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charliemwrites · 3 months

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Part 4 of Mafia!Price

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #oddly wholesome for a mafia au #mafia!au #mafia boss price #assistant reader

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norrisleclercf1 · 7 months

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Memories of Old and New

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Female!Reader x Lando Norris

Rating: PG-13

Words: 6.6K

Requested: Yes/No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, talks of Charles's dad's passing, nothing else major really

Our Boy Series Masterlist / Previous: Letter 2 / Next: Come Home To Us

A/N: I changed when Lando joins the relationship to better fit the timeframe, some things might be inaccurate with proper real life events but I tried my best. This was a big boy and I hope you all enjoy it.

Charles knew it was stupid to ask Nico here; it would cause more trouble than anything. A part of Charles thought knew he needed to talk to Nico. To get this sense of his own closer. It was only suitable for him to do this by asking Elijah and Lando first. Lando was shocked; Elijah seemed impartial to the whole situation.

Lying in bed, Charles facing your pillow, a hint of you kept him together at night. He can't remember the last time you didn't sleep beside him after the first night spent in each other arms. That's a lie. He remembers the night he slept in a chair holding your hand and a little human. If he just closed his eyes, he could still see you, wearing those jeans and acid-washed shirt gently concealing your stomach.

Closing his eyes, he lets his mind wander, pulling him back into those good days. Even when they were terrible, they were still good days.

15 years ago, 4 months pregnant, January 2017

"Oh, god, so sorry." You shout, shoulder bouncing off of someone. Instenticvly, you cover your small bump, ensuring your little duck is okay. "Sorry, are you okay?" The French accent hits your ears, one that you know well. Anyone living in Monaco would know that voice. You see Charles Leclerc, Monaco's pride and a Formula 2 driver.

Blinking up, you notice him wearing black shorts and trainers shirt. "Are you okay?" He asks again. Shaking your head, you give him a weary smile. "Yes, of course. My apologies; I wasn't paying attention." Charles nods. He ticks his head to the side as he takes you in. Freezing, you feel the dread fill your veins. Does he recognize you? Shit, what if rumors spread to the F2 garage and everyone heard? Oh god, he knows about you and Nico, fuck he knows.

"I think I should be the one apologizing. I hope you aren't hurt." He nods to your slight bump. Cold water would've dosed you if possible, freezing those thoughts in your head. "Oh! No, no, really, I'm fine. They're," You stop, how do you say it. "They're just fine." You smile, laying a hand right where his little foot is resting. Charles smiles at you, "I'm Charles," He reaches out, waiting for your hand. "Y/n," You shy slightly, cursing, feeling that flutter in your chest.

"Y/n, pretty name. Listen, I really do want to apologize properly. Um, well, uh, would you like to meet up for dinner?" He asks, a kiss of blush on his cheeks, feet shuffling from side to side. "Um, I just got out of a serious relationship. I," Charles's eyes widen, and he shakes his head quickly. "No, no, I wasn't asking you out." He backtracks, but that's precisely what he was doing though. He'll never admit that to you, though. "Just thought as friends," He grumbles, fingers digging into the tense muscles of his neck.

"You don't know me. I could be a horrible person." You counter, walls raising and shackling down. "I don't believe that, but you seem like you need someone." Reeling back at the bluntness, he does look away, clearing his throat. "Shit, sorry that was rude." "No, it's okay. There's this little cafe. They have this nice blueberry muffin. Down the street and on the corner, next to a hair salon." You point, Charles's face lights up, nodding.

"That's my Mama's salon. I know that bakery." He smiles, and that similar feeling in your chest returns. "Is tomorrow okay?" "It's perfect," He sighs, leaving you to walk away. Yet, rounding the corner to your street, you notice Charles is still there and watching you.

7 months pregnant, April 2017, First Race of the F2 season

"You want me to join you?" You stretch out your fingers as Charles sits on the nursery floor, trying to build the crib. "Well, yeah, I mean, if you can. I know you're, um," He looks at your stomach, which has you arching an eyebrow. "A beached whale?" He groans, making a face at you, calling yourself that. "No! God no, you're gorgeous." Silence fills the room, you looking away as he turns redder than a Ferrari. "Anyways," Charles clears his throat, returning to the crib. "You're my best friend. Also, I want to be there in case you need me."

Being friends with Charles while pregnant hasn't been easy. Rumors spread quickly when photos of you two got out, and terror gripped you. It was a constant worry that Nico or anyone who knew the truth would reach Charles. His opinion of you would change, and he would leave you. "Y/n, ignore the rumors. I don't care that people think the baby is mine. They are, though," The last part is a ghost of words you don't hear. "It's not that, just." Whining, you hide your face in your hands. You want to tell him the truth, but he'd leave, and you'd lose the only good thing in your life right now.

"Y/n," Looking up, you feel Charles's finger dig into your knee, rubbing it in a comforting way. "I was just asking. if you aren't comfortable, stay here and watch." You can see the slight sadness in his eyes. Charles wants you to see him race, but your comfort is far greater than his. "I want to be there, Charlie, really I do." You whisper, covering his hand with yours. You two stay like that, in the comfort of each other's presence.

8 months pregnant, May 2017, Officially Asking You Out

Charles gathers himself up, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Pascale had cut his hair and had paid his father a visit. Standing at your door, you were expecting Charles just a lovely night with junk food and movies. Your due date was approaching fast, as were your anxiety levels. Charles was currently the only one who could calm you down. Taking one big breath, he stares at his clothes and groans. Wearing a Ferrari sweatshirt and joggers was not what he wanted to wear.

"Charlie, what are you doing standing out here?" Seeing the flowers, you rip the door open, freeze, and smile. "Oh, Charlie, you didn't have to." You smile, grabbing the flowers and waddling to the kitchen. Charles stumbles in after you, shocked as you've thrown his plans out the window. "What's the occasion?" You turn, and he stops. You're wearing one of his sweatshirts with some fancy pregnancy pants. Seeing you like this, he knows this is his future and that he wants this for the rest of his life.

"Go out with me, no, actually." He takes a breath as yours stops. "Be with me, be the one I wake up to for the rest of my life. The one I come to and can be myself. I want you to help me grow as a person, a driver, a father," He moves, placing his hand on your stomach, smiling when he feels a soft thump. "You're the one for me. Both of you are it for me. Whenever I'm asked about my future in those interviews, I first picture you and the baby. Not Ferrari, not a WDC, none of it. Just you and little Ducky. I know the person before me hurt you deeply, and it's changed you, but I can promise. I'll never be that person. I've waited, I've waited since you first bumped into me, and each time I saw you, the more I fell. You had me from the first smile." He finishes, not looking up, petrified to find your reaction.

"If you're asking to marry me, wait until I can fit into a wedding dress." You joke, wiping the corner of your eyes. Head snapping up, the two of you stare at one another. "I'll ask you to marry me later," He whispers softly, kissing your lips.

9 months pregnant, June 2017, Herve has passed

What do you say? Is there really anything to say? Charles arrived back home in his suit, sitting in the nursery. "Charlie?" You whisper, poking your head in the doorframe. You see him holding a little onesie. "He was so excited for me." He whispers, wiping his eyes. "I lied, Y/n. How could I have done that?" Sighing, you move, sitting down slowly next to him. "You didn't lie. You told the truth of something that hasn't happened yet." You whisper, fingers moving through his tangled hair.

"I lied, just say it. I lied to my father." He snaps, pulling away from your touch. Sighing, you let him move around as he gently lays the onesie down. "Charlies, stop." You whisper, placing a protective hand on your stomach. "I wanted him to meet them," He whispers, tears rolling down his face. "I wanted him to meet them too, but that's okay. He's watching over them before we can. Charles, please just sit down. You haven't slept since that day." You beg him, just wanting him to rest.

"I lied." He whimpers, falling into your arms as you two just sit in the nursery and cry.

July 6th, 2017, 2 am

Sitting up, the sleep that laced your mind was wiped away. "Charlie," You whisper gently, rubbing his shoulder to get him up. The same feeling that's woken you hits you again, this time slightly stronger. "Charles!" Grumbling, he turns over, eyes prying open. "What's wrong? Is it Ducky?" Eyes blinking slower as he's so close to falling asleep again. "I think I'm in labor." Your voice filled with fear and disbelief.

"Oh, you're in labor." He yawns, sitting up slowly. You watch him as he slowly wakes up and gives you a soft smile. "Labor, hm?" Leaning in, he kisses you, but then he heads to the bathroom, leaving you in shock at his lack of urgency. You wait a few seconds before you hear a scream and pounding feet. "Oh god, you're in labor!" He cries, "Thank you! This is the urgency I needed 2 minutes ago." You scream as he helps you up.

As Charles calls Pascale and the others, you arrive at the hospital, letting them know what's happened and where you are. "Father or friend?" The nurse asks Charles. You were currently asleep. The labor was slow and painful, but you could get some sleep. Charles looks at you, and the band around your stomach fills his ears with the best sound in the world. His baby's heartbeat.

"I'm the father," He whispers, taking a cloth and wiping some beads of sweat from your forehead. "Well then, I think you two will be wonderful parents." Charles smiles, unable to tear his eyes away from you or listen to anything else but that echoing heartbeat.

"I can't, Charles." You sob the pain too much as the nurses and doctor try to talk you into pushing again. Charles cringes, hating how much pain you're in as you scream another contraction ripping through your muscles. "Pierre wants to be the godfather!" Charles blurts, his nerves wracked and shot all to hell. He's a Formula driver, so this should be easy. Instead, this might be on his list of most complicated things.

"What?!" You cry, taking deep breaths, the burn of another contraction gathering. "I'm sorry, I panicked. But he does want to be the godfather." Reaching up, you grab his shirt, yanking him down to eye level. "Listen, I will not let that French bastard be the godfather. Ahhhh, Charles." You cry as you push, Charles holding your hand. Sighs fill the room, and you get wrapped in silence before this high, soft cry fills the room.

"Congratulations. It's a boy." The doctor smiles behind their mask. "A boy? It's a boy?" You ask, crying harder as Charles doesn't look away from you. Grabbing a wet cloth, he wipes you down. "You did so well, fuck I'm so proud of you," Charles whispers, slipping an ice chip past your lips. "Charles, please, is he okay?" You ask. "I'm sure he's fine, baby. I'm worried about you." A nurse smiles at the two of you. Her comment was correct. You two would be wonderful parents.

"Would you like to hold him?" Another nurse asks, holding a little bundle in their arms. "I can't, my arms. Charlie, you hold him first." You whimper, body aching. "I, but," Charles can't find the words as the nurse walks around and gently places the baby in his arms. Charles stares in shock as he looks down.

Looking up at him is a little boy with pure baby blues, a whisper of hair, rosy cheeks, and a little tongue poking out his perfect lips. "His perfect, he's..." Charles leans down, pressing his forehead against his son's forehead. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me. You and you're mother both. I'll be there for it all. The first steps, words, date, all of it. You're, damn." Charles gets choked up and clears his throat. You watch through the haze of drugs and emotions as you watch your friend, lover, partner become a father right before you.

"Sorry, but we need a name." Someone whispers, you two facing the person. "You pick," You whisper back, thumb rubbing on his little cheeks. "Me?" "Yeah, you," You laugh but then hiss in pain. "Elijah, Elijah James," Charles whispers the two names of the sons he would've named. "Perfect."

July 8th, 2017, Paying a visit

"Okay, well, he's my grandson," You hear a thick Finnish accent behind your door. Moving slowly, you shuffle to the door and open it slowly, Charles away to Spielberg, having missed Friday to be with you. But you pushed him to go to the race that you'll be discharged when he returns. "Isä?" Shock apparent on your face seeing your father.

"Minun pieni tyttöni," Mika sighs seeing you as he nods at the nurse. Gently pushing you back, he slips into the room and looks down at you. "Look at you. Are you okay? No problems? Baby, and you healthy?" He rattles off, fixing his glasses and hair. "Of course, Isä. 7 pounds and 8 ounces. A set of lungs, but he's a sweet boy." Mika holds your arm, helping you walk back to bed. "A boy?" Mika asks, pride swelling in his chest.

"Yes, a little boy. Elijah James." You smile, touching the bassinet and watching your son sleep. "Hmm, I assume he'll share our name, yes? Not Rosberg?" Mika bites, smiling down at the little boy. "Actually," Mika looks up and smiles gently, his hand comes up cupping your face. "My little girl, not so little anymore." He takes a deep breath and leans down, kissing your forehead. "That boy has no idea how lucky he is. Does he, does he know everything?" Mika asks, worry, mirroring your own.

"Some, not all. I'm using Äiti maiden name." Mika hums, removing his hands. "Well, you'll tell him soon enough, yes?" Mika asks, tired of hiding away from you and now his grandbaby. "Yes, soon." Worrying your lip between your teeth, you look away, turning your back to him. "When you tell him, I'll be there," Mika whispers, kissing your temple, savoring this moment with his ever-growing family.

October 31st, 2017, Elijah's first Halloween, 4 months old

"I am not dressing him up in Ferrari gear, Charles." You sigh, zipping up the orange baby fireproof. Elijah gurgles and waves his fist, hearing Charles's name. "Why in the world did you pick McLaren?" Charles says with disgust, holding the little Ferrari race suit. "Because I've always been a fan of McLaren." Charles makes another face, "Since when? You've never told me you're a fan." He points out, standing at the edge of the bed.

Elijah smiles, making a noise as he reaches for Charles's finger. Charles flexes his finger, letting Elijah grab it, and starts to mouth it. Pulling his attention, Charles sighs, hating to admit how adorable his son looked in the little McLaren suit. "They were the first team I rooted for, and it's a gift. Besides, I figured you'd want to dress him in that when you join Ferrari next year?" You tickle the little boy's stomach, who screams and smiles with the same dimples as Charles.

"I'm driving for Sauber, not Ferrari." Tsking you move to fix your boyfriend's hair. "Charlie, trust me, you'll drive for them next year." You wink. Mika had called you and told you that Ferrari already had their sights on Charles. Thanks to some insider information, you told your father that you'd keep it to yourself. "I hope so. That way, I told the truth," Charles whispers, looking at the picture of him and his father.

"Hey, no more. Let's go show off our son." Charles's frown slowly turns up into a smile that fills his face. "Come here, ducky," Charles blows a raspberry on Elijah's chubby cheek, laughing with that perfect giggle as you watch the 2 men in your laugh leave.

June 9th, 2018, Meeting the Legends, Canadian GP, Elijah is close to his first birthday

Seeing you at the races started to become a regular thing. The drivers would see you and wave but also look for yours and Charles's son. An article not long ago had come out and revealed the fact you were already pregnant with Elijah when you and Charles got together. It's why you're at the race. Charles was refusing to let you out of his sight.

The drivers didn't care. To them, Elijah was Charles and yours. No one else's. Only a handful of people in your life knew the truth, and right now, one of them was parading around the paddock with you and the baby.

"Makes you want to have one?" You ask Lewis, who cuddles Elijah closer. "He's adorable, but it doesn't make me want to have one. It sucks you and Nico made such an adorable baby." Lewis whispers, waving at some fans. "Charles and I." You correct: acid on your tongue. "What?" Lewis turns, confusion etched on his face.

"I said, Charles and I. Elijah is Charles's son. No one else's." Lewis nods, seeing the way your entire demeanor changes. "Right, you're right." Lewis drops it after that, stopping for Toto and Susie, who coo at your baby. Walking on, you and Lewis catch up, stopping for the occasional fan. "Being promoted to babysitter, eh Lew?" You stop, turning to see Sebastian decked out in his standard Ferrari gear, removing his sunglasses.

"No, but I'm sure I'd be better than you." Lewis snarks, but there is no anger or malice behind the words. Just playfulness. "Highly doubt it, now, who is this?" Sebastian asks, turning his attention to a drooling Elijah playing with one of Lewis's necklaces. "Elijah Leclerc," Lewis says, watching Sebastian's smile grow, leaning down to the baby's eye level. "Cutie like his mother, Y/n." Sebastian smiles, nodding in your direction.

Sebastian knew, but there was an unspoken silence between some older drivers to not say a word. It's hard for the older generation to not know who you were when you grew up around some of them. "That's right, you haven't officially met Elijah, have you?" Lewis asks, Elijah's blue eyes pulling away and finally acknowledging the new person.

Elijah whines, reaching out for the older German, practically leaping out of his godfather's arms. The three of you laugh as Sebastian happily accepts the little boy, who flops his head on Sebastian's shoulder. "Well, I feel betrayed." Lewis fakes, wiping a tear, as Elijah closes his eyes. "If he falls asleep on you, you're stuck with him." You giggle.

Elijah was one where if he fell asleep on something, don't you dare wake him. "That's perfectly fine. He'll steal all the girls' and boy's hearts." Sebastian's hand cradles him from Elijah's back to his head. Charles knew you were around, but what he wasn't expecting was to see you with his son and 2 of the greatest world champions of their generation.

"Y/n?" Charles walks over, shying away from the Mercedes and Ferrari drivers. "Shouldn't you be getting for qualifying?" His arms circle your waist, whispering a kiss on your cheek. "I was looking for you two; I didn't expect to see you with," His sentence trails off, taking in the image of his idol holding his son. "Charles, you've been impressive this season. Keep it up," Sebastian smiles, Charles tensing up as he nods, cheeks bright.

"I will, and soon I'll be racing next to you," Charles rushes out, a wave of confidence wrapping around him. The three of you look at Charles, shocked, who swallows and rushes off. He skids to a stop and returns, kissing Elijah's head and your lips before bolting off again. "Cheeky kid," Sebastian mutters, turning to see the puffed-out cheeks of the blonde baby. "Damn," Sending Lewis and you into a muffle of giggles.

September 14-16th, 2018, Singapore GP, The Seat is Mine

"He's retiring," Charles whispers like he can't believe that the Kimi Räikkönen was retiring, much less the contract sitting before him. "Charles," You pull his attention away from the stack of papers before him. Charles had called you in the middle of the night, saying he needed you in Singapore.

Terror froze your lungs the entire flight, thankful for Pascale taking Elijah and jetting off to your partner. "Ferrari, they've, it's," Dropping your bags, you rush to his side, which he welcomes as he takes deep breaths of your shampoo, a comfort to him. "What happened? Are you hurt? Sick? What's wrong?" Your mother instincts kick in as you check over him.

"Nothing, everything is great. Y/n," Charles moves you to the chair next to his, pulling it to face each other. Charles's shaking hands, cover yours. Taking a deep breath, he sighs and looks up, tears covering those gorgeous sea eyes. "Kimi is retiring or leaving. Who cares. But Ferarri has offered me the second seat. I'm driving for Ferrari in 2019." The tears slip down, mouth open, and you stare at him in shock.

You knew he'd one day drive for Ferrari, but you never thought it'd happen after his first season in Formula 1. "You're driving for Ferrari?" You repeat, the news still ringing in your ears. "I'm driving for Ferrari," He confirms, shaking his head up and down. "You're driving for Ferrari!" You scream, leaping out of your seat and tackling him. The two of you laugh and cry at the news, holding each other.

"I didn't lie. I told him the truth," Charles whispers into your shoulder, sending you both a fresh wave of tears. "That's right, Charlie, you didn't lie. You're driving for them. I love you." Charles pulls back, smiling as you two bump your heads together, laughing. "I love you too," Charles whispers.

March 31st, 2019, Bahrain GP. Orange is his favorite color

You swear Eljiah was doing this on purpose. The little boy loved walking, and anything bright pulled his attention. But nothing pulled him away from you or Charles like the color orange. All you did was turn to grab his goldfish and then back, and he was gone. Panic started to tingle through your body, but panicking would help no one.

Unable to tell Charles, the father would freak and demand the paddock shut down as they searched for the toddler. Quickly, you looked everywhere, shooting off a text to Lewis for the driver to keep his eye out. Running around, you are about to run into a wall when you see bright orange and the familiar giggle of your son.

"Elijah!" You cry in relief, dropping to your knees and smushing the poor boy into your arms. "I was going to bring him back, but he wanted to see the car." A British accent has you turning, meeting the eyes of Lando Norris, McLaren driver. "Owange, Mama." Elijah giggles, pointing to Lando's jacket. Standing, you clear your throat, gathering yourself.

"Thank you, but you should've brought him back when you saw he was alone." You chastize, Lando cringing as he nods, looking down at his feet. "Sorry," Lando whispers, nervously playing with the strings of his sweatshirt. "He was thrilled, and I didn't want to spook him. I knew he was alone. But I didn't want to freak out and then scare him. I know he's Charles's son. I was going to take him back." Lando explains, almost making himself smaller with each word.

Looking around, you see that Elijah is enamored with the McLaren driver. "Well, if you want, you can show him the car still." Lando's head snaps up as a bashful smile and nod of the head is your answer. Lando leads the way as Elijah squirms, wanting to be held by the driver rather than his mother. "Can you hold him? He won't stay still, and I need to text Charles." Not waiting for an answer, you pass Elijah to Lando's arms, who fumbles but then holds him awkwardly.

Elijah giggles and starts talking happily with Lando, who still looks shocked but nods. You quickly text Charles, saying you would be with McLaren as Elijah made a new friend, Lando Norris. Getting to the garage, the mechanics seemed confused about why Lando was with Charles Leclerc's girlfriend and son.

Elijah squeals and starts to wiggle, which has Lando set him down, watching the little boy run to the number 4 car. "Mama! Owange, mine!" Elijah giggles. His little arms extend as he lays against the car, which makes you laugh. Turning, you see Lando melting and moves, lifting the boy up and placing him in the cockpit. No one is paying attention anymore as they watch how Elijah listens to everything Lando says. No one even notices Charles enter the garage.

"I hope you aren't trying to replace me, Norris," Lando jumps, smacking his head on the halo as he turns, seeing Charles with his arms crossed. "No, no, I'd he just, he likes orange, and I figured, I'm sorry," Lando rushes out, which has Charles's smile dropping seeing the frantic state he sent the young driver in. "Hey, it's fine. I was joking. You didn't do anything wrong." Charles moves, uncrossing his arms as he goes to comfort the driver.

"Papa! Look," Elijah screams and starts making race car noises, making Charles into a puddle. "Ducky, be careful not to do anything wrong." Elijah nods, going back to "driving" the car. "Thanks for this. He likes orange and gets excited whenever he sees you or Carlos." Charles pats Lando on the back. You can't help but notice how Lando smiles, cheeks painted with a blush.

"If you ever want to, you can bring him here whenever you want. As long as Charles or I are with him." Lando faces you and nods. Elijah stops and stands up in the little seat. "Up, up!" He holds his arms out, Charles leaning down to pick him up. Elijah bats his hands away. "No, Papa! Up!" Elijah looks at Lando, who seems uncertain, but Charles laughs, nudging Lando. Leaning down, Lando picks him up better this time as Elijah points to the other side of the garage, leading the way.

"I guess I am being replaced," Charles whispers, but he seems happy about it, almost glad it's Lando. "Hmm, he'll get over him," You whisper, but Charles shakes his head. "I don't think he will,"

August 10th, 2019, Summer Break, Elijah is 2 years old. There's Enough Room for Three

"I want daddy!" Elijah cries, Charles himself wanting to cry along with his toddler. "Baby, you don't have a daddy. I'm Papa," Charles pleads, trying to get the toddler to bed. He's been inconsolable ever since he said bye to Lando. "Is he still crying?" You ask, arriving home from a night out.

"He keeps crying for Daddy, but I don't know who that is!" Charles yells, which has Elijah quiet, but then sets off a new whimper and tears. "Okay, go to the den. I'll get him to bed." Charles nods, leaving the room defeated. Heading to the den, he notices one of Lando's McLaren jackets. He must've forgotten it when he said bye and had to pull a crying Elijah off him. Lando wasn't staying in Monaco for vacation, heading out with friends to some island.

"He's stopped crying, but you're right. He keeps calling for Daddy; he's sniffling in bed, but I told him we'd be in the den if he needed us." Flopping back onto the couch, you close your eyes. "He started when Lando left," Charles whispers, lifting your head. You open your eyes and see Charles holding the jacket. "Really? Hmm, odd. I know we're all together all the time, but Elijah never once acted like this." Charles nods, a faraway look on his face.

"I don't like this. Lando should be spending the summer break with us." Charles's outburst has you jumping, shocked by this reaction. But it only confirms what you've accepted a long time ago. "He's not your boyfriend, Charlie. He's allowed to go out and party." You comment, seeing the way Charles makes a face. "Well, I'm sorry that our son is crying and can barely sleep because he left. He should be here, with us." He throws the jacket down while you bite your lip.

"You have a crush on him," Charles sputters out a no, his cheeks heating up, betray him. "Charlie, I have feelings for him too." Charles turns, raising an eyebrow. "Is that wrong? For us to have feelings for the same person while we're together?" Charles asks, joining you on the couch. "No, I'm pretty sure he has feelings for us too," attention is pulled away when the doorbell rings, and then the door is slowly pushed open.

"Hello? I forgot my jacket and used my key. Hope that's okay?" Lando's voice fills the silent hallway, and he walks down, stopping when he sees you two. "Oh, hey." "Stay with us." Lando and Charles speak simultaneously, a giggle passing your lips as they startle each other. "What?" Lando repeats. You sigh at the way they're acting. "Lando," You clear your throat, standing up.

"We both have feelings for you, more than just friends feelings. We want you to join our relationship if you are comfortable with that. If not, that's okay. But, we'd prefer if you stayed and joined our little family." You smile, Charles head down, as he was never good with words. "Really? I, yes." Lando, short on his words, smiles. "I've liked you both for a long time, too." Charles smiles, rubbing the back of his neck as Lando steps deeper into the den.

There is a cry and tiny thumps as Elijah stands in the enterway and cries. "Daddy!" Elijah screams and throws himself at Lando, who quickly pulls him into him. "Oh," You and Charles share a look before laughing. "Should've known." Charles stands, walking to Lando and Elijah. "Come on, let's put our boy to bed." Lando lets out a nervous giggle but heads to the bedroom.

November 16th, 2021, Takes place after Our Boy pt.1, Surprise! Another one.

"Hey?" Charles calls softly, Lando looking at him. "He's our boy. Elijah will have both our names. Okay, no one's last name." Charles whispers, settling this talk once and for all. "Yeah, yeah. But the baby has my last name first." Lando sighs, standing. "Fine, I don't care if the baby does," Charles grumbles, standing slowly with Elijah in his arms.

"Wait? What baby?" Charles yells, running after Lando, who giggles like a child. "Whoops, surprise?" As Elijah runs off to join you in the dining room, Lando asks, and Charles glares. "Dammit, Lando. I knew you getting a podium and the anniversary being close together wasn't a good idea." Charles smacks Lando but then pulls him into a hug.

"Is Y/n okay with another baby?" Charles asks, constantly worried about you and Lando. Making sure his little family was safe and happy. "Yes, she's excited. I'm hoping it's a girl. Make it even." Lando smiles softly as the two walk into the kitchen. "A baby?" Charles asks you as you walk into the kitchen for some food. Stopping, you smile, placing a hand on your lower stomach.

"Yeah, about 2 or 3 months." Charles laughs, moving as he picks you up, spinning you around. "I've never been happier," Lando smiles, joining the hugs and kisses. "Fuck, I love you both so much," Charles whispers, wiping his eyes as Lando kisses Charles gently before hugging you. "I hope it's a girl. You two would get so much hotter as girl dads." Lando shakes his head, but he knows it is the truth. "I can't wait." Nodding in agreement, you watch your partner's hearts grow even more.

December 10th, 2031. Elijah is 14, and Cecile is 9. I want to race full-time

"No. No way in hell are you quitting school." You snap at your 14-year-old son. Elijah's jaw tightens as he tries to remain calm, like what Uncle Lewis taught him. "Ma, I love racing. I want to do this, and school is in my way." Elijah tries to reason with you, but you stand firm in your decision.

"Elijah, you're 14. You need to figure out what you want. Besides, you have wonderful marks and could make something of yourself. Racing is, listen, this isn't up for argument. You're going to school, not quitting." Elijah wants nothing more than to scream at you, but he drops his head and bolts out of the kitchen, leaving you there sighing.

"Mama, he's excellent. Like Papa and Daddy good." You jump, holding your chest as you turn, seeing your little girl standing there. "Cecile, where did you come from?" She was supposed to be with her Uncle Pierre, not here.

"Papa picked me up early; we got books." She shows off the little tote bag, heavy from the books. "Oh," You swallow, knowing Charles definitely heard the conversation. "And where's Papa?" "With Eli." She shrugs and walks away, leaving you there with your thoughts.

Elijah groans, hearing knocks at his door. "Go away, Ma! You made your thoughts very clear!" He yells. Despite his protest, the door opens, not revealing you, but his Pa. "Oh, Pa." Charles steps into the room, closing the door with a soft click.

"It scares her," Elijah blinks, confused, unsure what Charles could mean. "Dad and I have been in rough crashes and races. We've lost family and friends from those races. But despite that, your Ma still comes to our races and supports us. With us, it's different. The worry, words, emotions, everything is different. But, with you." Charles moves, sitting on the bed, smiling softly.

"Those things are different. Her love is extra. Words, emotions, and support all of it. She wants to support you, she does, but all she can see is our baby getting into a dangerous and sometimes deadly life. She's not saying no because she thinks you couldn't do it. Trust me, she's well aware of your talent. She's saying no since it's her only way to protect you. Don't hate her for that," Charles whispers, ruffling Elijah's hair and making the boy smile.

"I don't hate Ma. I'm upset, but maybe it'll be better with you and Dad here as support." Elijah smiles, leaning into his Pa's side. "Nope, you're doing this one on your own. She's your mother, you can talk to her. Key word talk, Ducky. You can do this; don't let it stop you." Charles stands, leaning down. He places a kiss on Elijah's head.

"I love you, Ducky." "I love you too, Pa."

May 29th, 2033, Present Day. 3 Dads and 2 Fathers

"Is there anything you want to ask me?" Elijah is proud of controlling his features. Pa had called Nico over here yesterday. They all needed to talk, but it was really for Nico and him to talk. "Ask you something? No, I read your letter to Mama." Nico makes a face filled with regret, heartbreak, and a touch of relief. "Did you?" It wasn't a question meant for an answer.

Elijah looks outside, seeing his Pa, Dad, and Cece outside "tending" to the garden. They weren't where Elijah chose to talk. He knew being in the garden, you could hear everything. It was the perfect spot for his Dad to not worry and for Pa to immediately come to help if things got too much.

"Mama never opened it, so she doesn't know the truth." Nico opens his mouth, but Elijah interrupts him. "And I'd like if she never knew the truth, but that's not my choice. Grandpa told me what you said to her after Pa and Dad ran after me. You might be furious with her, but you had no right to that stuff. You're the one who left, and you left a fucking letter. Admit it or not, you took the coward's way out. The letter might be true, but you should've stayed and not left something so easily mistaken as a breakup." Elijah takes a deep breath, regaining control.

"Mama picked herself up, raised me, gave me endless love and support. I have Dad and Pa, two men who raised me to be an amazing driver, son, and person. You only gave me your looks. Thanks for that, by the way." Nico smiles. He had no right to be angry at Elijah for the utter lashes of words. "I'm the person I am because of them, not you. I might have 3 dads, but I have 2 fathers. And You're not one of them." Nico nods, looking outside to see Cecile giggle, wrapped in her Papa's arms.

"When I saw who your Ma married, a part of me was furious, but another part was relieved. She was happy, found love again, and I wasn't the one that broke her. But then, 3 days ago, when I saw her, that anger returned. I didn't want to mean those words, but I did. Something I'll need to apologize for." Elijah nods, "Well, you can't. She's not here." Nico whips around, confused.

"What do you mean not here?" "Pa, he kicked her out. We don't know where she went." Nico stands up quickly, slamming the screen door, which shocked everyone as he storms up to Charles.

"The fuck is your problem? You kicked Y/n out? What the fuck? That just adds to the list of people who broke and betrayed her! And I should know, I'M ON THE LIST! Now, you listen here, you go after your wife. She's probably in Vantaa. Mika has a home there." Charles and Nico glare at each other.

"I know. Mika texted me this morning that she was there. I already booked the plane tickets for Lando and me." "What about us?" Cecile asks as Lando smiles with pride at his husband. "You'll be staying with Grandmere." The kids break out into smiles as they rush inside, already planning on what to pack.

"Now, can you kindly do me a favor of leaving now? You talked to Elijah, so leave." Lando steps between the two men. "I'm not done talking with him," "Yes, you are. No more talking to our son without Y/n here. Kindly leave. Charles and I have to pack." Nico steps back, snorting, and walks off.

"So, when's our plane?" Charles smiles at Lando. "We leave tonight."

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