softiecaro - Tumblr blog

softiecaro · 6 months

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say don't go | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

based off of taylor swift's 'stay don't go' why'd you have to lead me on? why'd you have to twist the knife? walk away and leave me bleedin'

word count: 5.2k tags/warnings: slight angst, mentions of being disloyal, this is kinda sad, mention of smut i guess but blink and you miss it

You weren’t one to let your past haunt you. It was the past for a reason, it belonged behind you, all you could do was grow into a better version of yourself.

But what the hell were you supposed to do when Charles showed up at your door after six months of silence?

It was a week into December and you were reluctantly putting up Christmas decorations because you were tired of the comments your friends made, telling you to get into the holiday spirit. Now you had the silver tinsel gripped in your hand as Charles stood on your front step, light flurries landing on his coat only to melt immediately after.

It was the middle of the day and you lived in a crowded area, but passersby on the sidewalk and those driving past had no idea there was a Ferrari driver only metres away from them.

But no one would guess that Charles Leclerc would be travelling to Bristol during his holidays.

“What? Were you in the neighbourhood?” You asked, flicking the tinsel off of your hand and shaking off any remnants. You watched it fall to the floor before looking up, “Felt like stopping by?”

“Can I come in?” Charles asked, glancing behind you. Was he looking to see if you had company? If you had moved on? Regardless of what, or who, he was looking for, his shoulders relaxed when he could tell you were alone. All that was behind you was cardboard boxes labelled Christmas.

“Give me three good reasons why I shouldn't shut the door in your face,” your demand was laced with your usual sweet tone, the same one that always intimated Charles because he knew what to make of it. Never once did you raise your voice, you never yelled, never showed signs of anger. Even when you were annoyed, you always sounded calm.

He sucked in a breath, “Well, it’s cold out.” He chuckled, but when you didn’t see any humour in his words he just nodded and moved on. “I was, in fact, in the neighbourhood- well I was in London, just figured I’d make a quick trip out west.”

Those weren’t good enough reasons and he knew it. You moved to grab the door and Charles reacted by holding his hand out to stop it from shutting, eyes trained on yours.

His cheeks were red, not accustomed to the British winters. He wasn’t wearing mitts and you could see how his hands had responded to the dry air by cracking at the knuckles. His lips trembled, not because he was nervous but because this was probably the coldest his body temperature had dropped to in a long time.

Which had you questioning how long he had been standing outside your door before finally knocking.

“There’s some things I’ve been meaning to say for a while now,” Charles spoke softly and you could see his breath with each word. “And you don’t need to say anything, but I’d love it if you’d listen.”

Maybe you felt bad that he was cold. Maybe you were curious as to what he had to say to you after so long. Maybe part of you still missed him and if these were the last few minutes you’d get with him, you weren’t going to let them pass.

Whatever the reason, you held the door open and he stepped inside. You watched as he ran his fingers through his hair and slid his coat off, hanging it on the empty hook on the wall. Your eyes darted down to the shoes he wore and Charles recognized that look, knowing better than to walk any further with his shoes on. He smiled, sort of, remembering the first time you asked him to take his shoes off when he entered your apartment.

If this was six months ago, you would have had slippers waiting for him to put on, but instead Charles was left to just his socks. You, though, seemed quite cozy. The matching sweats and jumper was only a shade darker than the slippers you wore and Charles almost asked where you purchased the set from, but he held his tongue because now wasn’t the time for casual conversation.

“Tea?” You offered, glancing at the kettle sitting on the stove. It had started whistling only minutes before he showed up but you hadn’t had a second to pour yourself a cup, too caught up in trying to untangle tinsel.

“Don’t want to put you out,” he shook his head, but when you manoeuvred past him to step into the kitchen, he didn’t stop you from grabbing two cups from the cupboard. He watched, standing at a cautious distance, as you made the two drinks the same way you always did.

Charles was brought back to the time he walked into his own flat in Monaco and you were kneeling on the counter, trying to find a suitable cup because all of his mugs were too big and bulky for tea. He held his hand to your back, worried you’d tip backwards, which you didn’t, but you were happy he was there to help you off the counter and greet you with a kiss.

“I’ll invest in new cups,” he said. He never did.

He didn’t like the silence that lingered between you now, probably the first time it ever bothered him, so he cleared his throat, “I like your new place.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

He glanced around at the decor and spoke up again, “So you’ve been well?”

“You don’t need to pretend to care about how I've been.”

“I do care.”

The slow yet icy stare you gave him as you peered over your shoulder had Charles wondering if showing up here was a good idea. Instead of opening his mouth again, Charles looked at the decorations littered on the floor.

He was drawn towards the open box of ornaments that was placed on the couch. He noticed the tree in the corner, but all you had put up so far was a string of lights. Curious, he looked closer into the box and smiled to himself when he saw a vintage Formula 1 Ferrari, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He also spotted a racing helmet, but couldn’t recognize the driver it belonged to.

It wouldn’t have shocked him if the rest of this box was F1 inspired Christmas ornaments. Either ones you had purchased yourself or ones that were given to you as gifts.

Charles was always amazed at your knowledge of Formula 1. With your father being a retired driver himself, he shouldn’t have been surprised when you swept him under the rug during a trivia night. He admired your passion for the sport and maybe that’s why when he met you in the Ferrari garage, he wasn’t as quick to judge you like he was to everyone else who had purchased VIP passes for the weekend.

You were there for the sport, for the racing, you didn’t care who was driving the car, but you were raised to appreciate the history of the sport. Because of that, you became Ferrari fan over the last few hours, against your fathers wishes, so of course you wanted to experience the Ferrari hospitality during a race weekend. To see the cars up close, to be in the garage, to see the race from an entirely new perspective.

It was Australia, the third race of the 2023 season. It was a race that Charles tried hard to forget due to his DNF at the first turn, but there were highlights he cherished before the incident.

He remembered standing in the garage before the first practice session and turning his head to flash a smile towards the VIP members standing at the back. He paid no attention to any of them in particular, but you stood out. The way you were so focused on the screen, taking in the Tech Talk segment that was playing on F1TV. You hadn’t even noticed Charles looking.

He saw you again the second day, closer to the front of the group before the start of FP3. You were wearing a white set, arms crossed over your chest with the headphones resting around your neck. You weren’t watching anything this time, instead you were in the middle of a conversation with a few of the mechanics.

At first, Charles thought they were flirting with you. But when you pointed at the rear wing, lines drawn across your forehead and eyebrows pinched together in studious fashion, Charles got the hint that this wasn’t just a casual conversation.

And then you held out your hand to introduce yourself, your once serious expression turning soft. You smiled at the mechanics as you shook both of their hands, seeming truly grateful to have met them.

Naturally, Charles was curious as to what sort of conversation just took place. He waited a few minutes before asking Mark, the one of two mechanics who seemed to be doing most of the talking.

“What was that about?” Charles asked.

Mark looked over his shoulder at you, but you were too engrossed in the screen again to notice the few sets on you.

“You don’t know who she is?” Mark asked.

“Should I?” Charles glanced your way. This time, you caught it.

You were also the first to look away.

“Damon Hill’s daughter,” Mark chuckled, probably in disbelief himself over who he just met. “She’s also got her masters in engineering. You know what she pointed out- the activation time for DRS is delayed compared to everyone else on the grid. I don’t know how she noticed it, but we’ll take a look at the data and if she’s onto something we’ll fix it before qualifying.”

Damon Hill’s daughter. The 1996 world champion. He had made a name for himself, known for being one of Schumacher's rivals during his prime. Charles knew he had kids, but didn’t know who they were.

He wanted to introduce himself, but he waited till after qualifying.

Was he a little taken aback when you seemed to be paying more attention to Carlos’ side of the garage at the end of the day? Maybe, but you had been watching him all weekend so far so he didn’t like the sudden change.

His P7 starting position was nothing to be overly proud of, but the congratulations was the first thing out of your mouth when he approached you.

“Thank you,” he nodded, suddenly feeling a bit more pride now than five minutes ago. He glanced at the car and then back at you, at the VIP lanyard resting over your chest, at your eyes that momentarily had him forgetting why he walked over to you in the first place.

You held your hand in the same polite manner you had with the mechanics and you introduced yourself as Charles shook it slowly.

“Damon Hill’s daughter,” he stated. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You cocked your head slightly, “Is that a line?”

A blush crept up to his cheeks when he realised how flirtatious he sounded without trying to, “No- I mean,” he licked his lips. “I guess it could be but I wasn’t trying for that.”

“I only just graduated,” you answered his question, which wasn’t really a question. “Figured I’d watch a few races, check out a few teams before I decide if I want to dip my toe in the motorsports field.”

“Driver?” He asked, eyebrows raised even though Mark had told him what you studied. But you laughed and Charles was glad he brought up the idea of you getting behind the wheel. He could get used to your laugh.

“Engineer,” you corrected. “To be honest, I think IndyCar might be more my thing. Plus I know Arrow McLaren is looking to expand, hire a few more performance engineers. Mind if I use you as a reference? I saw those mechanics working on your DRS set up, don’t let them take the credit for catching the activation error.”

It was his turn to laugh. He liked your humour, something else he could get used to.

“Mark mentioned you pointed it out,” Charles nodded, unable to keep from smiling. He liked the way you spoke. Not only did he find your accent endearing, but he liked how sure you were of yourself. You knew your talents, you knew what you were capable of. He admired it.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you said, taking it upon yourself to end the conversation. You adjusted the purse over your shoulder and gave him a soft smile. “It was nice meeting you, Charles.”

And then you walked off, happily letting someone else from the team accompany you, probably an engineer. Probably someone who could match your expertise in a conversation.

Charles didn’t know when he’d see you again, but he took it upon himself to make sure it was sooner than later.

Following Australia, the drivers had a bit of a break. Almost an entire month.

It was only a few days into the break when he asked his manager to get Damon Hill’s contact information.

Confused was an understatement when your dad called you and said ‘Tell me why I just got an unsolicited text from Charles Leclerc asking if he could have your phone number’.

By the end of the week, Charles had flown you from Paris, where you resided at the time, to Nice. He was there at the airport to pick you up and drive you to Monaco.

You spent that entirety of the break together.

Charles was smitten. As were you.

But you were cautious.

You knew first hand that racing was at the top of his priority list. You weren’t about to get your hopes up and think that these few weeks meant anything. He just had time on his hands and you showed interest.

However, it was hard not to fall for Charles. He treated you well when you were together. He was easy to talk to. He made you feel safe, admired, wanted. He asked all the questions he could think of to get to know you. He made you breakfast in the morning, or at least he tried to. The mornings when you woke up to the smell of burnt eggs were just as entertaining. Plus you figured you could get used to the way he wrapped his arm around your waist as you took over. The kisses he peppered on your shoulder that tempted you towards pulling him back to the bedroom.

By the time the season picked up again for round 4 in Baku, you were so used to being around him that you had to tell yourself not to be hurt that he didn't suggest you go with him.

You and Charles did a lot of things during those few weeks, but never once did you label what you were. That conversation never came up. Neither did the exclusivity talk.

He still called. He texted you daily. He treated you like you were special, but racing came before a relationship. Even your dad reminded you of that. He told you not to dwell on it, that Charles would come to his senses when he felt secure with the team, with the season. He didn’t need the support of a girlfriend, he needed the support of his team.

And then Charles informed you he was flying you out to Miami. He wanted you to watch the race again. He wanted you there.

You didn’t accompany him to the track, but he greeted you with wide arms and the brightest grin when you showed up at the Ferrari garage. His hand stayed on your lower back for a bit as he showed you around, giving you a proper tour but when you came across Mark it was almost as if Charles passed you off.

He said ‘Here, chat with Mark for a bit, I’m sure you’ve got some opinions about the car’ and then he walked away.

You tried not to think too much about it, maybe he had obligations, media, signings, something. He wouldn’t fly you out to Miami and abandon you the first chance he got. He was a driver, he had priorities. You weren’t one of them, not yet.

It was a difficult situation to be in. When Charles gave you his attention, he gave you every ounce of it. But when he was gone, he was gone. Distant, on his phone, sometimes he quite literally disappeared like at the end of the day on Saturday and you were left in the Ferrari garage wondering where the hell he got off to.

But then he knocked on your hotel room door at a little after 10 and who were you to turn him away?

Charles pulled you towards the bed, dragging you with him as he laid on the mattress. He asked about your day between the kisses he left down your neck. You answered as best as you could, but when his hands found the button of your trousers, it became a little more difficult to collect your thoughts.

When he gave you his attention, he gave you every ounce of it.

You had forgotten all about his disappearances earlier. They didn’t matter, he was here now. His lips trailing every inch of your skin as your back curved off the bed. You tried to remind him that he had a race tomorrow, that you both could just go to sleep if he wanted but Charles only smirked and raised his face back to yours.

He hovered his lips above yours, teasing you with a ghost of a kiss, “Ma chérie, I’m not going to sleep until I hear you scream my name.”

He kissed the corner of your lips and then trailed down towards your ear, adding a quiet, “At least twice,” to the end of the original statement.

And Charles was true to his word. He had you seeing stars with just his tongue alone in a matter of minutes.

Charles worshipped you, he took care of you. In a short period of time, he came to know your body and how to get the reactions he desired. He loved seeing you come undone, loving being the one to bring you to the edge and watch you spill over.

Maybe it was a pride he was chasing, but you wouldn’t think of that possibility until it was too late.

When he climbed under the covers next to you at the end of the night, you could still make out the shape of his body, his gentle features, even in the dark. Your hand found his chest, sliding upwards until it wrapped around his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him.

He traced his fingers over your cheek, pushing a strand of hair out of your face as he whispered, “Comment ai-je eu cette chance?” How did I get so lucky?

That did it for you.

You weren’t just smitten anymore. You were in love.

Another impromptu break after Miami meant you had a few more weeks with Charles before he had to give his attention back to racing. You didn’t spend it all in Monaco this time. After about a week, Charles suggested the two of you go back to your home. Back to Paris.

Paris with him was heavenly.

The rest of the world didn’t matter when it was just the two of you together. Your days were spent taking in the city, your evenings were spent in a variety of restaurants, lounges, anywhere he could spoil you, it seemed.

It was nearing your last few days before he had to leave when he suggested you take a midnight stroll. The weather was perfect, the streets wouldn’t be too busy. You had no reason to say no.

And there was something about walking the streets of Paris with Charles at night, holding his hand while he spun you under his arm beneath the glow of a street lamp. The Eiffel Tower was sparkling in the distance. Charles’ eyes lit up brighter than it.

There was something about him. About this moment. About the last few months. All of it led up to standing here with him now.

And you knew better, but that didn’t stop you.

“I love you.”

And just like that, you faded into madness. Slowly, silently, but it was inevitable.

Charles didn’t say anything. His lips parted like he wanted to, like he thought about it, only to ultimately lick his lips and inhale a sharp breath.

By saying I love you, you plunged a knife into your own chest, opening yourself up to vulnerability, but his silence only twisted it in deeper.

You backed up, hand dropping from his. Was that his doing or yours? He whispered your name, but only out of pity. He didn’t love you. He didn’t love you.

Suddenly Paris didn’t seem so heavenly.

Charles left that night. Maybe he thought you were asleep, but you heard the door swing on its hinges. You heard the wheels of his suitcase being dragged out into the hallway. You turned over in bed, despite knowing you’d find his side empty, but you didn’t think it would turn cold so fast.

A few days later, Charles was spotted walking into the paddock of the Monaco Grand Prix, but he wasn’t alone.

Next to him, the stunning Alexandra Saint Mleux. Even her name was beautiful.

You had heard whispers that Charles and her had a history, but you didn’t think anything of it. Why would you worry yourself with speculation when he was putting you on a pedestal when you were together?

He had a way of making you feel wanted, but you weren’t the only one who felt that way.

Did she know you two were together? That he was with you in Paris? Was he seeing both of you or did he run back to her the second you told him something he wasn’t ready to hear?

You tried to move on, really. There was no relationship for you to cling to, Charles never said you were exclusive. He just knew the right words to say to make you feel like you were.

You flew to Indianapolis for the Indy500. A rash decision, but the further away from Monaco the better. Your connections at Arrow McLaren gave you the chance to get a closer look at the inner workings of the team, had you momentarily forgetting about Charles. You wanted to be an engineer, not the girlfriend of a driver. You told yourself to get it together.

But then you returned home and seeing the slippers you had bought for Charles had you wondering why you couldn’t be both. You would have been both if he just said something, if he just told you he loved you.

You should have distanced yourself from Formula 1, at least for a little while. You should have turned down the invitation from a partnering brand of Ferrari, enticing you to come to Spain for the race. You should have flown back to the states, reconnect with Arrow McLaren.

Instead you found yourself in Barcelona. The entire time you were there you knew it was a mistake and if you couldn’t figure that out on your own, seeing Alexandra chat with some Ferrari team members below while you sat up above in the hospitality was a painful reminder.

Part of you considered talking to her. You wanted to know if she was in the same boat you were- and if she was clueless, maybe give her a heads up that Charles was going to say sweet nothings to her at night only to leave her in the dark.

But Alexandra wasn’t the one you needed to talk to.

Between practice and qualifying on Saturday, you made your way to the paddock knowing that’s where Charles would be. You walked past Alexandra chatting to someone a few motorhomes down, so you felt better knowing she wasn’t currently with him.

Luck would have it, you ran into Mark outside of Ferrari. He invited you in of course, always happy to chat about the sport with someone who appreciated it on the same level and you assured him you would, you just had to talk to Charles first.

You knocked on the door of his driver's room, not even sure what you were going to say. You were hurt, you were saddened, you were angry but you hadn't had time to think about what you would say to him when you were finally face to face again.

The door swung open and there he was. Shocked to see you, first of all, but not upset. You stood in the hallway and watched as Charles took a breath of relief, a sliver of a smile creeping up on his lips as he held the door open for you to walk in.

Your heart jolted at the idea that maybe, he still wanted you. The look he gave you was almost enough for you to forget he hadn’t said a word to you since you told him you loved him.

Almost.

You stepped in and leaned against the door after it shut, keeping a safe distance as he stood back against the massage table.

Your lips parted, but before you could get a word out, his phone started to ring. You both glanced at the contact, at who was trying to get a hold of him.

Alexandra.

You swallowed, waiting until he let it go to voicemail before your timid voice filled the room. “You love her?”

Maybe Charles didn’t know how to love anyone. You’d believe it, with the way he tensed the second the word passed through your lips. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either.

“I can’t commit, Y/N.” He tried to say, like that made up for everything. Like that’s the answer you were looking for.

“No, you can, Charles, but not to me.” You stated, keeping your voice calm. You weren’t one to yell. Causing a scene wasn’t your thing. You were always so soft spoken. Soft spoken, but straight to the facts. “Were you seeing both of us at the same time?”

“She knows, if that's what you're wondering." Charles quickly slid that piece of information in there. “She found out- about us. Threatened to leave me if-”

“If you didn’t choose?” You raised your eyebrows. Once again, his silence spoke volume. “So did you make up your mind before or after Paris?”

Charles averted his gaze for a second, “I realised in Paris I couldn’t love you the way you loved me.”

“You probably realised that a lot earlier,” you pointed out.

Charles must have known you adored him. There was no way he didn’t see the way you looked at him, the way you worshipped him. He knew and still strung you along, making you think he could love you back if you were just patient.

“You didn’t need to lead me on as long as you did, Charles.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

I didn’t want to lose you, he says. Bringing light to the fact that he had you. You were his, in a sense. Despite never saying the words out loud.

But he was never yours.

“So I was there, for what?” You asked. “As a backup? In case things with Alexandra didn’t work out?”

Charles was intimated by how calm you were. He would have preferred if you yelled at him, if you fought with him. It would make it easier on both ends to put whatever this relationship was to rest. Instead, you were serene. You came here to talk, to get answers, you didn’t come here to form a divide.

Because if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t ready to let go. How could you let go when you hadn’t spoken? He hadn’t given you closure, he didn’t say I don’t love you he just…didn’t say anything.

You weren’t going to beg for him to come back, but in the far corners of your mind you were hoping that your appearance here would make him question his decision. You were banking on the idea that when he saw you, he’d remember what he saw in the first place when you met in Australia.

If he changed his mind right now, you’d put all of this behind you. You’d stay at his side, you’d be there for him, you’d be his for real this time.

If he, once again, said nothing, you’d go. You’d go and you’d stay gone.

“I loved you,” you whispered. The past tense striking Charles more than he thought it would, but he didn’t show it. Loved. You loved him, and you still could.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Almost two and the only thing that lingered between you was silence. Heavy, loud, painful silence.

You grabbed the handle of the door and decided enough time had gone on. You deserved better than this, than a man who couldn’t make a decision, than someone who played with your feelings because they couldn’t figure out their own.

The second you pulled the door back, your name fell from Charles’ lips. You were one step into the hall, halfway to gone, and he stopped you.

All he had to do was say don’t go. All he had to do was tell you he wanted you.

With your back still to the Ferrari driver, you waited for those next words but they never came. You knew they wouldn’t.

That was the last time you spoke to Charles. You knew how to stay true to your word too.

So why was he suddenly here, six months later, sitting on your couch and looking at you like he was waiting for you to say something first when you made it clear a long time ago if you were gone, you were gone.

Charles only took a sip of his tea before putting it on the coffee table. He then moved the box of Christmas ornaments, not liking the divide it put between you as if he wasn't the one to create the wedge in the first place.

You were stupid, to speak first, but you were tired of the silence. He came here for a reason and if he wasn’t going to tell you why in the next two minutes, you were going to send him back out into the snow.

“How’s Alexandra?” You asked, not that you were interested in knowing if he was happy or thriving in his relationship. You were, however, impressed to see that he could in fact commit, but you were right about that. He just didn’t want to commit to you.

“Do you care?” He asked in return.

You shook your head slightly, “I do not.”

Charles smiled at your honesty. Your gentle tone didn’t match the brutal truth.

“So let’s not talk about her,” Charles said and you nodded in agreement. He shifted in his spot, glancing at the decorations, the tea, really anything but you.

And you weren’t about to wait again, not if this was going to lead to the one thing your silence always led to.

You sucked in a breath, “Charles if you don’t tell me why you’re here…”

He nodded, knowing that this was all on him. He was lucky enough to even be allowed into your home, and he knew you were slowly regretting that decision the longer he just didn’t get to the point.

Charles lifted his head, eyes finally meeting yours. He even flinched, like he was trying to reach for your hand only to decide against it at the last second, relying on just his words for a change.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

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softiecaro · 6 months

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hfkjsdfhsjkdh THIS IS NOT A FALSE ALARM DANIEL HAS TEH PORNSTACHE BACK

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softiecaro · 6 months

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me after expecting seb to make a surprise appearance at every race weekend

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softiecaro · 6 months

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when will a man bend down to my height and be like “yeah, baby?”

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softiecaro · 7 months

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Hate To Love You - Chapter 6 - The Lady Doth Protest (Charles Leclerc Series)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader (OFC) Warnings: language Word Count: 3200 Tag List: Drop a comment or add your name HERE. Synopsis: Enemies to lovers + sizzling banter + fake dating with Charles Leclerc. Full synopsis & master list HERE. Author’s Note: Wow, it's been way too long and damn it feels good to be back with you all. I'm feeling good about posting 3-4k words each week, probably on Thursdays or Fridays. THANK YOU for your patience!!! It's been a crazy summer and fall, here's to a nice and settled winter ❤️ A Man's World has officially been PUBLISHED. Interested in a copy? Click HERE! As always your feedback on my content is truly INSPIRING and makes my day, so if you liked the chapter let me know what you think below in the comments! I eat them up like DESSERT! Want more updates or just want to launch at my hilarious Georgia and Lily reels? Follow me on TikTok Or Instagram! @authorgracenewman Now enough of my shameless self-promotion... let's get back to Lily and Charles!

You'll definitely want to chapter up with Chapter 5 HERE.

I woke up the next morning to the ringing of my cell phone. With my eyes still groggy with sleep, I turned over and groaned, reaching over to the bedside table as I fumbled for the device. The phone stopped as soon as I grabbed it, and I sighed in relief, hoping that whoever was on the other end of the phone call had realized that it was still the morning, although I knew I should already be awake.

As soon as the ringing stopped, my mind wandered back to last night, and the horror of what I had done settled on my chest. I’d done what I had promised I would never do again – I’d ended up back in bed with Charles fucking Leclerc. Charles had once again dragged me back under his spell, and just like last time, he had managed to leave me feeling as if I was trash in the gutter just by one look on his face.

Regret.

Charles had regretted me the last time we had traveled down that road, and I knew he regretted me this time. As much as I wanted to tell myself that I didn’t care about how Charles Leclerc felt about me, I knew deep inside my soul that it wasn’t true, especially not when that feeling was regret.

I looked at my phone and immediately went to open Instagram, but before I could open the app my phone rang again, and Georgia Dubois’s name flashed on the phone’s screen.

What on earth did Georgia want with me on a morning after a night out?

“Georgia… I feel like the pre-season debrief could wait until we’re back at the office, hmm?”

“Lily, I need you to come to my room, now. Floor 15, room 1568.” There was urgency in her voice, urgency and something else., something that sounded like panic.

“… Now as in… now now?”

“See you in five.” Before I could protest, Georgia hung up the phone. I looked at the clock - 10:10 a.m., which meant the hallways would be fairly empty since most guests had either left on early flights or were still hungover in their rooms. I threw on some clothes and made my way up to Georgia’s floor, which was of course much higher up than mine.

No expense spared when it comes to Ferrari and their drivers, I scoffed to myself. The Mercedes F1 team was known for its cost savings when it came to hotels and drivers. Lewis used to always complain that as a 7x World Champion, he was lucky to get a suite when it came to Toto and Mercedes’ purse strings.

I headed straight to the room that Georgia had texted me and knocked on the door. It was as if Georgia had been standing there waiting for me, because she opened it on the second knock, causing me to fall forward, only to catch myself on the coat rack that had been placed right next to the door.

“Jesus, Georgie…” I grunted, shaking off the small moment of shock as I walked into the room. Seated on the couch was her fiance Carlos, who just nodded my way as he kept his eyes on the TV, glued to the Real Madrid game going on in the background.

Georgia motioned for me to take a seat, which I obliged as Carlos immediately lowered the volume of the television, finally turning to face me and Georgia. As soon as Carlos looked at me, I felt dread take over my entire body. Carlos was always so happy-go-lucky – and I likened him to a golden retriever, barely anything got him down, but the solemn nature of his face told me exactly why I was here.

“Is someone going to tell me what is going on?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between the three of us. I could see that Georgia was trying to find her words.

“So… after the pre-season party last night, what did you do?” Georgia finally asked, and I frowned, giving her a pointed look to let her know that I wasn’t thrilled with her nosy question.

“Not really any of your business,” I scoffed at my ex-teammate, but I knew my cheeks had gone slightly red. I wasn’t sure what Georgia had heard, but I wasn’t about to admit that I had slept with her brother last night.

“Well, it seems like it is my business now,” Georgia quipped, clearly unimpressed with my snarky reply. Her tone sounded like a mother who had just caught a child stealing from the cookie jar.

“… just fucking spit it out, Georgia.”

“Lily, I don’t care if you and Charles are fucking. I don’t care that you and Pierre are fucking. Hell, I don’t care if you have slept with the whole fucking grid…” Georgia’s tone was sharp, and I could feel her words start to slice through me.

So she did know that I had slept with her ex-boyfriend Pierre. Guess I wasn’t as discreet as I had hoped.

Before I could get a word in, Georgia continued, “… but what I do care about, is your reputation. As only one of two women on the grid, you know what is at stake here. I fucking hate that the entire world looks at the female drivers through a magnifying glass, but they do. The world shouldn’t care about who you are with, and quite frankly, it’s none of their business… but that just isn’t the case.

What we do is, and for the foreseeable future will be, looked at through a microscope. Am I making any sense to you?” Georgia sighed and looked back at Carlos, who just grabbed her shoulder and gave it a squeeze before nodding at her in supportive agreement.

As if out of instinct, I felt my lips starting to apologize to Georgia. “Look, Georgia… I’m sorry about…” But before I could finish, Georgia cut me off, putting her hand up to signal that her tirade wasn’t yet complete.

“I’m not done, Lily,” she said tiredly. I could see that the actual lecture was about to happen, and I felt my stomach sink to the floor. By the look on her face, I knew she was more upset with me for something other than sleeping with her brother – and that thought disturned me more than Georgia admitting she already knew that I had slept with her brother and ex-boyfriend.

“Lily, someone caught you and Charles in the elevator last night. And to make matters worse, as of this morning, the video is all over Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, you name it. I had a call from Toto this morning, who debriefed me on the situation…

Lily, are you listening to me?”

No, I wasn’t listening one bit. Truth was, I had stopped listening after the word ‘caught.’ Dread started to fill my entire body, and I could feel my hands and legs start to shake from all-consuming panic.

How could I be so fucking stupid? Of course, someone had caught us. Charles was the number 1 driver on the grid, people knew his face everywhere, and this hotel was crawling with tourists.

I just stared back at my racing coach, not able to utter a single word. The silence for the next minute was deafening, and it was clear that even Georgia didn’t want to continue with this conversation, but I could see from the urgency in her eyes that we had no other choice.

“How bad is it?” I eventually managed to force out my question, gazing up at Georgia through my flooded eyes.

“Salvageable,” was all she responded.

“What are they saying?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I knew from the look in her eye and tone of her voice that it did matter.

“Bull shit, Georgie. We both know I’m going to hear it eventually from my mother, so you might as well spit it out.” The uneasy expression on her face and exasperated sigh told me exactly how bad it was, and I immediately pulled out my phone, but Georgia grabbed it from me, placing it back on the table screen facing down.

“Let me guess, it’s a lot worse for me than it is for your brother?” I scoffed, and the lack of response from both Georgia and Carlos confirmed my suspicions.

It was always worse for the woman.

“It’s not great for either of you, honestly.” Again, she paused, and as I watched her mouth something to Carlos, the anger inside of me started to explode into full-blown rage.

Fuck this.

“Georgia, if you don’t tell me what’s happening this instant, I am going to go down the hallway and start yelling until I find someone who does. Clearly, Toto and the team have asked you to tell me what is going on, so spit it out. This torturous silence and limbo you have me in is crucifying my soul!”

“I know, you’re right,” Georgia sighed. “Here’s the lowdown. You and Charles were caught, in the elevator, before rushing into his hotel room. The tourist, or whoever it was, filmed the two of you. Unfortunately, they also caught you coming out of Charles’ room, looking like you were doing a walk of shame.

“By early this morning, the photos were all over the internet, and The Sun posted a ludicrous story a few hours on the matter.”

“Please, no one believes The Sun. I mean, it’s The Sun, the crappiest tabloid ever made. Plus, these photos should blow over in a week - maybe two tops, right?”

“Yes… except this morning, someone decided to fan the flames of the article.” Georgia didn’t have to say the words for me to know exactly who it was.

Fucking Louis, my ex-boyfriend, and the gift that kept on giving. Every fiber of my being told me he was behind this, and if he wasn’t behind it, I knew he damn well would make the most of it.

“Louis was caught this morning at the airport offering up his opinions on the photos in front of tourists, VIPs… anyone that would listen…”

“Lucky me,” I sneered. “And tell me, what did my dear ex-boyfriend have to say about this?”

“He insinuated that you and Charles have been sleeping around for a while.”

“And by ‘insinuated,’ he just fucking flat out said it, didn’t he?” Again, the silence between the three of us told me everything I needed to know.

Oh, Louis.

He must have been immensely pleased with himself in that moment. He had always believed Charles and I had slept together during my first season in Formula 1, something I never confirmed as I knew it would only serve to make him more jealous.

I couldn't risk Louis's suspicions of Pierre growing further by making him aware that I had slept with someone else on the grid – that wasn't a reputation I wanted for myself.

”Georgia’s foot was now tapping up and down as she eyed me warily, not ready to utter the words that I could see were killing her on the inside.

“He accused you of sleeping around the grid, said that Charles wasn’t the only one…. Lily, Louis said that’s why you came third in the championship behind Charles last year, because you have been sleeping with him and a few of the guys.”

“I’m sorry… did my ex-boyfriend, who I caught in bed with another woman, dare to accuse me of cheating on him when he's had his dick in how much pussy?” I was now standing, my arms outstretched as I just motioned to me and then back to my phone like a buffoon. I was both speechless and had too much to say at the same time.

“Not in so many words.”

“Good grief, Georgia, just say yes.” My voice was laced with sarcasm as I said the words. I knew lashing out at one of my closest friends was not the answer, but the utter despair and frustration of this conversation was starting to get the best of me. My racing coach was phenomenal with data –bad with people.

“Look, he didn’t directly say it, but it’s clear that social media is inferring it from his words, especially considering everyone assumed you guys were dating… and now you aren’t.”

“Everyone thinks we currently aren’t dating because he was seen with a new blond bimbo!” I exclaimed, still waving my hands frantically in the air as I stood up, as if that was going to make my point hit home. “Of course, everyone was going to think it was my fault. No one ever blames the white man… Let me guess, Charles is coming away unscathed from this one?”

“Now that is where you’re wrong. Apparently, his sponsors and PR team aren’t thrilled about him sleeping with one of the two women on the grid, especially not one that just got out of a relationship with a supposed friend of his.”

“I didn’t think who either of us slept with was any of our sponsor’s business.” Georgia just gave me a pointed look that told me to stop daydreaming – of course, sponsors cared. I was their property until they stopped paying my bills.

“But the good news is, there is a solution to this.” Georgia’s face slightly lit up, and I immediately knew where she was going with this.

“You’re out of your mind. Like hell am I going to pretend to date Charles Leclerc. I don’t care if he’s your brother. I don’t care if he’s Ferrari’s golden boy. I don’t care that his stupid smug face could save my career. No. No way. Not a chance.” I downed my coffee and began pacing the room, but Georgia’s silence and slight uptick of her mouth told me that nothing I said had gotten through to her.

“Why do you hate my brother so much?” Georgia’s tone wasn’t as upset as I had expected. As twins, she and Charles were incredibly close, and yet Georgia always seemed so amused by the visceral reaction I had every time I saw her brother.

“I don’t hate your brother,” I bit back – unconvincingly.

“Me thinks the Lady doth protest too much,” Georgia winked.

“There’s no way Charles would agree to this! Why would he? The sponsors aren’t actually going to drop the racer all of the bookies have their money on.”

“No, you’re probably right, but his sponsors could make this very, very painful for him. Being seen having a one-night stand with a female driver who was dating your friend and a fellow racecar driver jsut days after their supposed break up, is a very bad look for Charles – and judging by the comments on his Instagram this morning, the fans have noticed. Believe it or not – Charles loves his golden boy image, and that image is unmistakably tarnished.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I believe that Charles loves his golden-boy image.” I couldn’t help but snicker, as if Georgia thought the entire grid wasn’t constantly witnessing Charles enjoy his status as the grid’s most desirable driver. The press loved him. The fans loved him. All of Monaco loved him.

Well, I guess until he slept with a certain rebellious Brit. That thought had me slightly grinning, a grin that was quickly wiped off my face as Georgia cleared her throat; her look of disappointment was noticeable.

“Georgia, there’s no way Charles is going to agree to this,” I insisted. The only thing Charles hated more than losing his precious reputation was the idea of dating the rebellious, stubborn British driver whose dirty laundry filled up a laundromat full of machines.

“He already has.”

Stunned didn’t describe how I felt as Georgia said the words. Not a single bone in my body believed what she was saying.

I was speechless.

“There’s no way…”

“There is. I spoke to my brother this morning after I chatted to Toto. Toto didn’t ask me if you were dating, but I could tell by his voice that he was definitely hopeful the two of you were dating. The Mercedes social media posts have been full of fan’s inquiries – and Toto said Petronas were asking as well.”

“So what you’re saying is none of these traditional sponsors want a grid slut… really puts a new meaning to grid girl.”

“Lily….” Georgia chastised as she rubbed her temples.

“No, no, it’s fine. No need to remind me of my place Georgia. I suppose I should be happy that my ‘hero’ Charles has come to my rescue, hmmm? Best to not look a gift horse in the mouth.” Again, I knew the sarcasm was untimely and incredibly rude, but the entire thing felt like a slap in the face.

“Look, I know it’s not what you want, but not only will it help boost both of your images, but it’ll put all of those dating rumors from Louis at bay and shut him up.

We’re looking to get ahead of things. If you and Charles announced that the two of you are dating, then Louis can’t exactly come out and say that 'no, in fact, Lily and I were dating.’ It would be much too embarrassing for him, especially since he has a new girlfriend. This stops all of the rumors about you and him and settles it once and for all.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. There’s no way this was a good idea. Even if this worked, it wouldn’t matter, Charles and I would kill each other before either of us could see the benefits of this arrangement.

"And what does precious Charles get out of this?"

"Charles can restore his image and reputation. He's always been a relationship boy, and his relationship with whatever-her-name-was has been out of the public eye for some time now. He's never been the one-night stand type of guy, and this way he can have a positive relationship that won't get in the way of his racing."

I threw my hands up in disbelief as I exclaimed, "That's just great! So now I'm helping not only my rival with his PR image but also his racing? Fabulous!" I could only hope that Georgia would pick up on the sarcasm in my voice. "As far as I see it, you're helping each other," she said pointedly, and I knew she was reminding me of what I had at stake here. "Look, you don’t have to get back to me today. We have a couple of weeks’ break, and you have a few days at home. Take a day to think on it?”

“I don’t have to think on it. It’s a no.” Georgia just smiled at me as she sipped her small decaf coffee.

“Just take some time to think on it, Lily.”

Without sparing Georgia a glance, I stormed out of her hotel room and marched myself back to mine.

The notion of even considering this idea was so absurd that my blood boiled in rage.

Hell would have to freeze over before I would ever date Charles Leclerc.

Hate To Love You Tag List

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softiecaro · 7 months

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wtf lance 😭

#lance stroll

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softiecaro · 7 months

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AAAAAAAAA

Hate To Love You - Chapter 6 Preview

And we are bbaaaccckkkkkkkk!

What better way to celebrate the publishing of "A Man's World" with a new Chapter of its (eventual sequal) Hate To Love You.

A Man's World is NOW LIVE on Amazon ebook and Kindle Unlimited ❤️

Paperback coming soon!

eBook & Kindle Unlimited Link is HERE!

Quick moment of self promotion: "A Man's World" was published on Friday and it is NOW LIVE! Thanks to everyone who asked for an advanced reader's copy... Your feedback was amazing!! Due to publishing requirements, those requests are now closed, BUT you can get the eBook on Amazon (and eventually on paperback!)

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Now... without further ado... your preview to Chapter 6!

Find chapter 5 is HERE to get up to date on the story!

“Georgia… I feel like the pre-season debrief can wait until we’re back at the office, hmm?”

“Lily, I need you to come to my room, now. Floor 15, room 1568.” There was urgency in her voice, urgency and something else, something that sounded like panic.

“… Now as in… now now?”

“See you in five.” Before I could protest, Georgia hung up the phone. I looked at the clock - 8:10 a.m., which meant the hallways would be fairly empty. I threw on some clothes and made my way up to Georgia’s floor, which was of course much higher up than mine.

I headed straight to the room that Georgia had texted me and knocked on the door. It was as if Georgia had been standing there waiting for me, because she opened it on the second knock, causing me to fall forward, only catching myself on the coat rack that had been placed right next to the door.

“Jesus, Georgie…” I grunted, shaking off the small moment of shock as I walked into the room. Seated on the couch was her fiance Carlos Sainz, who just nodded my way as he kept his eyes on the TV, glued to the Real Madrid game going on in the background.

Georgia motioned for me to take a seat, which I obliged as Carlos immediately lowered the volume of the television, finally turning to face me and Georgia. As soon as Carlos looked at me, I felt dread take over my entire body. Carlos was always so happy-go-lucky – likened him to a golden retriever, barely anything got him down, but the solemn nature of his face told me exactly why I was here.

“So is someone going to tell me what is goijng on?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between the three of us. I could see that Georgia was trying to find her words.

“So… after the pre-season party last night, what did you do?” Georgia finally asked and I frowned, giving her a pointed look to let her know that I wasn’t thrilled with her nosy question.

“Not really any of your business…” I scoffed at my ex-teammate, but I knew my cheeks had gone slightly red. I wasn’t sure what she had heard, but I wasn’t about to admit that I had slept with her brother last night.

“Well it seems like it IS my business now,” Georgia quipped, and I couldn’t hide the shock on my face.

“… just fucking spit it out Georgia.”

“Lily, I don’t care if you and Charles are fucking. I don’t care that you and Pierre are fucking. I don’t care if you sleep with the whole fucking grid…” Georgia’s words started to slice through me.

So she did know that I had slept with her ex-boyfriend Pierre. Guess I wasn’t as discreet as I had hoped.

Before I could get a word in, Georgia continued, “… but what I do care about, is your reputation. As only one of two women on the grid, you know what is at stake. I fucking hate that the entire world looks at us under a microscope. The world shouldn’t care about who a woman sleeps with, and its none of their business… but that just isn’t the case. What we do is and for the forseeable future will be looked at through a looking glass. Am I making any sense to you?”

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softiecaro · 7 months

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— Reggio Emilia, Italy (23/07)

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softiecaro · 7 months

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Laws Of Attraction (Part 8) - DR x fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies (kind of)-> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, language, slight angst, alcohol consumption, McLaren, bad jokes

Word Count: 4,277

A/N: I tried out some different writing styles this chapter and candidly, I’m not sure it’s my best work. There are more scenes from DR’s perspective and I found out that writing race dialogue is very difficult. I tried to stay true to the actual Abu Dhabi 2022. Please bear with me through this chapter, feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Please, thank you, and enjoy!

When you arrived at the paddock, Daniel was still distracting himself by taking pictures of literally everything, including the ground. You let him be though, no matter how silly it seemed. The last thing he needed was to psych himself out before the race. As you approached, the McLaren PR crew was already waiting with cameras to get content for the last Unboxed video of the season which was your cue to peel off.

“How are you feeling?” you asked hesitantly, making sure to keep an appropriate distance from your client.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Maybe I’ll feel different once the suit’s on, but right now I’m good.”

“You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?” He caught the seriousness in your tone and found it endearing you were being so protective of him. It seemed you were more nervous than he was.

“Actually, hold on,” he stopped walking.

“What? Is everything alright? Oh-” *click* “Daniel!” He laughed at your disgruntled expression as he lowered the camera.

“I’m fine, promise. I’ll see you after the race.” He gave you a polite pat on the shoulder as he began to walk away, but you grabbed his arm before he was out of reach and pulled him in for a big hug before you could second guess yourself. He didn’t think twice as he wrapped his arms around you. You quickly released him, reinstating the arm’s length between you.

“Good luck today, you’re going to do great,” you said as you composed yourself. He walked backwards continuing your extended goodbye, unable to look away from you.

“I know,” he said, with a cocky smile plastered on his face. *click*

You snorted, your stoicism overpowered by his charm. You waved one last time as a sendoff before he disappeared into McLaren hospitality.

As usual with race day, it was a lot of hurry up and wait. Daniel exchanged helmets with Lando and Zhou, sat for photos with the team, sat for photos with the grid. He tried to take in every detail. He laughed when he walked in the garage and saw his mechanics donning cowboy hats embroidered with “yee-haw thanks DR” and the outline of him doing a shoey.

Everyone seemed to think he would be walking around as though he were attending his own funeral, but for the moment he felt he didn’t have much to be sad about. He needed a break – from the spotlight, from McLaren, from training, from racing in general, and there was no shame in that. In twelve hours that break would become a reality, and that was something to be very happy about.

When it came time to change into his race suit, he waited with baited breath for the garment to exert some kind of magical force over him. He stood in his drivers room waiting for the tears, or nerves, or something. Everyone told him it would hit him when he put the suit on. But he examined himself in the mirror, widened his stance and put his hands on his hips. Power pose. No, he was still the same Daniel Ricciardo, despite what people tried to tell him. And this was just another race.

It was less than ideal starting P13 due to a three-place grid penalty carried over from the Brazilian Grand Prix after his run-in with Yuki, but Daniel pushed aside all the growing frustrations as he waited eagerly for the lights to change, feeling his pulse sync with the idled roar of the engine. The few seconds before the race played out in slow motion, as they always did. The rest of the pressures of the moment faded away as he focused on what was in front of him, ready to react. He was at peace, and allowed himself to feel the overwhelming therapeutic emptiness. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

And it’s lights out and away we go!

He survived the first lap shuffle and chaos, but lost a position to Lance. There was still plenty of race left though, and his goal first and foremost was a clean race without a DNF. Making it through the first few clustered laps unscathed was step one. Once the pack started to disperse, he began his grueling climb back to the points.

Here comes Daniel Ricciardo on the inside of Schumacker, gaining a place back.

It was lonely for a while. He extended his lead from Mick, but couldn’t seem to fully catch up to Lance. Lance pitted on lap 14, as expected with mediums if going for a two-stop strategy, allowing Daniel to gain a position. It subsequently opened up the floodgates, others shortly following suit bringing Daniel up to P8. He knew he would have to pit eventually, but if he could just nurse this set a bit longer and maintain this position as long as possible, he had a shot to finish in the points.

Lap 18, Daniel Ricciardo still hasn’t pitted yet.

Even in the last race, it shouldn’t have surprised him that McLaren would try to short stick him one last time. Good riddance he would be done with this circus in an hour. George passed him, as he expected in better machinery and on fresher tires.

He finally pitted on lap 20, switching to hards. The team did a great job with a 2.3 second pit stop but he came out in P18. He had a job to do, it was time to get to work.

Daniel Ricciardo, down in 18th place. Making some overtakes and having a bit of fun. Makes a lovely move on Kevin Magnusson going into Turn 9.

In quick succession, he picked off Mick and Bottas, Seb pitted, and somehow Alonso DNF’d. Before he knew it, he was back to where he started in P13.

Fernando Alonso has not had the best of luck, our first retirement of this evening. Mechanical failure. That is a real shame for him, real shame. Meanwhile, here comes Sebastian Vettel! Haven’t said that in a while. Very nice move on Pierre Gasly.

News at Alpine that there’s some water leak, that was why they had to pull Fernando in. He feels the unreliability there has cost him nearly seventy points during the course of this season. Since he came back to Formula One, well, the reunion with Alpine then Renault has ended in retirement. Sad for all parties. And this means that Fernando Alonso has been beaten by his teammate, Esteban Ocon. But I’ll tell you a bit more about that later, as Daniel Ricciardo manages to get past the Alfa Romeo of Zhou Guanou.

He encroached on Alex, smelling blood in the water. Even though Alex nicked the wall, he maintained the position longer than he thought. He had to respect the work the kid was doing in that tractor trailer of a Williams. The track conditions were cooling as the sun set, making it difficult to regulate the temperature of the tires.

Daniel Ricciardo trying down the inside there on Alex Albon. Now you saw what happened in Mexico when he tried that on an unsuspecting Yuki Tsunoda and they came together, but this time around they managed to keep apart. But uh, for McLaren they need to start clearing a few cars here. Norris is seventh. Ricciardo out of the points. Albon now pits.

He wished he could have overtaken Alex properly, but he wasn’t complaining as he gained another position. The second stoppers continued, moving his way up to P9. He could breathe a bit now that he was officially in the points. But it was short lived as his friend, former teammate, and mentor had popped up in his rearview, more than two seconds behind, but quickly closing the gap. There were still fifteen laps requiring him to preserve the tires while defending his position.

Sebastian Vettel is gaining a bit on Daniel Ricciardo in tenth place. Ten laps to go.

He almost missed the second Aston Martin in his rearview as Lance passed both of them. He shared Seb’s frustration that they were the sacrificial lambs of their respective teams testing out the one-stop strategy. He was still in the points for now, but Seb was an admirable adversary and with only seven laps left in the race he would not take the position for granted. With officially one second between them, he had to push. They were both on very old tires, but Seb’s were younger.

The two leavees, Ricciardo and Vettel. Vettel’s closing in on Ricciardo, and he’s going to get him in the next lap or so if the current pace keeps up. Five laps to go in the Formula One season, 2022.

And oh my God, what’s this? Hydraulic problem for Hamilton, as you can see as Carlos Sainz passes Lewis who’s still stuck in seventh gear! This might be curtains for Lewis Hamilton this evening. He’s got it down into fifth gear – oh. Oh no, this is disappointing.

As was the nature of racing, he wasn’t going to question his adversary’s misfortune. With a mechanical failure taking Lewis out, he moved back into P9. He was so close to the finish line he could taste it, but Seb was still less than a second behind.

The final lap. He saw the fireworks go off for Max, but he couldn’t lose focus.

Daniel Ricciardo under immense pressure from Sebastian Vettel. This is going to go all the way to the wire.

There’s twelve million dollars on Sebastian Vettel trying to overtake Daniel Ricciardo here, twelve million dollars if they can get extra points at Aston Martin to see if they can get above Alfa Romeo in the Constructor’s Championship. Is it Ricciardo or Vettel? Nineth or tenth? Both drivers leaving as of the end of this season. Ricciardo potentially to go as a reserve driver at Red Bull. Sebastian Vettel waving goodbye to Formula One and giving us thrills and excitement right to the checkered flag! Is he going to get past Daniel Ricciardo? It’s going to be close!

Ricciardo takes that nineth place, Sebastian Vettel scores tenth in his final race! And well, what did he say? “Remember these times, they might not last forever.” Sebastian, thank you. The memories definitely will.

Daniel's jaw unclenched to let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in that moved his whole chest, shoulders relaxing. He barely had time to process what he had just accomplished when his engineers came on the radio.

“Yes mate, P9. Good job. Finished in the points. Good stuff, good stuff.”

“Cheers guys, that was, uh, that was fun at the end. Think we did well to hold him off, well done. That was good.”

“Great race buddy. Great overtaking, that was a proper Honey Badger show, that was good.”

He bit his tongue. He could only be so pleasant to the people who had diminished his confidence over the last two years. Having officially crossed the finish line of his last race, he would remain polite and cordial but didn’t feel the need to suck up to them more than he needed to.

“Daniel, could I have Purple Default 64X. And if you could go back to Purple C1.”

He did as he was told, unphased by the short radio congratulations. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when a picture of his win at Monza last year popped up with the rest of the team. The memory of that day came flooding back and the feelings that went along with it. The triumph he finally felt. The renewed sense of hope for what may come with the rest of his tenure with McLaren. The Daniel in the picture had no idea he would basically be kicked out of the sport he loved so much in less than a year. He had no idea he would fall out of love with it, even as he was just starting to get his groove back.

“That’s cool,” he chuckled. “That’s really nice, thank you guys.”

“Cheers buddy. It’s been an honor, Daniel. It’s been an honor, really great good two years.” He hated the lump he felt in his throat. “I know we haven’t always had the results we’ve wanted, but we’ve had some pretty good ones along the way. And uh, I think I speak for everyone on the team when I say how much we’ve all enjoyed working with you.” He swallowed thickly, praying no one had eyes on the front facing camera in the car.

“Yeah, appreciate your efforts. Thank you…Alright, it’s nice to finish in the points. Well done guys. Thank you.” He did his best to switch the conversation back to race at hand, taking away the focus of the gravity and finality of the situation. Looking at it in isolation, away from the totality of the last two years, it was a good race. He continued to drive and wave around the track, doing some donuts here and there, but the gestures felt empty.

“Ok, so into the pit lane, and when you turn the engine off then go to P0. Kill the car and switch everything off.” The back of his eyes began to sting. Switch everything off.

“Understood. Uh, alright guys.” There was so much he wanted to say but he was never good with words, especially not at this moment. “Thank you. I think you know…how much I appreciate your efforts over the last two years. So… thank you.” He tried to keep his tone steady, but felt his voice crack. “And thanks for this display, on Purple C64. Cheers.”

“Yeah, 03 we weren’t really able to use I’m afraid.” He knew the engineers were only talking about the mechanical configurations, but the words felt like a gut punch. They were done with him. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

The feelings he had waited for all day, the ones everyone expected, suddenly hit him like an avalanche. He wanted to get out of the car desperately, but couldn’t do so when he was a mess like this. It was probably the last time for the rest of the night that he would have any time to be by himself with just his thoughts. It was done – and he realized again after taking a few moments to compose himself, maybe for now that was a good thing. What was it Seb had said?

“There are a lot more important things than racing in circles.”

He jumped out of the car, feeling the impact of the gravel below his feet. He stretched his limbs, finally free from the confines of the cockpit and was hit by a wave of relief that washed over him. He was free from expectations, restrictive diets, constant jet lag. Free from McLaren. All he had to do was get into his ugly orange team kit one last time for post-race interviews. He knew he would be asked hard questions, about his past and his future, but he was ready. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and if anything, had many things to be proud of. You’re the only driver to have won in that brick of a car in the last ten years you constantly reminded him. He finished the season on a high, including a great race battle with Seb. He was done hiding, done minimizing.

So he went from interview to interview, unafraid to be honest with himself and the world. It’s ok to admit that he’s had a hard time the last two years, that he’s happy to be taking some time away from the sport and to take care of his mental health.

He slowly made his way back to the McLaren garage as he pushed through the crowd, dodging fans trying to get selfies and autographs, politely declining additional interviews and comments from strangers. In a sea of blurred faces, he spotted you. One of the mechanics had gifted you an extra celebratory cowboy hat and you appeared to be in deep conversation with one of them. Your hands moved around animatedly as you spoke, like they always did when you were passionate about something. The mechanic laughed, and he wondered what joke you had told or whether you had said something unintentionally funny. He found himself smiling, excited to get the answer.

The mechanic noticed him first and waved. He touched your shoulder and pointed in Daniel’s direction. You squinted as you searched the crowd with intense focus. Daniel’s heart nearly exploded when your eyes finally landed on him – you waved eagerly with the biggest, brightest smile on your face that put all the track lights and fireworks to shame.

The mechanic gave him a quick hug and pat on the back first, adding a subtle wink for good measure before walking away, seemingly aware of the need for the two of you to have your own space. For the second time that day, you engulfed each other in a warm, firm hug that perhaps lasted a beat too long. He liked how you perched on your tip toes to get your head as close to the crook of his neck as possible. He liked the feeling of your small, delicate hands on his back. He liked that he could smell your hair products, distinct from the scent of your perfume, sweet florals and jasmine contrasting accents of patchouli and bergamot. He liked you.

“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you, you were amazing today,” you gushed.

“Thanks,” he said, knowing that the flush he felt in his cheeks wasn’t from the race.

“How are you feeling now?” you asked sincerely. He took a moment to think on it before answering.

“I’m not sure. Good I think, but tired.”

“That’s valid.”

“How was your day?” It was an innocent question, so he was confused when you laughed. He was just trying to make conversation. “What?”

“You just had your last race of the season and you’re officially getting out of your contract with McLaren tomorrow, and you’re asking me how my day went?” He shrugged.

“I’ve already talked about myself more than enough today. I want to hear about you.” Your laugh lines softened.

“Well, let’s see. I didn’t have to work, I met Usher, and I got to watch my friend’s last F1 race and he kicked so much butt. So I’d say it was pretty great.” His heart skipped a beat. Friend.

“You met Usher?” He glossed over the other stuff, unable to trust himself if you delved any further into the topic.

“Yeah, he was hanging out in the McLaren garage. Did not have that on my 2022 bingo card. But uh…” a sheepish grin grew on your face. “I don’t think he appreciated I kept dropping his lyrics in casual conversation.”

“Oh no,” he laughed, and the smile on your face grew.

“Y’know… just when I thought I said all I could say, he was like…yeah. And he also said -”

“Hold on let me guess,” he said between giggles. “You remind him of a girl he once knew.”

“You know…you would not believe all the things she put him through,” you said, joining him in laughter. He observed you playing with your hands behind your back, your chest puffed slightly, clearly finding great joy in your own corny jokes.

“Maybe if we’re lucky he’ll perform at the McLaren afterparty.” The words rolled off his tongue before he had the chance to think about what he was asking of you. It was one thing to go out with some of the other drivers offsite, but a McLaren sponsored event when you had been their adversary only a short few months ago was less than appropriate.

“You’ll have to let me know.” His heart fell a little, not missing the polite decline of his subtle invitation. He didn’t want to admit how much he truly needed you there. But he was on a roll with this whole honesty thing, so he bore his soul to you.

“I don’t want to go,” he said in a low voice, running an anxious hand through his hair. “I’m tired and I don’t know how I’m supposed to spend the night celebrating with these people. I can barely look half of them in the eye.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had begged for anything. He hoped his plea would be convincing enough, but you only gave him a sympathetic smile.

“You’ll be ok. Lando will be there, and there are plenty of people in your garage that had nothing to do with the decisions Zak or Andrea made. You still have people in your corner. Lots of them. And they want to celebrate with you.” He closed his eyes as you encouragingly rubbed the side of his arm, but finished with a firm pat. “Chin up. You’re almost done.”

Right. The race was only half the battle he would face today. Until the end of the day, he was still an employee of McLaren.

“Will you come pick me up if the kids at school are mean to me?” He always used humor as a defense mechanism, but he hated how much truth there was in the metaphor. You leaned in close to whisper your reassurance, a calm pleasantness in your shadow of a smile. You spoke slowly and deliberately.

“I will commit a felony and make it look like an accident if anyone is mean to you.” He was left grinning from ear to ear when you pulled away, your quiet resolve contagious as he felt his anxiety melt away. “You got this, and I promise I will celebrate with you after everything is signed tomorrow.” You extended your pinky, and he gladly linked his with yours in a solemn vow.

“Fuck ‘em all, yeah?”

“Fuck ‘em all.”

You sat in bed freshly showered, full body shaved, and facemask on. You felt guilty as hell sending your client off to the lion’s den with no support, so you had gone straight back to the hotel once he was out of sight. There was no need to go to the Amber Lounge or anything, not that you would even be able to get in without Daniel. Besides, you had your own personal Super Bowl tomorrow that you needed to be prepared for. You had ordered room service and shot off a few emails when you heard a knock. You checked the time – it was nearly midnight. You wrapped yourself in the cozy hotel robe for modesty before checking the peephole. To your confusion, but not surprise, you saw Daniel standing by himself in the hallway.

“Hi?” He looked up, admiring your frame in the doorway. You were just as beautiful in a robe and slippers as you were in a LBD and Louboutins. He bit his lip for a moment, clearly holding back a smile.

“Hi. Uh, I think you got something-” he trailed off, lightly brushing the tip of his nose with his finger.

“What? Oh! Fuck. Right.” You turned around to quickly rip the nose strip off your face. You winced, feeling the sting of the adhesive. You did your best to hide your discomfort and embarrassment with a smile when you turned back around. “Sorry about that. You’re back earlier than I thought.”

“Yeah. I figure I showed enough face for the evening. Plus big day tomorrow, right?” You nodded, unsure where this exchange was going as he fidgeted in place. “Also…” he looked around cautiously. “I didn’t want to get caught stealing this.” He pulled a bottle of very expensive champagne from behind his back, proudly presenting it to you. Your jaw dropped and morphed into a giant grin in spite of the arguably illegal activities that had transpired.

“You didn’t…For me?” You grabbed the bottle from him, feelings goosebumps form when your fingers brushed. “Wait. If I accept this, does it make me an accomplice or accessory after the fact?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know, you’re the lawyer. You tell me.” He took a step forward.

“Well. I’m not going to say no to a free drink I suppose,” you said, examining the bottle in your hands. He cleared his throat.

“I figured we could enjoy it after tomorrow – or, I mean, you could enjoy it,” he took another step forward. For reasons unknown, he seemed to lose confidence as the gap between you narrowed.

You looked back up at him, inspecting his condition. Perhaps he was a little tipsy, but he was far from being wasted which you were pleasantly surprised about given his apprehensions going into the evening. It either meant he wasn’t leaning on alcohol to handle his emotions, or he was taking tomorrow’s signing very seriously, or both. Whichever one it was, it demonstrated restraint and growth and you were proud of him for it. Admittedly, you had also been nervous leaving him to his own devices for the evening. You had wanted to go with him, to be there for emotional support. You had relied on the rationale that it was a McLaren sponsored event, but at this point the two of you had a consistent track record of blurring the lines of professionalism and friendship whenever you went out together. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him – you didn’t trust yourself.

But the man standing in front of you was composed and mature (relatively speaking, of course). Perhaps a little nervous, as you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. But nevertheless, even after the emotional, mental, and physical turmoil of the day, he stood before you with respect and poise. Yes, you trusted yourself with him wholeheartedly.

You took a step back, opening the door wider.

“How about we enjoy it now?”

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