is so renowned while I still haven't proved anything. But over time we have sympathized. There's always been a great respect even in difficult times like in Brazil last year or in Styria this year. But once off track we always made it clear and we went on with serenity.
Are you serene about the future?
I'm extremely motivated, happy to get the most out of a difficult situation like this. It won’t be a quick recovery for Ferrari but my job is also to try to push everyone to make sure that this difficult period is as short as possible. Mentally I am as focused as ever and although I would like to fight for higher positions, I know that I‘m doing a good job and that the team is happy with me. Of course, being happy with a 5th or 6th place is not really what I want, I will never want that, but it satisfies me to progress to be as ready as possible when the time comes, for me and for Ferrari.
When will the time come?
As for performance, it'll be difficult to make a miracle with the 2021 car. In 2022, there'll be big changes and from then on we’ll have many years with the same concept of cars. We must start that phase competitive and with enthusiasm.
What can you promise to fans realistically?
To give my best, to give a show, this I can promise.
Meanwhile your popularity is growing.
For me, it has always been very important to stay the closest to the people who follow me on social media, on TV, or on track. Now that it’s more difficult without an audience, I want to maintain this closeness. The contact, virtual or physical, being accessible to others, for me is essential. And I’ll tell you more: next year I’m going to expand my social networks, which now are very thematized on my professional life, with content about me behind the scenes, out of track, in my private, to let people see who I am and what I do between one race and the other. I want to tell of myself as a person more.
Who is the private Charles Leclerc?
A normal guy, who enjoys the time he spends with his friends and family. Although since I’m in Ferrari a lot has changed: not like I did bad things before, but now I also have to give a good image of myself outside the car. Just saying, if I eat at the table I have to be careful how I’m doing it.
Your strong and your weak point?
: "I am strong in self-analysis: I'm very sincere with myself and this makes me grow a lot. My weak point is being sometimes too harsh in judging myself. Before, I was very upset about making mistakes that I still make out of inexperience or too much desire. But being demoralized is useless, the past cannot be changed. Making mistakes made me more mature, mentally very strong.
Ferrari will be without a world champion. Did they choose well with Carlos Sainz?
I don't know why they took him rather than another, but Carlos is very strong and consistent. Last year towards the end of the season he used to ask me if there was a free seat in the Red car, I replied that I didn't know, but he already had stars in the eyes.
What do you like the most and the least about Italy?
I like the simplicity, besides food of course. One flaw? I hear the bad words from the mechanics and I got into the habit of saying a lot of them too, I say more in Italian than in French.
Will your brother, now in the FDA, get to Maranello?
It’s soon, but he deserves it. He didn’t have my chances, we started together but then didn’t have enough money to continue both, my father gave the priority to me as I am older, Arthur had to stop and started again since I’ve got into F1, my uncle and I help him. He's talented, we are similar in personality. He will find his way.
Today Mick Schumacher makes his debut with Alfa Romeo in free practice. How much does it matter to be the son of Michael?
The Schumacher name is powerful in F1 and not only, but Mick is here for his talent and not for his name. It’s going to be tough here with this cold weather, for him and for everyone, we look like skiers. What about us? Some aerodynamic update, but we’ll struggle with tyres.
Do you envy anything to Hamilton or Verstappen?
I'm happy with who I am, I don't look at others, in F1 you have to be the best & I try to be the best version of myself. When we have Ferrari in front I hope I’ll be able to show what this team's worth.
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challenge : describe a moment in situation with domestic conversation but privates meaning
so here i go. charlos private moments ft team 55
//
the warm lights illuminating the white brown marble countertop where carlos made a mess with his dirty of shreddered coffee beans. The smell is nice as the hot water steamed into thin air, it's coffee (of course), but that does not mean Charles has to start liking one.
He curled up on his dining chair, pen in the right finger sketching on a fake paper he holds with his folded knee (ipad, lando laugh at him and said 'it's an ipad'. but for him, any surfaces for drawing beside paper and canvas, it's consider as a fake).
He might focus on his sketch, but he could feel Caco' eyes trailing down his finger movement. He brushed up and down, change a pen brush to a pencil, rounding his wrist, scribble then add some shadding, Caco moves the same.
After all, carlos' cousin is sitting across of him in the dining table. His palm around his mug, twirling it in the air as if a mocktail. Well, is Charles care enough, he could start building some trust or affiliation or just chitchatting since they are sitting facing each other. But, he saved it for next time.
Meanwhile, a slurping coffee sounds came from rupert, just one chair away from charles' left side. He had the perfect pairing, cookies on the plate. Eyes on Carlos movement in front of him.
The gaze Rupert gives to carlos versus caco to him is certainly had different intesity, different meaning, different question and thoughts (actually charles is 100% sure. rupert eyes on carlos doesn't mean anything, he just sometimes zoned out. like a trainer like an athlete).
Charles didn't care enough though. Even with Caco takes another sip of his handmade coffee, still observing Charles hands movement.
Instead, his mind wanders into some past event. Because of his brain is too full, too cramped with memories, nightmares, bad race, good race, bad days, charles is drawing and calls his teammate.
"Carlos"
"Yess?"
Rupert still munchin his cookies, Caco stays the same like before.
Charles takes his time to finished some pencil strikes, just a little strand of black hair he is drawing. Carlos doesn' pushed him either, busy dealing with something at back of kitchen counter.
When he finished the hair, he changes into a brush pen and start picking up some ferrari colors,
"Honestly," Charles starts truthfully, like he always did to Calros. Then he start talking at the same time he is painting his paper red.
"I don't know what to answer Ollie' questions."
Carlos let a hum behind the counter top, "Really? But you answered him pretty well"
This time Caco and Rupert head turned at him (and Carlos). He knows, even when he doesn't truly see them.
Another paint streaks down, "Now the more I think about it" he cracked his neck to the left and continue to drawing,
"Why do I continue racing while it always giving me, this, same loss over the years?"
Caco raises his eyebrows. Of course he is. He is an outsider.
But Carlos understand. What loss meaning for Charles. Only him, because Charles let him see, let him know, let him in. To his private life.
"Love is ironic no? To say that I keep going because I love racing. At the same time..." Charles realized he fucked up the color
He wriggles a bit on his chair, fixing his hoddies sleves then erased some of error, "At the same time, racing fucked my life. They took away... my loves one" Charles' already on his second color, it's a warm honey bee yellow.
"My problem is always the same, though" He sighed. Tired of hugging his knee, he put his ipad on dining table.
"Is that I love people. And people that I Iove is leaving me. Then it goes alll around like that again and again..." he strokes a couple of shading, "and again." adding some highlights.
"And I wished I am heartless"
"I certainly wish you doesn't" Carlos speaks up, with a sudden presence of a warm mug beside his ipad.
Charles smelled and a smile peaking up his dimples to rise. He brought the mug closer to his noser, "Seriously, Honey milk?"
Carlos body warming his back. His hand placed firmly against Charles wooden chair.
"Your all the time favorite" he grins wide
"It is" Charles takes a sip with Carlos watching him (And certainly 180 degree different feeling when it's Carlos rather than Caco or Rupert. Even they do exactly the same; looking at him)
"Like it?" Carlos gives him an eyebrow raised
"Love it" A white milk line up on his upper lips and Charles happily lick them clean with his own tougue.
"This is why i don't think you shouldn't be heartless. I don't think you could be either." Carlos squeeze his shoulder, before taking a sit beside him
Of course. Charles also knows, he is a love person. He couldn't and probably wouldn't ever stop loving. Even though it's stupid and hurting
"What do you know about me?" he groans, eyes completely off the ipad now as the device locked and turn into black pitch
Caco squeked on his chair (Charles smiles, knowing that he is triggered), Rupert take a glance to both of them worried (he always be), while Carlos...
he just on his goofy mood today.
"I don't know you very much actually" white lies escape smooth like a butter as they're both smiling.
"what do you want me to know something about you?" Carlos asked, tilting his head. Eyes never leaving him
Charles squirm under his gaze. "my..." dimples showing as he giggles, he fake his thinking gesture, "what do i want for dinner?"
Carlos rolled his eyes.
"I know, Carbonara it is. Your liking"
Charles smiled and nodded as he watches Carlos arise from his chair, Taking sip from Charles' honey milk cups, on the same place charles lips settled. Carlos is still standing beside him, hands hanging loose in the air.
"I love it" He simply agree to whatever Carlos choose for dinner. Not minding a blush start spreading over his cheek. love you, he want to said. Caco gaze burning on him.
"Yes and I think that is what makes you still here" Carlos smiled at him. Warm like a sun.
That is what, Carlos means love. And here, means settling down in Carlos' Maranello apartemen. After hours and hours, they're spending their time to re learn and re analize this season. What went good and bad, what to do for next year. Until moon rises and Charles realized it is too late for him to go back Monaco then Carlos tugs his arm,
come home with me
and he follows, and he is here. Explained why charles here with Caco and Rupert scrutinizing him. Explained why, Carlos cooks him a dinner.
Charles hides his emotion pretty well, he thought. But when he pick up his ipad again, the dimples reflected through the screen, mocking him with three words (you loves him)
"What do you draws?" Carlos breaths softly against his crown head. Almost like a feather light kisses. Charles purrs
He blinks slowly and finally look across the table. Giving Caco a brief eye contact before craning his neck to meet Carlos behind him.
Carlos cheek is tan, smooth and clean. Smells good, citrus aftershave. Perfect, Charles thinks. So, he brings his ipad up, covering his whole face and half of Carlos' profile. He leans into Carlos' space and making sure Caco' trailing gaze fails him.
Rupert swallowed his last cookie, Caco drinks his empty coffee mug. Not that Charles can sees them anyway from behind his ipad. He doesn't care then closes the gap in.
After an utter silence, Charles cringe at the way how Carlos' high pitched dolphin laughter filled the apartement. That sounds so weird. It so stupid, he shakes his head. Then, he is putting down his ipad, making him visible again in Caco' vision.
"Pasta un lunga?" Charles pushed Carlos's arse towards to kitchen. That bastard still laughing.
"It's penne, mon bebe" Carlos mocking him while preparing a pan of boiling water.
Charles groans in annoyance. Of course , Carlos' carbonara is always lunga and Charles is always complaint.
"Do we have penne?" Rupert asks out of curious. Charles back busying himself with another sketch, secretly smiling as Carlos answered his trainer by "No, come on. Carbonara is lunga!"
But later then, when Carlos is plating the carbonaras in the dining table, three plates serves the lunga. And one penne, still sizzling warm in the pan.
>>>
Rupert ask him on the next day,
"What did Charles draws?" He asked while Carlos is driving three of them to airport. Rupert just so eager to back home and grinding down Carlos again with lots and lots of winter training.
But Carlos drives in his unusual calmness, like he doesn't want to leave Maranello fast, like his body, his souls lingering at his apartement. Somehow didn't match with Rupert and Caco excitement.
"Uhm, no. He didn't show anything" Carlos took some time to answered him.
Rupert takes a glance and find fondness in Carlos eyes. He hummed, but Caco interrups in,
"Did he truly is?"
"Yes. Does he ever shows anything?"
Rupert raised his eyebrows at Carlos immediate answer. Later on he realized his athlete is smiling.
>>
later,, carlos said to charles at the dawn. the monegaque bid him a quick farewell before went inside his own car.
it's already midnight when they touched down Spain but Carlos cheek is still warm from Charles' lips.
#1655#i am soo devastated because i just lost the previous version#carlos sainz jr#charles leclerc#my fics#c2#charlos#for context : ollie is ollie bearmant (arthur ex teammate)#this is actually a part of my wip zkzkz#guess what is charles doing behind the ipad! what does charles shows?#sorry#caco is sooo susssss about them#rupert manwaring#rupert is confused 24/7
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2016 season summary
Alright let’s get the general stuff out the way first because we all know this is mainly gonna be about brocedes anyway.
General stuff :
First of all F1 really fucked up with trying to change quali and with the incredibly stupid radio ban. Also they’ve been sold to Liberty media so you know things are gonna change.
At the start of the season Ferrari looks pretty good but they’re not winning the development war. For RedBull : there’s the controversial swap with Max making it into the A-Team after just 4 races. The relationship between Daniel and Max is interesting. There’s a clear time when you can tell Ricciardo starts feeling threatened by the kid. They’re getting closer and closer to Mercedes as well. And of course there’s literally a whole rule added by Charlie because of how Max drives, i.e. dangerously.
Okay now let’s get to the main topic, brocedes :
Look. It’s gonna be difficult to write this because what hasn’t been written about it already? I’m not gonna have a smarter or original thing to say, so I guess all I can do is give my own outlook on things.
First of all, I do agree Nico probably would not have won a title if it wasn’t for Lewis’ bad luck. But it doesn’t actually matter. Luck is part of the sport. In 2015, Nico was the unlucky one out of the two. That’s just how it is : you need a good driver in a good car with a good strategy but if your driver is unlucky none of it counts.
Reliability is also not the only problem Lewis faces that season. Because of it and because of the mechanics swap (which imo was a very poor managerial decision btw, way too radical), he gets very very deep in his head. Adaptability is truly not his best trait, to this day. He’s very unhappy about the swap, and then he gets paranoid with the reliability issues, even suggesting some conspiracy theory at some point (Malaysia - and yeah I absolutely do not believe the official Merc version that he was alluding to a higher power rather than someone sabotaging him). He just can’t get over himself, not that it would have changed much of anything to his engine repeatedly failing.
Thus, Lewis’ self-narration progressively goes from “I’m heroically battling the odds and not giving up” to “he’s only winning because I had reliability issues” when it becomes clear he’s only gonna beat Nico through actual divine intervention. He’s absolutely unable to recognize Nico’s work. Even after Nico has won, he keeps saying “I don’t wanna take anything away from him, he did everything he had to this year BUT”. And he just can’t let go of that “but”. He says it every single time. He can’t accept that he lost, or maybe he can’t accept that Nico won. I know I keep saying it but once again : Nico won against someone he saw as better than him, and Lewis lost to someone who he saw as not as good as he is. And he can’t accept it. And that’s why to this day, Nico is able to talk freely about their rivalry and about Lewis, and Lewis can’t.
And – sorry for this personal vendetta but yes, I’m gonna mention it – the funny thing about this is, Lewis early on in the season (Bahrain GP) said in an interview that the issue with racing now is that drivers get coaches when psychologists just mess with your mind and they don’t need all that. Meanwhile Nico credited part of what allowed him to win that year to working “extremely intensely” with a sport psychologist. So. Yeah. Just saying. Maybe if he worked with a psychologist he wouldn’t have gotten that paranoid but who knows. Anyway, moving on. This really isn’t Lewis’ best year. That’s probably the least likeable I’ve seen him. And I understand why some people saw him as arrogant. Because he fucking is. (Doesn’t matter btw, I love a cocky asshole, but it’s honest to mention it I think.)
I’m absolutely fascinated with Nico’s departure as well. We’ve talked about it a bit in the last review but of course I’m gonna talk about it again. Right when I started watching the brocedes era for this rewatch (which, again, up to this point isn’t really a rewatch but a watch), I mentioned that being in this fandom without actually having seen it with my own two eyes gave me the very wrong picture of what it was like. Nico has been demonised a lot by Lewis’ fans, and I don’t think most of it was justified. I also think a lot of newer fans interpret the story with the current Lewis in mind (i.e. generally extremely clean racer, very good at media com, very good at portraying himself as good and above petty disputes – whether he truly is above them remains to be proven) but Lewis was an asshole much more outwardly at the time it happened, and he still had a lot of maturing to do, and his com was pretty bad (think of the Japanese GP snapchat scandal stupidity, I mean… the whole thing was ridiculous to being with, but he unfortunately handled it very poorly as well – if such a thing happened today he would react very differently). Anyway, I will forever wonder whether it could have been possible for them to have such a rivalry in a mature way later on, or if the fact that it’s THEM makes it impossible for them to be mature about it, in the way siblings can never fight without all the weight of their childhood on their backs.
Similarly, I feel like when you don’t know the actual story, like I mentioned in the Abu Dhabi review, it seems like Lewis won the war as Nico gave up on F1. But that’s not true. And look. You know I don’t really do fanfiction but I want to say that the first person who opened my eyes to it even before I got to the end of the season and saw it for myself was Akira (@effervescentdragon) in this ficlet. Credit where it’s due, what she wrote really stayed with me while watching the end of this season. Anyway, forgive me for quoting myself from the last race review, but there’s no use paraphrasing something I already wrote :
And I think it’s an important thing to finish on. Because a lot of people have said (I mean I’ve just read it in one of the articles I’ve read for this conclusion) that Nico won the battle but Lewis won the war because Nico basically gave up. I myself have alluded to this in the “Lewis breaks his teammates essay”. Lewis did break Nico. I mean Nico said pretty plainly that he was unable (but maybe more importantly unwilling) to keep putting so much effort into beating Lewis. But Lewis didn’t win the war, Nico did. Because Lewis never got to beat him again. [...] And Nico robbed him of a chance to set things right in his mind. In the story of their rivalry, the last thing that happened is, and will forever be : Nico won. And that’s Nico’s everlasting victory.
Let’s talk numbers : so far, I’ve completed 56.6% of my rewatch. In total, I’ve made 1,862 GIFs to illustrate it.
Here’s a list of the 2016 GPs with a quick summary and the link to the actual recap if you wanna read it or take a look at the GIFs I made :
Australian GP : season context, quali fiasco, Lewis pole, interviews, bad start, horrible crash with a redflag, slight Toro Rosso drama, Lewis P2
Bahrain GP : quali fiasco still being revised, Lewis pole, Alonso is NOT back, another interview, Angela, got overtaken by nico then contact with val, pretty good racing but not at the front, Lewis P3
Chinese GP : absolute disaster of a weekend, first PU failure, chaotic start, three pit stops in the first ten laps???, lots of overtakes, Lewis p7
Russian GP : abysmally stupid halo conversation, second PU failure + issues during the race, messy messy start, mechanics swap, lewis P2, bonus
Spanish GP : lewis pole, Max promoted to RedBull, obviously well. Double DNF.
Monaco GP : not on pole, mixed conditions, but still 44th win!
Canadian GP : controversial start incident, battle with Seb, nice podium, the seagull incident, Ted being very partial, Lewis wins!
European GP : bad quali and another engine problem, stupid radio ban, Lewis P5
Austrian GP : pole!, complicated race, shocking plot twist, lots of post race debrief, Lewis wins
British GP : Lewis pole, karting interview, wet start, loads of cars losing it, radio ban issue for Nico, Lewis wins
Hungarian GP : huge quali controversy, the radio ban gets even stupider, possibly some shady backing up and brake issues?, Lewis wins, championship lead! Raikkonen doesn’t like Max’s driving
German GP : Nico interview, strategy group meeting, pretty boring race, Lewis wins
Belgian GP : engine penalty, terrible Brundle opinions on the halo, incredibly chaotic race, Lewis P3 after an extreme recovery
Italian GP : extremely boring race, nothing to say, Lewis P2
Singapore GP : chaotic start, very very weird strategy calls, Lewis P3
Malaysian GP : fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck (but more seriously : turning point moment?, tragic ending, hurt no comfort, conspiracy theories, etc.)
Japanese GP : Snapchat controversy, another bad start, many overtakes early on, suspenseful ending, WCC decider
US GP : Lewis interview, Lewis pole, but more reliability problems, Lewis’ 50th win! Adorable podium.
Mexican GP : Lewis pole Lewis win, but nobody cares because there’s incredible drama between Max and Seb, none of your business
Brazilian GP : very very chaotic wet race, Massa’s last home race, lovely radio, baby Charles is in love, Lewis win
Abu Dhabi GP : obvious title decider, some stuff about Nico’s decision to leave F1
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Peter Collins Interview 1957
And here is the 1957 interview I promised the other day! This is roughly three and a half minutes long with clearer audio! To me, Peter also seems a lot more confident in his speaking than he did the previous year, but that might be down to the fact he is ranting about things he disagrees with 😅 anyway enjoy!
Interviewer: We asked Peter Collins about it, and he explained that this is one of the team cars, complying with the new FIA regulations. There were other regulations more difficult to comply with.
Peter: We've come over here, and so has Maserati on the regulations that they sent to us. Which don't mention anything about using the spare wheel in the tyre change. They now issue an appendix to the regulations, which says that the first pit stop must include the use of the spare wheel. Well, now both ourselves and Maserati have different-sized wheels and tyres on the backs as opposed to the front. So, in other words, we can't put a front wheel tyre on the back. So, as far as we are concerned, if we come into the pits with a flat back tyre, we are not allowed to change it.
Interviewer: That's rather absurd.
Peter: Which is absurd, and not only that, you are now allowed to bring out an appendix to the regulations without the sign - well, these before - within 36 hours, I think it is, of the - closing of the entries-
Interviewer: That's an FIA regulation?
Peter: Yeah, that's an FIA regulation, an appendix 6 section c. And uh-
Interviewer: *Something about a lawyer, maybe joking Peter is like one*
Peter: And if you want to change these things, you have to get the signatures of all the competitors, and if one competitor doesn't agree to it, then they can't do it! And we are trying to do this now. We are all very mad about it.
Interviewer: When do you think it will be resolved?
Peter: Well, right now, with the noise by all *a person's name* from Maserati
Interviewer: Who is he making that noise with?
Peter: Everybody - well, all the people that matter, Chief Pittsburgh and Alec Coleman, I suppose, eventually, and Mr Talvoni, who was the lawyer from Ferrari; he is going after it as well. You see, from our point of view, um, if we go into the pits with a bent buckle smashed rear wheel, and we have to use the first wheel change as a spare wheel, we wouldn't be able to put it on, so we would just have to stop there. But the corvets and all the other entries from the, oh well, I won't state the country, have got the same size wheels on the front and the back.
Interviewer: *Something*
Interviewer: I have been hearing little talk that the course isn't as fast this year as the season last year, do you remember at all?
Peter: Yes, it doesn't seem to be as fast to me either. There are a lot of patches on it that have gotten much more slippery, one particular at the bottom end of the fast straight, first and second fast straight, one divides the two up.
Interviewer: How do you account for that?
Peter: Well there is a lot of water been allowed to lie on it, still does lie on it, and when you get water lying on concrete for any length of time, it becomes, it gets covered in sort of a greeny moss stuff which gets inground in the concrete and much slippery and also the tyre wear seems to have gone up a lot since last year um they resurfaced the course in one or two places and uh still a lot of bad bumps which have gotten worse I think, since last year, um I don't know whether it's because we are going faster or what it is but the course seems much bumpier than it was before. Also, um, well, I don't think they have the barrels and mark-bales in exactly the same position as they were before- one thing I like to say, I think, these 50-gallon oil drums, they got everywhere, they ought to be burnt in hell as far I am concerned. I think they are very, very dangerous things because if one car hits another one following, it's happened to me once, landed on me, 50-gallon oil drum, no light thing anyway. I think we could do well without those. Especially where if someone runs out of breaks and they have to go wide on the corner, then they are going into straw bales, and those 50-gallon oil drums is a very, very bad thing, I don't- it's one thing about the course that I think is very very bad indeed.
Interviewer: Thanks Peter!
#look at peter go#you rant about everything king#classic f1#f1#formula one#formula 1#vintage f1#peter collins
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for the wip asks: the mechanic au 👀 there is no where near enough mechanic aus and a charlos one sounds INCREDIBLE.
(P.S. i actually love ur blog. you always make me laugh 🫶)
🥹 Aw, I'm glad!! Thank you for sending an ask! This was actually one of my first F1 WIPs, but it was requiring sooo much research that I took a break that turned into a complete abandonment. But hopefully, I'll go back to it one day!
Here's a little snippet I wrote for Charles' first day in the paddock 💪
The only word his brain has the capacity for after the first day is tired.
The minute they land in Melbourne, they’re heading to the track to begin setting up the garage for the arrival of the cars. Charles gets issued a full team kit, including socks with the Ferrari logo. As soon as he puts them on, he finally feels like it’s real. It’s really happening.
“You’re, Charles, yes?” one of the mechanics asks him in Italian while they’re setting up. “From Monte Carlo?”
He nods. “Yes, nice to meet you...”
“Alessandro. But you can call me, Alé. I believe we’re roommates.”
“Nice to meet you, Alé,” Charles says, shaking his hand. The other man seems young, but still older than Charles. “What do you do?”
“I’m a gearbox mechanic,” Alé says, smiling. “And I operate the front-right gun for the pit. My first race was Melbourne in 2017. So I know what you’re feeling right now.”
“And what am I feeling?” Charles asks, arching a brow in challenge.
“Scared as shit,” Alé says, grinning. Charles laughs, but he doesn’t have the heart to correct him. He’s not scared - if anything, he’s the most ready he’s ever felt. But he doesn’t think anyone would believe him if he said so. “Your Italian is not bad.”
Charles knows this means it’s quite good, otherwise Alé wouldn’t have said anything. “I’ve been learning since I was a child.” Alé nods.
“Is it ‘Sharl’ or ‘Charles’?” Alé asks, pronouncing it with and without the ‘s’ sound at the end.
“Either is okay,” he says, shrugging. “I like both.”
“Well, you’re very easygoing,” Alé says, chuckling. “Very polite.” Charles smiles, but it occurs to him that maybe he’s being made fun of. He brushes it off though, focusing back on what he’s doing.
Everything, of course, becomes even more real when the cars arrive and he has to begin his real work. He’s been assigned especially to the brake department, as they’ve started to see a brake overheating issue and needed someone dedicated to monitoring them and replacing parts if necessary.
He records the thickness of all of the brake pads and discs, so he can later examine the wear after practice and qualifying sessions. It’s a clockwise circuit, so Charles in addition to putting the slightly denser brake pads at the front of both cars, installs the heaviest at the left-front brake. They’re meant to all be the same size, but there are always slightly heavier pads and discs.
In addition to this job, he’s also part of the car crew for what will this year be Carlos Sainz’s car. He knows a bit about Sainz - he’s had a successful few seasons in Formula One already, particularly last year where he’d raced surprisingly well in the sub-par McLaren car. It was what had won him his seat, replacing Sebastian Vettel in what had been a slightly shocking decision to Charles. He’s not the only one interested in what Sainz might be able to pull off in a Ferrari.
As soon as the car is built, they’re doing pit-stop practice until late into the evening. There isn’t a curfew for Thursday, so they take advantage of every moment of time available. Charles has been assigned to the left-rear corner, where he removes the old tire from the car when it pits.
There’s definitely a learning curve, and the tires are heavier than most people think. He’ll need to step up his workout routine if he wants to keep up with the other mechanics. On top of the sore arms he’ll surely have tomorrow, his feet are killing him after hardly sitting down since disembarking the plane.
At one point, he takes off his shoes and walks around in just his Ferrari-issued socks, the floor feeling blessedly cool on his aching feet. However, he soon has to put his shoes back on or risk injury, which is when he discovers that he should never take off his shoes again because putting them back on is its own hell.
When he gets to the hotel room that night, he hardly says a word to Alé, who is indeed his roommate, instead collapsing face-first onto the bed, still fully clothed. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, and he’s not aware of anything until the alarm goes off the next morning. That, of course, is when the real fun begins.
#a had a looooot of ideas for this fic...#we're talkin twelve pages worth of bullet points folks#think it would've been (will be?) a monster#Carlos *insisting* Charles be put on radio in the middle of a stressful race and then Charles totally killing it as his race engineer#sadly ending the career of poor xavi (im sorry)#tag game#rpf#charlos#este-bae#ask#mechanic au
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you KNOW it's going to be 8 and 18 combined for charlos. mwah. love ya ❤️
from these prompts, ask whatever u want and I'll do it 🩷🩷🩷
did it. hope YOU ARE HAPPY. 1500k of charlos. nsfw.
It was Carlos’ home race, and he had won. Fuckin’ finally, right?
The streets of Barcelona were alive, filled with people still celebrating the win from Barça, even though it had been weeks already. There were people dressed with Ferrari colors, too, and that made his heart stutter on his chest. A beautiful reminder.
He did it, won in Spain and took the glory. Max had to retire from the race, and Carlos saw his chance. Montmeló had always been bittersweet for him, the pressure almost creating claws across his shoulders.
It makes him think of Charles. As anything does these days. Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, and what was that name? Who named their kid like that?
Well, in Carlos' head it makes sense. They knew they were naming a legend, il predestinato, the apple of everyone’s eyes or however the saying goes. The thing is, Carlos has won, he’s drunk and, predictably, he’s thinking about Charles.
It’s not weird, he tells himself, it’s not weird at all. Charles just has something about him that keeps everyone hooked, from higher-ups to their fellow drivers, to the fans to every girl that stumbles onto his life.
It’s not jealousy, he does not need that type of devotion, does not need to have everyone at his beck and call. But, would it be that bad if it was Charles?
Would it make it better if he could kiss Charles after one of the monegasque’s wins, and drink the glory from his lips?
Sometimes Charles has the annoying ability to appear when you think about him, like that goddamned Bloody Mary. It’s scary, but an old joke across the drivers.
Suddenly, there’s a french-accented voice whispering in his ear, and he has to steel himself. Que cabronazo, joder. He should come with a warning level – or many, really – “caution, sneaky little shit that enjoys hiding behind his good boy persona! don’t fall for it! sponsored by Max Verstappen and the inchident!”
“Hello, Carlitos. Havin’ some fun, huh?” Charles’ mocking tone could be heard from fucking Monaco itself, and ugh. Imbécil. “How does victory taste? Especially since it’s your own home race…”
Like you. Let me taste you too–
Fuck, the alcohol his friends had thrown into his hands (and mouth) had no registered ‘til now, and his tongue feels loosened enough to make him shudder. Maybe it will all unravel here.
He stabs his drink with the red straw, because of fucking course. Everything is red now, the straw, the blinding lights dancing across the club, Charles’ lips. The red string that had tied them from Sauber and McLaren into the incessant torture of Ferrari, too.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, cariño?” He smirks, voice dripping with a sickly sweet condescending tone. Carlos doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but he cannot stop his train of thought, even though it’s mean as fuck. “It has never happened to you, no? Keep chasing it, Charlie.”
He leaves Charles with that, walking away from him. It’s his night, his glory and his moment. And if he moves his hips slowly to the music while walking to the other side of the room, well, no one could blame him.
Funnily enough, he finds Lando, Max and Daniel drinking the night away.
They are always the funniest trio. Lando who is always in his own world, showing off his new mixes to anyone that ever hints to it, and the so-called Maxiel duo (sue him, it’s funny) are constantly one upping each other at bursting each other’s personal bubble.
Carlos still doesn’t know if they’re dating, or if it’s just a bromance, or a bit of both?
Something is going on with them, either way. The way Max’s eyes light up around Daniel is enough to sell the deal, and the smile Daniel saves for Max, soft around the edges, eyes shining like the prettiest stone, is enough for half of the paddock to collectively say “they’re dating, for fucking sure”, but they’ll never know.
“Carlitoooosss! Hi, hello mate!” The inimitable Aussie accent shakes him from his reverie, and he focuses on the drink Lando is pushing on his hands.
The glass is cold, colder than any beer he has had for the past hours, and it calms him. He sniffs it, because Lando is young and way too trusting for his own good, and drinks the entire thing as soon as he smells the Jäger and Redbull combo.
This is his night, goddamnit. No monegasque will ruin it with their pretty eyes, pretty mouth, pretty everything. No, nuh-huh. He will not think about him again.
As he opens his mouth to respond to Daniel’s enthusiastic greeting, a hand wraps around his wrist and tugs him strongly and surely towards the bathrooms. He can see Daniel’s bewildered stare, Lando’s scheming smile, and Max. Max who just mouths “good luck” to him.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—
“Charles, what the fuck?
⋆
“What do you mean “what the fuck”, Carlitos? You really thought you could say that to me and leave me behind? For whom, the rejects trio? Oh fucking no, Carlos!” He can feel the anger build inside of him again, fueling him like it has always had. “You deserve the win, Carlos. But don’t ever say that to me, or I'll shut you the fuck up.”
Carlos looks at him with his patented confused stare, and it makes Charles want to scream. Throw something at him, maybe. He looks around the bathrooms, tries to find something to smack the life out of the spanish motherfucker–
“Oh, so you’ll shut me up? You? Fragile Leclerc? Or is that just what you play to the media, huh?” Carlos' voice is back to the condescending tone that made Charles want to punch him, kick him in the dick, and maybe kiss him a little. Fuck. “Poor Charlie, am I right? Our pathetic il predestinato!”
Charles can’t help it, cannot keep it in the back of his throat, hidden from Carlos, hidden from Ferrari, hidden from the world–
Charles fucking whimpers. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Fucking hell, out of all the places in the world, out of all the people in the paddock.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” His voice shakes, and he does too. He doesn’t know if it’s the humiliation, or the fact that it's Carlos. Who’s sweaty, with his fucking pretty face looking at him intently, and his prince hair sticking out in all different directions.
“Please, just shut up, Carlos.”
It comes out as a plea, more than an ask. And Charles wants to run, hide from Carlos and everyone that knows him. Wants to curl up inside a bathroom cubicle and find a bit of balance.
Carlos never spoke back, ever. This wasn’t Charles’ cruelest work, but it seemed that with his win, he finally had something to hold above his head.
“Make me.”
And, what?
“I said make me, Charlie. C’mon. What do you wanna do, huh? Puch me? Break my nose a bit? Leave your mark over my bod–”
Charles doesn’t let him finish and kisses him. Right on the lips that have been torturing for years, even before Ferrari cursed them together. Charles kisses him, swallows the words out of Carlos’ lips and feels the victory flow through his veins again.
Carlos’ hands end up on his neck, holding him in place, and he can’t help but moan. Holy fuck, this was better than his dreams. The hands on his neck tighten as Carlos bites Charles’ bottom lip, taking a bit of distance. His brown eyes pierce right through the haze on Charles’ mind, and he shudders.
Carlos is so fucking pretty. Feeling his nose across his own cheek makes Charles whimper, and he tries to break the hold on his neck, but all it does is tighten more and more. He feels lightheaded, his eyes closed and mouth open.
“Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. Please.”
He begs, he shakes and struggles until Carlos obeys. Their lips meet again, and it’s better, way fucking better. It’s hot, slick and one of Carlos’ hands moves slowly from his neck to press down on Charles’ neglected cock.
Charles breaks the kiss, startled and horny as fuck.
“Carlos! Fffucking hell, oh my god.” His voice comes out as whimpers, and his hands try to find somewhere to hold onto. Involuntarily, they stop at Carlos' hair, and he tugs at it just to see Carlos moan against his ear. “Please, Carlos…”
Carlos smirks again, looking right at his eyes.
“What if I give you a blowjob? Would you like that, cariño?” Charles’ breath stops, and the bathroom fades into the background. Holy fuck, he’s nodding before he thinks it through. “You could say it’s a favor. So that Monaco doesn’t sting that hard, pretty boy.”
Carlos tightens his hold on both his neck and his cock, and Charles' vision almost whites out. He’s not getting out of this alive.
#for estie baby.#charlos#beware: charlos being bitches to each other#fueled by the one n only#ficlet#sashiewrites.jpg
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Valtteri had a podcast visit with our old friend Oskari in his podcast Oskarin arki!
oskari: at the end of the wire i have busy man and i don’t even exactly know where he is at the moment, valtteri bottas, welcome to oskari’s arki. please tell us first where are you and what u are about to go do
valtteri: thanks thanks, i’m somewhere in a desert, just had a bike ride to a mountain top and now i’m going to ride some camels
oskari: of course, because why not!
valtteri: yep, i thought u know the sun is setting so i’m riding a camel to the sunset
oskari: yeah (laughing) hey i’m happy i caught you after the tests and before the season starts. i was thinking to start this off, because this podcast is of course an important international news source, and you know all kinds of f1 insiders are out there, but i don’t think anyone has an active driver, so is it okay if you’re from now this podcast’s f1 insider?
valtteri: works really well for me, i feel like i know something
oskari: you might just barely know enough for us so this works really well and we can get the relevant reports from you. so the tests are done, 2 days is bahrain and first race weekend is just ahead the corner
the test weekend went really well for alfa, no big problems compared to last year, and the feeling in the car is really good
valtteri seems to think that redbull is the best car right now, then after that ferrari or aston martin which is a bit suprising, and mercedes is a bit of a question mark but when they got the car rolling they seemed good, alfa might be the fourth of fifth fastest team right now
he was asked if mercedes can fight for the title again this year and he was a bit skeptical (probably not yet this year)
valtteri almost ran over a goat while doing this for some reason lol?
he feels like his perspective of this sport has changed over the years: he doesn’t regret anything with mercedes/have any bad feelings about it but he’s still working towards a championship and hopes that one of these years he can achieve it because ultimately that’s why he’s still is working
he still thinks lewis is the goat after seeing his talent and work ethic
oskari mentions that valtteri seems so much more relaxed/happier and asks about how much it has to do with his life in general and how much about switching teams, valtteri says that he does get to be more himself nowadays and adds that he wouldn’t have been allowed to have a pornstache and a mullet working under a big brand like mercedes, he doesn’t have to fit into a mold right now, also lesser pressure and stability has done wonders for his mental health
they agreed that the mullet and mustache combo takes a tenth of your laptime
there is no story behind the new style, he just got bored
tiffany couldn’t take him seriously at all in the beginning, she would burst out laughing every time he entered a room
valtteri thinks the most important thing is that when he sees himself in the mirror he thinks ’damn i’m good looking’
apparently the clutch alfa has is the kind that valtteri has to drop it only maximum 0.8mm to hit the right ”area” and i just think that's crazy
favorite hype song: the offspring-the kids aren’t alright
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◆ I k e m e n P r i n c e ◆
RIP Ice-Cream Man
Zombie ! GILBERT ⨉ EMMA . 900+ WORDS
suggestive content . fluff . dark comedy
zombie gore . modern au
18+ MINORS DNI
"Gilbert, come back here!" Emma shouts, syringe in-hand, as she chases her patient through the clinic's parking garage. "Oh, I regret letting you out. You told me you wanted some air! Gilbert! Damn it!" As if that isn't bad enough, she's made the supremely excellent decision of wearing pumps today.
True to superstition, her next step is a miss, and her undignified squeak echoes down a line of sedans.
Gilbert's tell-tale laugh echoes back, though his voice is muffled with distance. "Sounds like someone's tripped."
"Gilbert!"
"So you did trip? Ahaha! My cute, clumsy little doctor. Whatever will I do with you?"
Emma brushes gravel off her pantyhose before changing course for the third-floor deck. Thankfully she hasn't twisted anything. Yet. Murphy's Law is her Sword of Damocles, and Gilbert seems keen to wield it. So much so that tucking the syringe away in her pocket for now is more prayer than common sense.
At least Gilbert isn't flaking off bits of skin in his wake now. Maybe his treatment is going better than she initially thought.
"He's going to need extra treatment after I find his zombie ass," she grumbles under her breath as she flies up the stairwell.
The third-floor deck is usually where staff parks. Emma finds Gilbert sitting on the hood of Dr. Ricci's Ferrari, eating an ice-cream bar. "Where did you get that?"
Gilbert uses both legs to kick the skateboard at his feet toward Emma. "I bit the ice-cream man."
Emma side-steps. "No you didn't." It's not that she's gotten used to his dark sense of humor, but it's become easier to tell his jokes from his confessions.
Gilbert tilts his head and his bangs fall over his empty left eye socket. "Are you sure about that?"
"The ice-cream man doesn't come until 6pm."
"Have you seen him since the day before yesterday?"
Emma pauses. "No... But I don't normally keep track of his visits."
"And you didn't notice something strange about your personal fridge recently?"
Emma throws absolute daggers at him. "You said you'd follow my rules, Mr. I-Can't-Lie."
Gilbert smiles sweetly, a slightly feral sight considering how far up his cheek one side of his mouth has decayed to. "I haven't broken any rules." He shakes the ice-cream in his hand. "This would melt if I didn't store it somewhere, right?"
"And the part about biting the ice-cream man?"
Gilbert shrugs. "I guess you'll have to see if he comes in today."
"Please get down from the car. You're getting gore all over it."
"I am?" Gilbert makes a grand show of assessing his palms. "I guess I'll be taking my nap here then."
"No!" Emma is close enough now that she can reach for him, but she hesitates. A fair chunk of Gilbert came away the last time she'd had to forcefully grab him.
Gilbert's red eye narrows with amusement. "Go ahead. I like it when you take parts of me home with you."
"Oh my God, Gilbert, stop saying things like that!"
He pouts, that killer, dire, menacingly adorable pout. "And here I thought I was your favorite patient. Don't tell me you like Chevalier more? He's such a grouch."
"I never said that."
"You don't have to. Everyone knows that Chevalier―"
"I never said you were my favorite patient."
"Is that so?"
"I'm su―"
Gilbert suddenly grabs Emma's hand for a vicious tug. Before she can finish her yelp, her back hits Silvio's car and Gilbert's face fills her field-of-vision.
His hand hovers in the space above her heart. "Should I give you a little examination myself then?"
Emma gives him a mock-smile. "Do it then."
Gilbert holds her gaze, saying nothing but meeting her smile, tooth for tooth. The tips of his bangs tickle Emma's cheeks, but where there should be the sound and feel of human breathing against her face, there is nothing.
Gilbert could take a chunk out of her neck right now if he wanted. But Emma is extremely confident about one thing when it comes to him.
Seconds that feel like eternity pass. At long last, Gilbert moves his hand to take the syringe from her coat pocket. He uncaps it with his mouth and plunges it into his arm as he gets off Emma. His ice-cream sits melting in a sliver of sunlit concrete.
Emma purses her lips and adjusts her shirt. "Do you like that flavor?"
Gilbert tucks the used syringe back in Emma's breast-pocket. "It's okay. I prefer something sweeter though."
"Please don't say things like that while looking at me like that."
Gilbert smiles as he slides off the hood of the car. He turns around and offers Emma his hand. "Consider it revenge."
It's only after she's taken his hand that Emma realizes how quickly she did so, and with how little hesitation. Because it hadn't been that long ago when she'd been prone to do the exact opposite.
Gilbert helps her down and then sorts out her collar with gentle brushes of his partially-decomposed hand.
His gloves sit on Emma's desk back in her office. Suddenly she isn't so sure why they're there in the first place. She must have had a reason, and yet...
Emma tries to stop Gilbert, but when she looks over her shirt, she doesn't find any gore or residue on her whatsoever. When she looks back at Gilbert, he returns his fake pout.
"Ahh, what a shame," he laments. "I really wanted to go home with you today."
Emma dodges his gaze. Her mouth fights against the strange emotions pricking her heart. "Hurry up and get well soon then."
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