How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You - LN4 X Reader:

How Sweet It is to be Loved by You - LN4 x reader:

Mars’ Notes: I’ve never ever written anything like this before, but after rambling at @love-belle for a stupid amount of time, i thought why not? surprised it ended up being for lando and not charles but if this goes well i might j start writing a bit more!! anyways, i’m excited, please lmk what you think <333

Warnings: None!! super super fluffy :)

Description: Lando comes home to you, and everything is ok again.

————————————————————

Lando was exhausted. He loved his job, the roaring of engines, the loud shouts that always seemed to accompany the mechanics as they made any pre-race adjustments to his Mclaren, the screams of fans in the grandstands and during fan stages, but god, sometimes all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around your waist, bury his face in your neck and never leave. You were his peace, his moment of quiet in an otherwise hectic day. He missed you, and you were his rock during race weekends. He had spent the last week wishing you were with him and cheering him on from your spot in the garage.

“Lando? You ok, mate?”

Danny’s voice broke him out of his stupor, bringing his mind back to the private jet he was currently sat in, accompanied by the older driver. Just three more hours, and you can hug her all you want, he thought to himself.

“Yeah, fine, mate. Just wondering what’s for dinner.” he said, a smile on his face.

“If you say so” comes the reply, accompanied by a bright, dimpled smile.

————————————

After a hectic run through security and the throng of fans that were waiting diligently for him at the gate, Lando had finally made it home, his hands trembling at the prospect of finally kissing you again as he pushed his key into the lock of your shared flat.

“Lando? Is that you, my love?”

Your voice floated through the hallway, and he visibly relaxed - he was finally home, he was finally with you, and there was nowhere he’d rather be.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me. Were you hoping for someone else?” he teased, seeing you emerge from your bedroom, clad only in one of his favourite Quadrant hoodies, and fluffy socks, your hair falling around your face in messy waves, silver wire-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of your nose. You padded over, soft footfalls echoing, until you were stood in front of him.

“Oh shush and hug me, you muppet.”

He closed the gap between you, and wrapped his arms around your waist, melting into you.

“God, I missed you”, he said, his voice muffled by your neck. You giggled and reached up to hug him back, carding your hands through his hair and leaving sweet kisses wherever you could reach.

“I missed you more, love. Would you mind helping me with something quickly?”, you mumbled into his hair, “I know you’re tired, and it’s been a long day, I just think my brain’s gone to mush and I can barely read what I’m writing.”

He lifted his head, and simply smiled at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek, “That’s what I’m here for, remember? Moral support and grammar police” he said, winking at you in an effort to make you laugh. You looked stressed, and he could tell you had been working away at your essay for far too long already, the pressure weighing heavily on your shoulders. “I’m assuming it’s another essay for class?”

“Mhmm, the professor decided it would be a good time to assign a stupid essay two weeks before midterms.” Your eye roll and answering nod was all it took for Lando to toe his shoes off, leaving his bags and coat by the door before he dragged you back into the bedroom, dramatically flipping into the double bed that occupied the corner, landing amongst the multitude of stuffed toys that had migrated to his side of the bed in the short time he was away.

“Right then, Ms. L/N, get your pretty arse over here and read me this essay.” he said, posing and putting on his best posh British accent, earning a laugh out of you. This was what Lando lived for, these quiet moments of domesticity where all he could hear was your laugh and he could revel in the fact that it was him, him who made you laugh and him who had the pleasure of hearing it.

You grabbed your notebook from the desk you had set up opposite the bed, claiming that you worked better when you knew Lando was close to you, and walked over to the bed, climbing in and placing his head in your lap.

A reporter had once asked him a question along the lines of “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” He had, of course, answered with the typical “on a race track”, the answer that wouldn’t have the Mclaren PR team screaming at him post press conference, but if he really had to pick, he would say with you. Anywhere with you was where he wanted to be, but he felt so at peace here, in your bedroom, with his head on your lap and your hand in his hair, your voice soft and sweet as you read him the opening paragraphs of your midterm essay.

Lando nuzzled further into your thighs, your nails now scratching across his scalp in a way that made him feel boneless. He could feel his eyes slowly slipping closed, the warmth and comfort lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

———————-

You were three paragraphs in when you stumbled on your words, struggling to understand a sentence you’d written.

“See, that’s the sentence I really don’t get. It just sounds so chunky and I really have no idea how to make it flow more, you know? I know it needs to be technical, it is an engineering essay after all, but it just sounds so hard to read and I don’t know how to make it sound better.”

You waited for Lando to tell you that you’d made a silly grammar mistake, or that you just had to split the sentence in two to make it more digestible, but you were met with silence. Looking down at your lap, you saw Lando asleep, smile painted on his face, a hand placed on your thigh, grip tight as though he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t move.

Lando had come into your life in the most unexpected way you could have imagined - cliché, but unexpected. You’d been waiting in line at a coffee shop, needing your daily dose of caffeine before your 9AM university lecture, and he had walked straight into you, a steaming hot Americano cradled in his hands, which had eventually made quick work of staining the cream bodysuit you had chosen for the day. He’d apologised countless times, turning back to grab a stack of tissues, even going so far as to attempt to rub the stain off, but had only succeeded in making it worse. You’d simply laughed, and told him that he really should go order another coffee, before the morning rush took over. He’d stared at you, open mouthed and speechless, before stammering through an affirmative and walking away. The next 5 minutes were spent throwing glances at each other through the crowd of people occupying the store, before he broke and asked for your number, stating that he at least owed you a new shirt, and perhaps even a date? It had been natural, and felt right from the moment he picked you up at 8 the following Friday, dressed in a suit and armed with roses.

You took one last look at the essay in your hands, and made the incredibly easy decision to call it a day. You placed the stack of papers on the bedside table, shifting in order to reach, only to have Lando grip onto you tighter, a mumble of “stay” escaping his pouted lips. Your heart clenched, and you couldn’t help but coo back that you weren’t going anywhere, my love, go back to sleep. You cleared as much of the bed as you could without disturbing your boy, and leaned back into the pillows you’d stacked behind you earlier in the day, Lando nuzzling further into your stomach, whining until you bring your hand back to his curls. As you shift, Lando reaches out to wind his hands around your waist, pulling you closer even in his sleep. You smile to yourself, and turn the small lamp on the side table off - your boy was home, and everything was alright.

it’s so soft and sweet and fluffy and ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

daylight | l.n

summary: Hi lovely, you write Lando SO well😍 I’m not sure if you’re taking requests, but I can’t stop thinking about Lando and a drivers sister (if you have the time please). Maybe she’s visiting friends in London and they go on a night out. She gets super drunk, loses her friends, doesn’t know her way back to their place and goes to the only place she does know, Lando’s. Except he’s fast asleep and she wakes him up trying to politely break into his house and he’s like all sleepy and cute and looks after her and asks her to call him next time and he’ll pick her up Then the next time it happens, she actually calls him and it’s just fluffy af - from anon <3. also my requests for lando are open! feel free to send your ideas my way !

warnings: fluff, leclerc!reader, language, drinking, and overall lando just being protective

masterlist | ask box | listen

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the night air was cold in london, making you regret your choice in attire for tonight as you hurried your footsteps on the sidewalk, heels clicking against the pavement.

you had decided that tonight was going to be a fun night out, you and your girls were going to go to the club, have a few drinks and a good time, but no. somehow, someway, you ended up getting stranded at the club, no one coming to get you or tell you where they went.

so, with a dead phone, you headed in the direction of the only place you knew how to get to: lando’s.

the two of you had been in a weird ‘will we, won’t we?’ stage for the last year or so. he was the one you were closest with. the one who, undeniably, made you feel like a teenager falling in love all over again.

you made the next right, ignoring the aching in your feet as you reached his front steps. the mclaren sitting in the driveway letting you know he was home. you knocked on the door, and after a few minutes with no noise on the other side, you huffed.

you reached into the flower pot on the step, grabbing the spare key to the front door. you put it in the lock and twisted it, letting out a sigh of relief when the lock clicked open. you pushed the door open softly, tossing the key back into the flower pot before stepping inside.

your heels clicked loudly on the hardwood floor and you immediately winced before you shut and locked the door behind you. you stepped out of your heels, becoming a deer in headlights when the lights turned on all of a sudden.

“y/n?” lando asked, placing the golf club against the wall. you gave him a tight lipped smile in return.

“sorry,” you said, “the girls left the club without me, my phones dead, and your house was the only place i knew how to get to.”

he furrowed his eyebrows, “you walked eight blocks from the club? alone, in the dark, and tipsy?”

you bit your bottom lip, “yeah, guess so.”

he ran a hand over his face, trying to fight off the thought of everything what could’ve happened to you, “just… please, please call me next time. i don’t care where you are, what time it is, nothing. i’ll always come get you.”

his words made your stomach do flips as he held out his pinky for you, making you smile as you locked your fingers together. he pulled you closer, letting you wrap your arms around him in a hug.

“miss me?” you joked.

“mhm,” he said, “definitely didn’t miss you breaking into my house.”

you smiled up at him, “you definitely missed that.”

“whatever you say, love,” the smile still playing at his lips, “c’mon, let’s get you some clothes.”

you nodded, following him up the stairs and into his bedroom. he flipped on the light switch, making his way to his closet as he fished something out for you. he grabbed an older mclaren hoodie and some sweatpants, passing them to you as you sat on his bed.

“here you go,” he mumbled, clearly still sleepy, “you can sleep in here if you want.”

you nodded, heading towards the bathroom to change. you threw on the clothes he gave you, feet padding against the wooden floor as you pulled the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands. he opened the blankets as you climbed into bed next to him.

“thanks for letting me stay,” you smiled over at him, head resting against his pillow.

“didnt have a choice, you literally broke in.” he smiled back at you, reaching over and brushing a piece of hair from your face.

you rolled your eyes playfully, “then maybe you should hide your spare key better.”

“nah,” he scrunched his nose, “i think i might leave it there, yknow, for whenever you’re in town.”

you leaned into his touch, “i missed you.”

“i know,” a smug smile on his face, “i missed you too.”

“then kiss me,” you mumbled, grabbing the neck of his hoodie and pulling him towards you. he smiled as he situated himself over top of you, arms pinning your head to the pillow as he leaned down and brushed his nose against yours.

“missed me that bad, huh?”

“like crazy,” you breathed.

“and if your brothers know you’re here?”

“i don’t want to think about my brothers right now,” you mumbled, “just fucking kiss me, lando.”

he complied this time, cupping your face in his hand as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. his lips moved against yours and he sighed contently when your fingers ran through his messy curls.

the sound that fell from your lips was like music to his ears as his lips moved from yours and attached to your neck, “if you coming here means i get to see you in my clothes more often, then please come more often.”

you smiled, “race weekends not enough for you?”

“baby, i could never get enough of you.”

you smiled as he pressed more kisses to your neck, “lan,”

he hummed against your skin, letting you continue, “i love you.”

he stopped what he was doing, eyes meeting yours as he came back to be face to face with you. a bright smile sat on his face, his pupils blown, and curls a mess. he looked so pretty like this.

he rested his chin on your chest, “i love you, too.”

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the sound of his phone ringing made him drop the towel he was drying his hair with, your name and photo lighting up his screen. he swiped the button over, pressing the phone to his ear.

“hello?”

“hi!” your slurred words echoed through the phone, making him smile. he could hear the group of girls in the background asking who was on the phone, “i’m on the phone with my boyfriend! shut up!”

he chuckled, “you okay, baby?”

“yeah, no i’m good! im great!” your voice was barely audible over the loud music, “the girls are heading to a different bar, but i’m drunk and i want cuddles,”

he chuckled, putting you on speaker as he put his shirt on, “i’m on my way.”

“you’re the best!” he could practically hear your smile as he jogged down the stairs, ignoring the questioning look from max on the couch. he tugged his shoes on, “i love you.”

“i love you, too, baby,” he said, “i’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“okay,” you said, “see you soon.”

and he kept his promise, smiling as you walked out of the club. you spotted him leaning against the door of his car, smiling and bidding a goodbye to the rest of the group as they climbed into the uber to go to the next bar.

his hands found their home on your hips, yours wrapping around his neck, “hi,”

“hi,” he smiled, “hungry?”

you nodded, “starving.”

he took your hand into his, opening the door for you, “alright, c’mon.”

you sat down in the passenger side, letting him close the door for you before he got in on his side. he grabbed your hand over the center console, you pressed the back of his hand to your lips.

“i love you.” you mumbled against his skin.

“i love you, too, baby.”

WHEEZING MANS GOT DRAGGED 🤡🤡

light as a feather !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she writes a song and finds love again while he finds himself facing the consequences of his actions.

or

for when the right person is right around the corner. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // lando norris x fem!ex!reader // charles leclerc x fem!reader (implied)

warnings - language, mention of cock once, sex jokes (???)

author's note - might make a part 2 idkk but i hope u like this <3 thank u sm for reading!!!! alsoooo im gonna start a taglist so if ur interested PLEASE let me know <3

taglist - @marsdreamworld @1nt3rnetgf

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by y/nupdates, f1paddockgossip, y/nsteponme and 79,628 others

popnews y/n y/l/n and lando norris called it quits after almost a year of being together. this news came after y/l/n flew out to see him during the dutch grand prix and left the very next day, not attending the race. "it was very sudden, neither of them saw it coming," sources close to the pair commented. "they were together for a year and it was getting very real and that scared lando. he just felt like the relationship had run its course and wasn't going anywhere." this proved to be kind of confusing and controversial as not even a week after their break up, norris was spotted with a girl out on a "date". for more details, visit the link in our bio.

2,528 comments

username say sike rn

username WHAT THE FUCK.

username "the relationship had run its course and wasn't going anywhere" brother what do u MEAN it wasn't going anywhere and what do u MEAN he went on a date

username nah this is insane wtf

username no bc he's scared of commitment after a YEAR in the relationship like what the fuck

-> username like brother those are the things u realise after the first few dates not YEAR wtf

username i feel so bad for y/n like i know my girl gave it her all

-> username imagine being with someone for a year and they break up with u bc they're scared of commitment but then go on a date not even a week later

-> username she's stronger than me bc i would've bitch slapped that mf

username i just know she's cooking something like im on the edge of my seat fr

username don't come at me but this is charles' time to shine

-> username nah bc that boy has been harbouring the BIGGEST crush on her for years

username the next album is gonna be fire 🔥🔥🔥

username no bc they were so cute together i thought they'd be forever :////

username my parents 💔💔💔💔💔💔

username no bc if this turns out that he cheated on her i will RIOT

username praying for lando bc y/n is everyone's fav on grid

-> username man's definitely tasting gravel the next race

-> username it's gonna be charles to push him off i can see it 🙏🙏🙏

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 3,772,415 others

yourusername feather out everywhere lol have fun with this one <3

tagged landonorris

28,628 comments

username TOO MUCH GOING ON I NEED TO SCREAM

username THE TAG THE SONG THE LYRICS OG MY GOF

username i am afraid lando is crying as we speak rn

charles_leclerc so good 😘

-> yourusername thank u charles 🫶🏼

-> username i just KNOW his everlasting crush came back with a VENGEANCE

username bet charles is just gonna slide up now that lando fumbled

username LMFAOAOAO SIS REALLY CAME FOR HIS NECK LIKE THAT

username she gagged him with this

username ur signals are MIXED u act like a BITCH u fit EVERY stereotype send a PIC

-> username iconic

lilymhe enjoyed every second of it 🔥🔥🔥

-> yourusername i love u <3

username i just KNOW that the drivers gc is WILD rn

-> username i would everything to be in there atm

maxfewtrell oh the silence from his room is LOUD

-> yourusername LMFAOAOAO

username men really don't know how to handle a bad bitch

-> username fr like 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

taylorswift so proud 🤧🩷

-> yourusername i love u mom

username the silence is LOUD

username nah bro fumbled HARD

username NAHHH NOT THE TAG OH MY GOD

username i absolutely LOVE this song but im not gonna lie i miss lando and y/n SO bad like i wanted what they had 💔💔💔💔💔💔

-> username no bc i need to go back to their in love era

username lando norris is having a breakdown over this as we talk

carlossainz55 on repeat 😍

*liked by yourusername*

username someone PLEASE hand the mic to lando i need to hear what he has to say about this

username never make a singer mad at u bc they WILL write a song about u

*liked by yourusername*

alex_albon absolutely iconic

-> yourusername thank u lily's bf 🪿

username no bc i was expecting more of a heartbreak song but THIS??????

username cleared him

username he must be soooo embarrassed like how r u gonna go ahead and say that u lost HER

username mother ate

username she always serves cunt

luisinhaoliveira99 pretty girl cool song 💌

-> yourusername angel ❤️‍🩹

-> username OH MY GOD

-> username i did not see this coming

-> username PLEASE the duo i didn't know i needed

-> username lando is somewhere pulling at his hair

-> username love it when people (y/n and luisinha) unite to destroy their common enemy (lando)

≡;- ꒰ twitter ꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lilymhe, oliviarodrigo, charles_leclerc and 2,628,825 others

yourusername floatin through the memories like wtv (photo creds to charles_leclerc who annoyed me until i agreed to post these)

15,527 comments

username OH MY GOD

username THE DRESS THE EVERYTHING HER

username my lord she has served cunt once again

-> username as expected

username im so bi like

alex_albon oh how i LOVE being a woman

-> yourusername alex wtf

-> alex_albon LILY POSTED THAT I DIDN'T OMG

-> yourusername sure

-> username ALEX LMFOAOAOAO

username CHARLES AND HER OMG

username im HERE for charles and her like yes pls

username the dress is soooooo pretty like 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

-> username fr like how did charles not pass out from behind the camera

-> charles_leclerc trust me, i was so close

-> username NAH THIS MAN HAS TO BE STOPPED

-> username im giggling and that wasn't even directed at me

username the prettiest 🫶🏼🫶🏼

carla.brocker miss my girl so much u look like an angel 🩷🫶🏼

-> yourusername miss u so bad i love u 💕🍧

username she's so pretty oh my god

username pretty beautiful ethereal breathtaking hot angelic gorgeous cute heavenly stunning ravishing divine graceful alluring elegant

username js say the word y/n i can bark ☺️

luisinhaoliveira99 pretty girl 🫶🏼

-> yourusername i love u 🫶🏼

-> username i love them sm

-> username no bc this will always be iconic

username i NEED charles and y/n to get together like rn

username SHE'S SO ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username ate so hard and left no crumbs

charles_leclerc 😍😍😍😍😍

-> yourusername 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

charles_leclerc too good to be gatekept

-> yourusername ok who the fuck taught u what gatekept means

-> charles_leclerc alex

-> yourusername stay away from my man alex_albon

-> alex_albon your man 😏

-> charles_leclerc 😏😏😏😏😏

-> yourusername i hate both of u

charles_leclerc does this mean you're my girl?

-> yourusername not if ur gonna be cocky like this

-> alex_albon oh he is gonna be COCKy alrightttt

-> charles_leclerc i mean...

-> yourusername JAIL BOTH OF U

-> username oh they definitely together or something

-> username nah they're fs dating

username y/n just one chance pls

username my pronouns are she not her bc i'll NEVER be her

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 975,327 others

landonorris talking shit ain't gonna do a thing

11,628 comments

username says YOU

username lando babe go on do it log out and never log in again

username alr that's enough being silly for today

username dw guys he was just feeling a lil silly 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪😝😝😝😝😝🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

username no words

carlossainz55 listen to your own advice, brother.

-> username damn he even used proper punctuation and all

username hahahahaha 😐😐😐😐😐 SOOOO hilarious 😐😐😐😐😐

username stfu

username "talking shit" my brother she literally just wrote a song destroying u and connected with ur ex and got a f1 driver who was ur friend up in her dms and posted a few shady captions what r u on abt.

-> username y'all my girl did no wrong he had this coming for cheating

charles_leclerc lol

-> username out of everything everyone has commented this is by far the most scariest one

-> username u know u have done fucked up with charles comments "lol"

username love how the comments are just bullying lando 🫶🏼

alex_albon LMFAOAOAOAO

-> username PLEASEEE ALEX

-> username forever in love with him he's my babygirl

username love how protective the drivers are of y/n ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username m*n need to go back to war fr

maxverstappen1 cannot wait to see you on track this week.

-> username i have a feeling lando's gonna kiss the barriers this sunday 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

username anyway stream feather by y/n 🫶🏼

username LOVE to see the grid calling him out

-> username fr like gag him

lewishamilton nice joke. never joke again.

-> username no bc if i got called out by THE lewis hamilton i will just never show my face ever again

-> username right like how is he not embarrassed

username no bc if i lost someone like y/n bc i was a fucking idiot and then my best friend rizzed her up i would just simply Pass Away like that's a level of embarrassment i CANNOT take

lilymhe didn't you cheat on her 😂😂😂😂😂

-> username NOT LILY CONFIRMING THAT

-> username nah he deserves everyone calling him out lando wtf

username lily u will always be famous

maxfewtrell don't make me apply for a new roommate

-> username PLEASE MAX

-> username just a very good example as to why u should NEVER EVER EVER EVER cheat on ANYONE bc u will end up like lando on the internet

username y/n bout to swing back on him i can feel it

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by luisinhaoliveira99, carlossainz55, sebastianvettel and 2,262,826

yourusername i hit ignore

17,528 comments

username PLEASE

username she's too iconic i fear

username I LOVE HER SHE'S SO UNSERIOUS

username no bc u know shit is real when seb is here

username i love how luisinha and y/n are like best friends now

-> username the most iconic pair EVER

*liked by luisinhaoliveira99 and yourusername*

danielricciardo baby-you was so swag

-> yourusername i know

-> danielricciardo what happened now

-> yourusername wOW

username she was such a vibe-y child i love that

username this is so MESSY and im here for every second of it

username her using her own lyrics like mother 🙏🙏🙏

username i would get on my knees for y/n and y/n only

username serves cunt again and again

charles_leclerc smash that ignore button and while you're at it, i sent you flowers 🥰

-> yourusername omg they're so prettyyy i love them ☹️❤️

-> username PEOPLE WE'VE UPGRADED TO RED HEART

-> username white heart to red heart we love to see it

username no bc what i don't get is how he's gonna break up with her after a YEAR of being together bc lil bitch boy got scared of commitment and then turn around and allegedly cheat on her and then say u talking shit like NO SHUT THE FUCK UP we got a banger song and an iconic duo with the bad bitches u fumbled and i get a chance to see charles FINALLY make a move on his godforsaken crush

-> yourusername that was so intense and im trying to process it all but U GO BABY I LOVE UUUUU

-> luisinhaoliveira99 spoke facts

username love the comments are just charles and y/n, luisinha and y/n and anti l*ndo ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username im sooo here for this let's fucking go

alex_albon i would've been best friends with baby-you ngl

-> yourusername we're literally best friends what the fuck r u about

-> alex_albon no you're just an unfortunate addition to my life because my gf loves you

-> yourusername yeah she loves me MORE than u so go cry abt it

-> lilymhe true 🫶🏼

-> alex_albon wow

username the day charles and y/n (IT WILL HAPPEN) get together will be the day i can finally rest in peace

username the silence from l*ndo's side is DEAFENING

cried j do yourself a favour and read it ❤️‍🩹

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff 

word count: 13.1k  

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily. 

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back. 

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course. 

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room. 

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind. 

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.” 

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything. 

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip. 

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated. 

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.” 

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.” 

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?” 

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing. 

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So. 

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers. 

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging. 

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused. 

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?” 

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft. 

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them. 

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans. 

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused. 

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything. 

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway. 

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.” 

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go. 

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him. 

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.” 

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one. 

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after  you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly. 

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake. 

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it. 

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.” 

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.” 

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him. 

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes. 

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

meet mars!!

“whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same”

8teen - leo - bi - indian - she/her

current hyperfixation: f1! (specifically CL16, CS55, LN4, MV1 and DR3)

i’ll mostly be reblogging fics i love (and maybe even doing fic recs :) )

dms are always open, chat to me abt anything and everything <33

i haven’t stopped manically giggling ever since i read this

you got me thinking nonsense !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which heartbreak led to her real love and she'd be damned if she didn't make sure everyone knows that.

or

for when they're everything to you. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!reader

prequel - light as a feather ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - posting this i simply couldn't resist!!! i'll try my HARDEST to post carlos' version of shout out to my ex tonight but if not then tomorrow fs <3 thank u so much for reading, i love u <3

taglist - @marsdreamworld @eviethetheatrefreak @22yuki @incoherenciass @bb-swift @willowpains @lordperceval-16 (tagging all those who asked for part ii <3)

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by pierregasly, f1updates, exwagsclub and 79,726 others

paddock.club y/n y/l/n and charles leclerc spark dating rumours as they were seen out on a "date", which were further confirmed as the couple shared a kiss. for weeks, y/l/n and leclerc have been having coy and not-so-platonic interactions on social media and fans have speculated that these two are more just friends. this news comes after y/n's break up with a fellow driver of charles and while neither y/n or her ex have commented on this, it's clear that they didn't have a clean break up as there were rumours of cheating surrounding the ex. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

tagged charles_leclerc yourusername

589 comments

username LMFAOAOOA THE WAY LANDO ISN'T EVEN MENTIONED HERE

username "the ex" ur so right he's not worth mentioning 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

username olivia was talking abt lando when she sang "some weird second string loser who's not worth mentioning"

*liked by oliviarodrigo*

username my true parents fr ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username she looks sooo happy with him im so happy for her

username love how none of yes are surprised like we all saw this coming

username the way l*ndo isn't even mentioned ONCE like that's what u get for cheating babes!!!!!!!!!

username CHARLES AND Y/N FUCK YEA

username she genuinely looks so much happier with charles like this is the type of relationship she deserved ❤️

username IM ❤️ SO ❤️ HAPPY ❤️ FOR ❤️ THEM ❤️

username no bc there was no way they thought that they'd be able to convince us that they weren't together

username istg i see one person comment some out of pocket shit im SWINGING

username l*ndo's crying rn like i can Feel it

username no bc HOW'D he pull 😭😭😭😭😭

-> username fr like u put him near y/n he starts malfunctioning

-> username no bc that one interview where he forgot his own team's name js bc y/n walked past him is LIVING proof

username i know the driver's gc is WILDIN rn

username see now idk who to be jealous of

-> username the only correct answer is both

username no bc IMAGINE THE SONGS SHE'LL WRITE ABOUT HIM!!!!!!

username pretty people (y/n and charles) ruining it for the ugly people (me) by getting together

username oh so he got GAME

username everyone bffr y/n was probably the one who took the initiative

username guys stop with all the l*ndo slander comments i can't like them all

username charles leclerc i will never forgive u for taking my wife

username im sooooOOOOooo normal about this. ha fucking ha.

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 2,792,712 others

yourusername nonsense is now yours!!! i wrote this song on my very close friend's bedroom's floor and i can officially say that this is the most unhinged song i have ever written :) i love u all sooo much i could cry <3 (charles_leclerc be my personal photographer pls ❤️)

15,628 comments

username HELLO?????? PLEASE IM CRYING WHAT IS THIS SONG AND WHY IS IT MAKING ME CRY AND HORNY

username IM TALKIN OPPOSITE OF SOFT?????? Y/N?????????

username nah she's unhinged

username "on my very close friend's bedroom's floor" BABE WE KNOW

username how quickly can u take ur clothes off pop quiz 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

-> username oh she's wild for adding this

username IN LOVE WITH THE OUTRO

username PLEASE touch some grass and meditate

georgerussell63 wish i never heard it but cool beats x

-> yourusername i too wish u never heard it but thank u russell george x

username i know sebastian texted her after this

*liked by yourusername*

username okayyyy so at least he's winning off the track

-> username OH UR SO WRONG FOR THIS

username at least my girl's getting some good dick y'all leave her alone

username im a changed woman after hearing this song

username u gotta keep up with me!!!!! i got some young energy!!!!!!! i caught the l-o-v-e!!!! why do u do this to me!!!!!!!

username i know charles is blasting the SHIT out of this sin anthem (encouraging)

-> username PLEASE NOT SIN ANTHEM

lilymhe when will you write a song like this about me :/

-> yourusername if u would like i can show u????

-> lilymhe i'm On my way!

-> alex_albon STOP I'M STILL HERE

-> yourusername alex look away

-> charles_leclerc i'm

-> yourusername u too babe look AWAY

-> username BABE

-> username DID SHE JS CONFIRM IT FR FR

username said u like my eyes????? AND u like to make them roll??????

-> username if someone said that to me i would be AT the altar in most white dress ever

username charles won at life fr

username WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABT HOW GOOD SHE LOOKS IN THESE PHOTOS

-> username my heart stopped she's so barbie coded

charles_leclerc nice song

-> yourusername thank u

charles_leclerc any particular muse behind this?

-> yourusername js this cool guy i've been seeing

-> charles_leclerc "cool" huh? 😏😏😏😏🤪🤪🤪🤪🤗🤗🤗🤗🫡🫡🫡🫡🥶🥶🥶🥶😩😩😩😩🤧🤧🤧🤧☺️☺️☺️☺️😘😘😘😘🥰🥰🥰🥰😚😚😚😚

-> yourusername yes charles u are cool

-> username MY GOD SOMEONE TAKE AWAY THIS MAN'S PHONE

-> username y/n be honest does he blush and giggle when u call him a pet name????

-> yourusername what do u think

-> username I KNEW IT OMG

charles_leclerc if the person in front of the camera is you, i will gladly be behind the camera for the rest of my life.

-> yourusername the most romantic thing u have ever said to me

-> charles_leclerc that's not true

-> yourusername u called me a chameleon yesterday

-> charles_leclerc because you wear a different shade of eye colour everyday

-> yourusername eye shadow* baby

-> charles_leclerc okay :D

-> username WHO IS THIS MAN

-> username nah he's GONE for her

≡;- ꒰ twitter ꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc and 1,538,976 others

charles_leclerc she wrote a song for me and while it wasn't the most romantic one, the sentiment is still appreciated. y/n, i adore you completely, even if you spend more time with my mom than you do with me. mon cœur ❤️ ( my heart )

tagged yourusername

12,629 comments

username im

username js gonna leave yeah (ABSHDHDJSJJSSJ)

username what do u MEAN charles is in love and what do u MEAN that it's not with me (i love them both sm)

username okayyyy she wrote how much she loves u and ur little thing that's the MOST romantic thing ever

-> username nah bestie given the way she wrote the song im not it's *little*

*liked by yourusername*

-> username GIRL PLEASE WHY ARE U LURKING

username i love them both so much

carlossainz55 you two make me nauseous but it's been a long time coming 🤍 happy for you both !!

-> charles_leclerc thank you for your approval <3

-> carlossainz55 had to make sure you'd treat her better 🤷

-> username "treat her better" is speaking VOLUMES

-> username i love carlos so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username y/n being the grid's favourite is my aesthetic 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

username I LOVE THEM SOOO MUCH THEY'RE MY PARENTS LIKE AJSJSKSKSJKSKKS

username "mon cœur" can u hear me SCREAMING 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

username they genuinely deserve all the happy things in life like im SO fr

username ferrari better get their shit in order bc i know that if they fuck up again y/n is fr gonna destroy them and idk if that's gonna be by words or by a song or she's straight up gonna fist fight them

*liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and carlossainz55*

danielricciardo at least she writes you songs, she writes me threatening messages

-> yourusername U CALLED ME THAT MCDONALD'S CLOWN

-> charles_leclerc i'm not gonna intervene

-> danielricciardo BECAUSE YOU LOOKED LIKE ONE

-> yourusername THAT'S JS CHARLES NOT ME

-> charles_leclerc i am going to intervene

username im so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ about them

username i just fell to the floor what the fuck

username IM SOOOOOOOOO *cries*

lewishamilton 🫶🏼

*liked by charles_leclerc*

username i KNOW lando is pulling at his hair rn

username THAT NOTE OH MY GOD

username pls god when will it be me

username im so 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

yourusername wdym "u said u like my eyes and u like to make em roll" is not romantic

-> charles_leclerc the most romantic thing i have ever heard in my eye

-> yourusername ❤️

yourusername i love ur mom

-> charles_leclerc i know

-> leclerc_pascale mon ange 😘

-> yourusername MAMA LECLERC ❤️❤️❤️

-> charles_leclerc and i'm right here...

yourusername cannot wait to write songs for u my entire life

-> charles_leclerc cannot wait to compose piano pieces for you 😘

-> username IM SCREAMING

-> username WHAT DO U MEAN HE COMPOSES PIANO PIECES FOR HER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username they're so

username i would give anything to have a love like that 😭😭😭😭😭

username im crying.

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl, lilymhe and 2,975,327 others

yourusername looking at u got me thinking nonsense!!!!!!!!!!! also special thanks to landonorris bc if not for him i wouldn't have met the love of my life so thanks dude even if ur a prepubescent piece of shit

tagged charles_leclerc

18,629 comments

username IM HOWLING WHAT THE FUCK

username THE TAG THE CAPTION

username prepubescent piece of shit will forever be engraved in my brain ❤️

username LMFAOAOAOAO

username y/n y/m/n y/l/n u will always be famous

username IM CRYINF WHAT THEBFUCK

lewishamilton both of you 💕

-> yourusername we love u lewis <3

username she will never let l*ndo live in peace and i love her sm for that

username i just cackled out loud why is she so funny

username SHE'S SOOOO UNSERIOUS

username i js know charles is MADLY in love with her bc HOW can u not be

username she's so unhinged. i love her.

username screaming

lilymhe i thought we were something

-> yourusername babygirl u own my heart and 4ever will

-> alex_albon wow.

-> charles_leclerc oh my god

username they're so adorable 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username THEM

username no bc charles deffo manifested this shit like imagine having a crush on someone for YEARS and then they date ur friend but the friend cheats on them and u end up together like woahh wildddd

-> username and then they write a song about u

-> username AND THEN THEY WRITE A SONG ABOUT U

oscarpiastri a scream just erupted from *his* driver's room

*liked by yourusername*

-> username target audience reached 🫡

username stop with the l*ndo hate comments i seriously CANNOT like them all

username i would do anything to go to a driver's meeting ANYTHING

maxverstappen1 nice caption

-> yourusername thank u :) an angry dutch proof read this

username max proof reading this caption is sooo funny like omg

-> username they're truly destroying his peace and i respect them so much

username i truly cannot wait for the next race

username NO BC DID SOMEONE SEE THAT CLIP WHERE NONSENSE PLAYED IN THE PADDOCK WHILE LANDO WAS THERE AND HE LOOKED SO 😒😒😒😒😒😒

-> username LMFAOAOAOA THAT WAS HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY

-> username truly a cinematic piece ❤️

charles_leclerc was the first photo necessary

-> yourusername absolutely like look at my man ❤️

charles_leclerc looking at YOU got ME thinking nonsense

-> yourusername stop im blushing

charles_leclerc i thought we'd be nice

-> yourusername no YOU'D be nice i'd be mean

-> charles_leclerc okay amour ( my love )

charles_leclerc i love you ❤️

-> yourusername i caught the l-o-v-e

-> yourusername i love you more ❤️

username IM SOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username charles and y/n ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username me when.