#Charles and Pierre are PR nightmares | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theemporium · 3 months

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[3.6k] your life comes crumbling down when photos are leaked of your boyfriend making out with another girl. it doesn't help that your other boyfriend seems to be handling it worse than you are by ignoring the world, including you. well, the everyone except his rival.

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It felt like a nightmare.

A sick, twisted nightmare that you were waiting to wake up from any minute now. You could imagine it so clearly, shooting up in your bed with the sheets sticking to your sweaty skin and blood roaring in your ears before soft, comforting French words washed over you. You imagined a pair of arms wrapping around you, holding you tight and a pair of lips pressed against the top of your head until you found the courage to speak.

Every cell in your body craved for that to be your reality, but it wasn’t.

Instead, you were sitting on your bed in the comfort of your father’s home with the distant sound of music playing from the kitchen and the curtains pulled back to let the sunshine come through and—well, a series of photos on your screen that made you feel like you were about to vomit, if you even had anything in your stomach from last night’s dinner to bring up.

It wasn’t often you visited your father’s home in Switzerland. But sometimes you craved the normalcy and seclusion of the farmhouse. You craved a few days to just relax, to pretend you were a normal girl with a normal father with a normal life. You liked to play pretend for a few days, and Sebastian always entertained the whole concept because he liked having you around.

That was what this trip was supposed to be.

With the boys over in the states for the Miami Grand Prix, you had decided against flying out with them. It had been a few months since you had seen your father and, with no great urge to fuck up your body clock with jet lag, you had decided to fly up to Switzerland instead before the boys inevitably returned for Imola.

It had been nice. It had been exactly what you needed. It had been the few days you needed to ground yourself, to remember life beyond the constant work and travel. It had been the perfect getaway. Even as a young girl, your life revolved around the paddock with your father racing every other weekend, it was easy to forget a life outside of it all.

But right now? Yeah, you really fucking wish the outside world didn’t exist at all.

Your relationship with your boys was complicated and intertwined and unconventional, but it was yours. You loved each other, you cared for each other, you would do anything for each other. Or at least, that was what you assumed. The day Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly entered your life, you thought everything made sense.

Even if it took a few years of beating around the bush and your own feelings to reach that conclusion.

You thought your relationship with your boys was one of the key things that made your life so perfect, that made you happy to be the one living it.

Until you woke up this morning, rolling over and reaching for your phone to find a flurry of notification banners filling up your screen. It was a mix of messages and mixed calls and mentions from almost every social media app you owned. It was a mess, undistinguishable and baffling to your barely-awake brain. You honestly just expected it to be another fluke, another stupid scandal blossoming out of nothing. It made you want to roll over and fall back asleep before your PR manager inevitably called you.

God, you would have preferred a stupid scandal to this.

Instead, you found countless photos and videos of Pierre. He was in a club, most likely celebrating ending up in the points after the race. He was in that white linen shirt you loved on him, the one he always left a little too unbuttoned because he knew it drove you and Charles crazy. But instead of his friends or even Charles by his side, it was some random girl.

His hands were all over her. She was pressed up against his front, starry eyed and grinning up at him. His lips were on her lips, her neck, any inch of skin he could kiss. She was laughing and dragging him out of the club. He was smiling and happily following her.

And you felt fucking sick.

Not even in your worst nightmares had you imagined something like this, something as horrific and despicable and public as this. Never had you thought Pierre—one of the men you loved—could be capable of this. You never thought he could do this to you, to Charles.

Charles.

Charles who was nowhere to be seen in the videos. Charles who had messaged about having an early night sleep before he flew out to Maranello for Imola prep. Charles who was either asleep, on a plane or sitting in his hotel room in a similar state to you.

Fuck, you wished you were with him right now.

But you couldn’t stop reading the comments, reading the countless articles and tweets and posts about the whole situation. You couldn’t bring yourself to ignore the comments from strangers on the internet saying it was about time, that they were glad he got away from you. The ones showing sympathy were even worse because it made this real, it made the whole fucking thing so real.

You hadn’t even heard the music from the kitchen stop or the footsteps approaching your bedroom. You hadn’t heard the knock or the door slowly creaking open. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen until you felt a warm arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Shhh, honigbienchen, it’s okay. Let it out, I’ve got you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice soft and sweet and comforting and the exact thing you needed to break down the last of your crumbling walls.

You pressed yourself into your father’s side as you sobbed, as you mourned the loss of what you believed was a loving and trusting relationship. You let yourself melt into his embrace as he held you close, as he held you together.

You didn’t fight as he pulled your phone from your grasp, locking it and throwing it somewhere on the bed behind him. You didn’t fight as he pulled you closer, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck as you let the familiar smell of your father’s cologne—the same one he has used since you were a child—wash over you. You didn’t fight as he murmured comforting words in German because a part of you hoped he was right, wanted nothing more than your father to be right.

You just let yourself break because you knew your father would keep you together.

...

The apartment felt like a mockery of the life you once lived.

You remember the day the three of you signed the lease, it was one of the happiest days of your life. There were always concerns about moving too fast, about hitting a milestone as big as moving in together so early on in the relationship. But, in all honesty, you didn’t see the issues. Call it rose-tinted glasses or call it the truth, but it never felt too soon.

Not for you and your boys.

Because the relationship was still new when you moved in, just under a year old, but you had known these boys for years. Your life had been intertwined with racing from the day you were born because of your father, you had seen these boys grow up alongside you. You had been there to see them both enter Formula one. You had been there to see Charles as your father’s teammate.

You had been there for it all.

You had been friends long before you were a couple. You had grown close to Charles in the days your father wore the Ferrari emblem. You had found yourself attached to the boy, bonding with him in a way you never had in previous years. And where Charles was, Pierre was close behind. They were the package deal you thought you had lucked out on.

So, moving in together seemed like a baby step in the future the three of you had planned together, a simple necessity as you continued to grow and love and care for each other.

Now, it was a painful reminder that the place you called your home was tainted with the memories of a man you once loved. Maybe still loved. You hadn’t wanted to delve into those feelings too much yet.

It was empty.

You had expected as much, or maybe you didn’t. You weren’t sure anymore.

A small part of you assumed for this to be the moment you woke up from your nightmare. That you would wake up in your bed, slowly blinking your eyes open as you heard the boys laughing away in the kitchen at whatever they were attempting to cook before you woke.

Another part of you expected to find Charles here, looking like a mirror reflection of you as you finally fell into his arms, as you received the touch you had been craving from him and him only in the last forty-eight hours.

Another part of you expected to find Pierre standing in front of you, despite the reassurance you had received from a few friends at Alpine that the boy hadn’t left Miami. You thought maybe he would be here to beg for forgiveness or explain himself. You thought maybe he would at least have the decency to look half as worried as you were about Charles’ disappearance off the face of the Earth.

You didn’t know if you were disappointed or relieved that he wasn’t here.

With your messages and calls receiving no answer from Charles, you had packed your bags and hopped on the first flight out of Switzerland. Your father had his reservations of you leaving so soon, of you being alone. To be completely honest, you wished you could have stayed in his arms forever and ignore everything.

But you needed to see Charles.

You had to see him with your own two eyes because he was the only person in the world who understood what you were going through.

To the world, it was just you and Pierre. And you were all okay with that for right now, you were okay with keeping the details and complications of your relationship private until the moment was right.

But right now, you fucking despised it. Because the world was so focused on you and on Pierre and on the random girl from the club, but nobody was looking at Charles. Nobody cared about Charles. And despite your relationship being an open secret to the paddock, it seemed not even the people closest to him—his own fucking team—knew where he was.

And it fucking terrified you.

Monaco had been your last hope. Your apartment had been a fucking last resort. You were grasping at straws and you were losing your mind and there were a million different things running through your head but you just wanted Charles.

There was still a voice in the back of your head reassuring you that he would show up, that he would walk through that door and fall into your arms until you both felt something other than pain right now.

You wanted nothing more than for him to come home, to come to you.

But forty-eight hours of emotions were wracking through you and you didn’t even realise you were falling asleep on the living room couch until your body was too tired to even try sitting up.

...

…

“Where did you find him?”

“Well, hello to you too.”

You flashed the Dutchman a sheepish smile as a wave of embarrassment washed over you. Your brain had been on a one-track mentality since you received his message, the bleary-eyed sleepiness long gone the second he mentioned Charles. You hadn’t even bothered to drive over, far too jittery and worked up to get behind the wheel. You needed the cold air to calm you down.

“Sorry, hello,” you greeted as you stepped into his apartment, trying to push down the urge to just grab Max’s shoulders and shake him until he told you where Charles was. “I just—”

“I know, you’re worried,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. “C’mon, I left him on the couch because he looked comfortable and I didn’t want to disturb him.”

You silently followed the boy through the long entrance corridor, your hands clenched into fists at your side to stop yourself from picking at the skin around your nail beds until they were raw and bleeding.

You tried to prepare yourself for the sight you were going to see, to prepare for the worst just in case.

You hadn’t expected him to look so…peaceful.

He was sprawled on Max’s couch like the boy had said, his clothes rumpled and his hair messy but—at first glance, at least—he looked okay. But you could see the signs that he was no better than you were. His cheeks were red, like he had been crying a lot, and so was the tip of his nose, like he had been wiping it excessively. He looked worn down, and heavier than usual. Like there was a weight on his shoulders beyond the usual season stress.

He looked like he was half as put together as you.

“I found him outside a bar,” Max’s voice startled you out of your thoughts as he stepped into the space beside you at the bottom of the couch. “I was on a late night run—you know, jet lag and stuff—and he was there. He was…”

You frowned a little, turning to look at the Dutchman. “He was what?”

“He wasn’t okay,” Max whispered with his own frown. “He could barely string a sentence together, let alone stand up. I think he had been kicked out of the bar, I don’t know. I promised him I would call you if he came back with me. I…I couldn’t just leave him there, you know?”

You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat. “Thank you, Max.”

“It’s no problem, really,” he assured you and the silence fell between you two once more. And Max watched as your attention shifted back to Charles. He waited a few moments, a mental debate playing in his head, back and forth like a tennis match before he spoke up again. “I’m sorry. About everything. It…uh, it really sucks.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “Thanks.”

Max took the hint and quickly shifted the conversation. “It doesn’t look like he is waking up anytime soon,” he said. “You can stay the night. The spare room is free. Or I can bring some blankets out here if you don’t want to leave him.”

You turned to him, a strained smile on your face. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay,” he assured you, and something in you felt relieved that you wouldn’t have to return home to that bed, the bed you shared with him. “It’s late anyways. You look like you need some rest.”

You chose to omit the fact that you hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last few days, and even that was after crying yourself to exhaustion.

“Thank you, Max. Really.”

The Dutchman smiled. “Like I said, it’s no problem.”

...

…

When Charles woke up the next morning, his head was killing him.

There was a bright light on his face, his mouth felt desert dry and he could have sworn there was a heavy weight on his chest. Not the metaphorical kind he had been lugging around for the last few days, but something actually weighing down on his chest and making it a little hard to breathe.

He gave himself a moment, tried to ground himself and hype himself up to open his eyes when he knew the light would only be more irritating than it was now. He tried to prepare himself for the killer hangover he was going to have to nurse all day, along with the countless calls to his team to apologise for not showing up to any of the meetings.

To eventually reply to you too.

However, when Charles finally gained the courage to open his eyes, the last thing he expected was to see a cat staring down at him.

“What the—” He startled as he quickly sat up.

The cat let out a noise of surprise before meowing, glaring at him before it padded off. Charles watched it for a few moments before blinking, taking in the unfamiliar setting around him. He knew he wasn’t in his apartment, or his mother’s, or either of his brothers’.

He had no fucking idea where he was.

But before the overwhelming fear took over his body and made him throw up everything he drank the previous night, you wandered into the room with a mug in hand.

“You’re awake,” you breathed out, stopping mid-walk like you couldn’t quite believe he was there.

Charles opened his mouth to say something but you reacted faster. The mug was abandoned on the coffee table he had failed to notice and you were throwing yourself in his arms, clinging onto him like you hadn’t seen him in years.

It had felt like it had been years.

Charles let himself wind his arms around you, to pull you onto his lap and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck until the familiar scent of your shampoo completely engulfed him. He let himself enjoy the feeling of you in his arms after almost two weeks of not seeing you in person. He let himself enjoy the one person in this world that didn’t make him feel like questioning everything in his life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry—”

“Shhh, it’s fine,” you whispered back, sniffling back your own tears. “It’s fine. You’re here now, that’s what matters.”

“But—”

“I just need you, Charles, no matter how long you take,” you murmured, your words slightly muffled but his arms tightened around you in understanding.

Neither of you said anything for a few minutes, just soaking in the presence after so long apart. And, if he was being honest, he was in no rush to speak about everything. It had been playing on his mind like a broken record since he saw the videos, he didn’t want to give it any more brain space. He knew it was inevitable, but right now he just wanted to enjoy you.

“Where are we?” He asked eventually when the curiosity and the cat glaring at him became too much.

“Max’s house,” you murmured, feeling the boy tense beneath you. You pulled back, keeping yourself close as you flashed the boy a sheepish expression. “He found you last night and brought you here before something happened to you.”

“Oh.” Charles blinked. “That was kind of him.”

“Very,” you nodded in agreement. You watched him for a few moments as he stared around the living room before you continued talking. “My team messaged me.”

Charles swallowed. “Yeah?”

“They want to know what our plan is,” you whispered. You didn’t need to say more than that, Charles understood.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Val thinks it will backfire,” you murmured, looking down at your hands instead of his face. “If we are seen together too much.”

Charles tensed.

“The media might spin a story about me moving on from—” You paused, his name unable to pass your lips.

“Can we just…not talk about this right now?” Charles whispered, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I just…it’s too much.”

“Okay,” you whispered with a nod.

“We will handle it,” Charles assured you as he reached for your hand. Because he knew you, he knew the whole thing was eating you up and it didn’t help pushing the conversation away. But he needed to be in the right state for it—not half-drunk from the night before. “Together. I promise.”

You sniffled, squeezing his hand. “Together.”

“You two want pancakes for breakfast?”

Both of your heads snapped around to find Max by the door, a kind smile on his face. He paused when he took a look at the both of you, probably noticing the solemn faces and red eyes and instantly looking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, did I just ruin a moment?”

You shook your head. “No—”

“We would love pancakes,” Charles finished for you, trying to focus on your hand in his rather than the fact he was sitting on the couch of the man he had been competing with for a majority of his life. “Coffee is on us. As a thank you.”

Max waved him off. “It’s fine—”

“We insist,” you said firmly.

Max glanced between you before nodding. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m only saying yes because you two seem very stubborn and I’m not awake enough to deal with that.”

And for the first time in over forty-eight hours, you had the oddest urge to laugh.

“Wanna order the coffee together?”

“Together.”

You weren’t sure what would happen next. You didn’t know what you were going to tell Val or the rest of your team. You didn’t know what Charles’ team would say. You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do when you eventually saw Pierre again, when you had to sort out the fact you technically shared a flat with him.

But right now, your biggest issue was figuring out which coffee Max Verstappen liked and it was a kind distraction to your messy life.

Especially with the assurance that Charles was by your side.

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