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miirohs · 14 days

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world burning [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader wc: 1.4k cw: someone is literally shot, charles kisses reader a bit forcefully an: to the anon who said they'd sell me their soul my cashapp is @bestfanficwriterever (jk jk, i hope that anon sees this tho). Real reminder to you all, again, that non of this stuff is to be encouraged irl and this is all meant as a fictional scenario!

“Charlie?”

You could hear him softly cursing in French on the other line, whispering as the bed creaked in the background. It was obvious he had just woken up, and you felt terrible for waking him as well, knowing the day he probably had.

“Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, tu ferais mieux d'avoir une bonne raison de me réveiller (what's the matter, you'd better have a good reason for waking me up)-”

“Charles, I've been arrested, I need someone to come get me.”

The muttering stopped, grogginess disappearing from his voice almost instantly. “Y/n? Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé bon sang chéri (y/n? what the hell happened darling)?”

“Charles, not now please,” You chastised softly, looking to the door as the guards quietly conversed among themselves outside the room, “I have no idea why this is happening and what they’re gonna do to me.” “How did you even manage to get arrested… Nevermind that, I just hope you haven’t answered anything they've asked of you.” He groaned, heavy thumping over the phone as you looked nervously at the door for any indication they’d been listening to your conversation.

“I’m not that dull,” You said quietly, looking down at your lap, “and it couldn't have been anything i did, all they did was seize the car from me in the lot and bring me here.”

He paused for a moment, silent over the line. You pressed the phone against your ear, straining for any sounds on the other side of the line.

“Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you fumbled, tripping over your words in a hurry to get them out.

“Char, what are you planning on doing?”

He laughed humorlessly over the phone, the sound of keys jingling and door slamming making you jump back from the phone as if it’d grown a head.

“Exactly what I said I'm going to do, come and pick you up.”

You swallowed the thick ball that’d formed in your throat.

“You know what- never mind, send someone else in your place, maybe Carlos?” You bargained, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Pas de souci, mon amour. Je ne fais que commencer (no worries, my love. I'm just getting started). They should’ve learned not to fuck with the wrong person. I’ll be there in another 20 minutes, you won’t need to call anyone else.”

You shivered as the line went dead, looking at the now opened door, all the cops watching you with a suspicious look.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

All you could do was shake your head.

Not even a grand total of 15 minutes later, a shouting match erupted, followed by loud bangs.

There was a single person you could think of who was capable of this level of chaos, and you could have swore you’d heard him threatening the cops right now.

“Where is she?”

“Sir-”

“Don’t sir me, where the hell is she? Don’t tell me I have to blow another head off just for you to tell me.”

Everything seemed to fall silent for a couple moments, only a few voices daring to make a sound.

“Char?” You called out, a couple beats of silence weighing you down.

The sound of footsteps only got louder, stopping in front of the room you were in.

Keys jangled, the door slamming open as Charles walked in, a couple of police tailing him timidly to the outside of the door.

There were dark stains on his otherwise clean shirt, an indication of what happened visible in the peeved look on his face. Your eyes slowly trailed to his hand, a gun held tightly in his grip, smoking oh so slightly.

Noticing how your attention had drifted to the weapon, he put it down on the other side of the table as he approached you, shrugging off his jacket as he approached you.

“Tu vas bien maintenant (you're all right now),” He said quietly, running his fingers through your hair as he pulled you to him, “Come on, we’re going home.”

You clutched his arm as he stood you up, eyes glued to the floor as you walked next to him.

You could hear their disappointed exhales, tinged with a bit of surprise as Charles kept a firm grip on your back, guiding you through the long hall to the main office.

As you continued to walk, he gently stopped you, turning around in the middle of the room as someone called for him.

“Fucks sake,” He sighed, turning around.

“Sir, i believe there has been a mistake-”

“What sort of mistake do you think you’ve made?” He snarled, his hand running down to your hand, lacing his fingers into yours.

“You see, the car we identified was yours and we thought that perhaps she’d stole it-”

“And you didn’t think to call me so I could deal with them myself?” He chuckled humorlessly, pulling you to his side. You held your breath, completely aware of what was about to happen.

“Charles, no-”

He shook his head at you, basically telling you to not interfere. You obliged, eyebrows creasing as you watch the poor man who had tried to explain himself get shoved to his knees.

“First off, you interrupt my very precious time, and then you have the audacity to say that you’ve made a mistake?” He stands back, waving at someone behind him to step forward to his side with a gun. “Do you know who she is?”

The man stumbled over his words, trying to plead for his life, but you already knew it was too late.

“Since you don’t seem to know, let me tell you. She’s the last face you’ll be seeing but since she’s here, I've decided to spare the rest of you for the time being. If I ever hear of anything happening to her again, anyone in this room will not be spared like they were today.” He remarked bemusedly, turning to you with the widest grin you’d ever seen from him.

“Chéri, close your eyes, and cover your ears as well.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The second you did, there was a bang, followed by a thumping sound.

Something warm was on your face, but you didn’t dare open your eyes, shaky hands coming off your ears to touch your face.

“Don’t.” He was closer than you thought, causing you to jump as he rubbed what you assumed was a handkerchief against your face . “Don’t say anything, don’t look, just follow me.”

You cracked open an eye, briefly wandering to the pool of blood a couple of feet away from you.

“What did I just tell you?” He remarked, barking at the rest in rapid french as he grabbed your hand and pulled you out the doors of the station.

There was an awkward silence as you lumbered into the passenger side seat, pressing yourself against the seat as he pulled out and onto the road.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” He muttered, hand reaching over to squeeze your thigh.

“I thought you’d be upset with me.” You looked down, noticing the dried blood on his hands, not that it made much of a difference to you anymore. Less than two years ago, you would have been horrified at the idea of blood within six feet of you, but you had come to accept it as a part of him you could never erase.

“No-” He punched the brakes, eyes slightly apologetic as you jumped from the sudden shock of stopping.

“No, no, Y/n, look at me,” His hand left your thigh, fingers curling around your chin and pulling your face to his, “You are not responsible for any of that, i gave you the car, remember? You are not to blame yourself because I would gladly do anything for you.”

“Char-” You whined, muffled slightly by the pressure of his fingers against your cheeks.

“I would give you the world to see you happy, so shut up and take it.” He pressed his lips harshly against yours, almost needy in the way he nipped at your bottom. Warmth seemed to stir inside you as he let you go, your own mind racing at a million miles per hour as he returned to the wheel as if nothing had happened.

However, under his breath, he muttered something that even escaped you as your thoughts drifted off elsewhere. “Le monde brûlera, si tu le veux ma chérie, je te le promets (the world will burn, if you want it to my darling, I promise).”

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norrisleclercf1 · 7 months

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Can you please do toxic Charles with soft innocent reader, and he’s just so toxic but soft with her and extremely territorial like death glare anyone, girls and boys if there close to her. Also freaks out if she misses a race

A/N: Please this is unhealthy, don't date someone like this, this is fiction

He's never once acted like this with anyone else. Not with family, friends, or previous relationships. Yet with you? He was a monster, another creature that became possessive, unhealthy, and overall toxic.

Charles refused to let you out of his sight and hated it whenever someone, didn't matter who talked to you. Charles was suddenly there and glaring. Everyone noticed the way he acted around you, but never towards you.

It bothered the others how such a sweet, innocent person was in love with this ugly version of himself. "Charles, mate," Carlos sighed as he watches Charles burn someone alive with his glare alone. "She's not going to leave you, besides she's talking to Yuki of all people." Carlos has to tug Charles away by his collar.

"What, no! I need to watch him, he shouldn't even be talking to her." Charles spits, fighting back but Carlos was fairly larger than Charles as he throws him down into a chair. "Knock it off, no one is going to take her from you. They're an amazing person and it's shocking they can't see what you've become." Carlos groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ice fills Charles's veins hearing those words from his teammate, and one of his close friends. "I knew it," Charles bites out, standing fast. "The only reason you pulled me away was so Yuki could turn her against me." Rolling his Carlos swears there's no getting through him.

"Forget it," Throwing his hands up he storms off.

------------------

There was one time you missed a race. You promised him you'd be there but still with no sight of you he starts to freak out. "She should be here," He whines, scanning the crowds and not seeing you.

"Charles, get in the car. You have to drive." Xavi tries to reason with him but Charles shrugs him off. "No, I won't get in until she's here." Everyone in the Ferrari garage shake their head, seeing their driver throw a tantrum.

"Charles, you have to drive, get in." Xavi leaves no more room for argument as the Ferrari driver gets in. Missing the race wasn't on your plan, you overslept and missed the quick flight. Settling for watching him on the Tv, not realizing what this would do.

"You have media duties!" "I don't care!' Charles snaps, heading for the hotel and then home.

In the kitchen you hear the door fling open, jumping you almost drop the glass bowl. Thankfully you don't. Charles storms around the corner, coming to a halt when he sees you. You, still here. Wearing his clothes. No one took you from him, you're still here.

"Sunflower, you weren't at the race." He sighs, his anger turning to mist. "No, missed my flight, sorry." You smile and Charles feels his world stop moving and become right again.

"That's okay, I missed you." He smiles, coming over and kissing you slowly, taking his time to memorize your lips. "I won't miss the next one, promise." You giggle sticking out your pinkie. "Better not, or I'll chain you up." You laugh, thinking his joking but oh how serious he is.

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buckyhad · 7 months

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Close to God and The Devil

Pairing: Dark!Charles Leclerc x nun!reader

Warnings: Nc, smut.

There was something going on, there wasn't any other explanation, someone cursed him or was praying against him.

He didn't understand why he was being so bad, so slow in the last races.

Something was against him and he couldn't take it anymore, crushing himself after every race without a win or even a podium.

He didn't label himself as a religious man, but desperate times needed desperate measures.

So after another cursed race in Qatar, where his teammate couldn't even start the races and he, again, finished outside the podium, he decided he was going to pray.

Back in Italy, there was this pretty little church he always admired, such a delicate architecture that caught his attention.

So on a monday morning, he went on with his decision, pray for better times to come. For him, for Carlos, for Ferrari.

Cleaning his sweaty hands on his jeans, he walked feeling out of place. Such an angelical vibe surrounding him, he felt some kind of peace.

"Good morning" the sweetest voice he has ever heard greated him, looking around to find the source of that sound, he found a nun looking at him while cleaning the place.

"Morning" he said clearing his dry throat.

"The Father isn't here today, he had an emergency, but you can come back tomorrow if you need him" she informed him, continuing on her task while humming some church's song Charles didn't recognize.

"No, It's okay" he quickly answered, not wanting to leave the place yet.

He just needed to pray, fast and he was on his way. Except he wasn't.

He prayed for about an hour, following the little nun movements from time to time. And then he was on his way.

He found himself going to the church again the next day.

"Hello" he greeted the same nun he saw yasterday, probably the prettiest girl he has ever seen, not understanding why someone like her would choose to waste her time in something like this.

"Hello. You never seem to catch him" she laughed.

"Who?" He tilted his head.

"The Father, he isn't here today" she replied.

"It's okay, I just come to pray" he shrugged his shoulders, sitting in one of the benches.

"What brings you here?" She asked "I'm not intending to pry" she quickly added.

"It's okay, I just need better times to come for me at my work. Not having any luck lately" he said.

"Oh" she seated besides him "What do you do?".

She didn't know him, and Charles felt even more curious about her.

"Motosports" he replied "Why are you a nun?" He questioned.

"I've always wanted to be one, devote my life to God. It was I was meant to be" she smiled.

"You don't feel like you're missing out?" He got closer to her.

"No" she furrowed her brows "I like what I choose, are you not happy with what you do?"

"It's my dream, always have been" he replied.

"Then?"

"You're just so pretty" he mumbled, getting even closer to her.

"What are you doing?" She got up, taking a step back from the driver who quickly followed.

"Let me show you"

"Show me what?"

"What you're missing" he said, reaching to touch her cheek.

"No, please, get out" she asked.

"No because you don't want to or no because he's here" he signalled with his head to the Jesus' statue.

"I-I don't want to" she whispered.

"You don't sound to convinced" he reached for her again, succeeding this time. His whole body was vibrating with excitement.

Without wasting more time, he kissed her, guiding her, going slow.

"This isn't right sir" she said, cheeks red like his favorite colour.

"Mmm" he hummed, before kissing her again, pushing her against the statue, attacking her neck while squeezing her waist.

"Th-this is wrong" she breathed.

"Maybe" he said, moving his hand under her long skirt, softly hitting her hand when she tried to stop him "Enjoy, stop worrying" he attacked her neck again, leaving bite marks behind.

Touching her softly through her underwear, making tight circles against her clit, getting some pants from the nun "Fuck, that's it" he rutted against her thight.

"Don't swear" he laughed softly.

"Okay"

"Tha-that feels" she moaned "weird".

"Weird good or weird bad?"

"Good" she squealed.

"You going to cum?" He taunted "right in front of him?" He looked at the statue behind them.

Charles found his new place, he liked to pray, but he prefered to not be the one kneeling.

------------------

A/N: helloo, im sorry this took so long ive been really busy so i apologize, thanks to however asked for this bc i loved it, love yall

Also a big thank you to the person who helped me with some nun info bc i know 0 of religion, i preferer to not add any of that bc i didn't want to get anything wrong

#f1 fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #dark!charles leclerc

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tommydarlings · 2 months

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Now already available to read on my Patreon and tomorrow here on my tumblr!

#fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #Charles Leclerc #Dark!charles Leclerc #Dark!charles #charles leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc x fem!reader #Charles Leclerc smutty #Patreon #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 ferrari

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rene-spade · 3 months

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my man isn’t creepy! i | f1 grid

growing up leclerc au !

fem! leclerc! reader x f1 grid, leclerc family

part i: carlos sainz, daniel ricciardo, oscar piastri, pierre gasly & kika gomes

synopsis. when the youngest leclerc finds her partners’ ‘shrine’ of her, but she’s a leclerc so the red flags aren’t all that red

WARNING(s); i like em crazy y’all, obsessive/possessive behavior, implied stalking/shrines, unhealthy relationship dynamics, sexual implications but no smut

carlos sainz.

“What is it?” You asked, head tilted to the side as you look up at your boyfriend. The Spaniard melted, muttering a curse to himself and running his hands through his thick hair. He felt hot, nervous for what the outcome of this discussion could be.

“Dios mío, ángel, it’s— it is not what you think— nothing bad. I am just embarrassed is all.” He reassured, big hands gripping at your shoulders. But he knew it was a bit bad, even his enabling family members were worried he’d freak you out if you saw. His movements were made to comfort you, but you could tell they were more self-soothing. Arthur had a similar habit whenever you got upset with him, too.

You only frowned, but it fueled Carlos’ panic.

“Mi amor, I will do whatever you ask-! You know this. I will let you in when it’s cleaned, I swear it.” He pulled you into his chest, arms fully embracing you. But you squirmed out of his hold, making him respond with an unhappy attempt to coo you back into comfort.

“You’re hiding something in there, Carlos. This is the first time I’m staying with you in your home since we started dating, let me see.” And at the sight of your big, beautiful, angry eyes, how could he refuse an Angel? With a twitch of his fingers, Carlos unlocked the door without any movement to push it open.

With a short huff, you pushed yourself through the door, only pausing at seeing at the sheer amount of merchandise that covered every surface. It was all you-themed, from posters and cut-outs, down to a body-pillow and even an outfit you’d only worn once for a runway show. There was a glass shelf with your old perfumes, newer ones too, and photos everywhere.

“Carlos….” You began, covering your mouth with your fingers and stepping further in.

“I know—! But I liked you so much before we started seeing each other and I- I am just a passionate man is all, my whole family says so—!” You cut off his red-faced rambling with a beaming grin.

“Ouah! I didn’t know you were a super fan before we met!” You giggled, mumbling to yourself in French about the various things he’d collected. “maybe you are a bit extreme, but it’s kind of cute, no?”

“¿En serio? Sí, mi perla!” He breathed shakily before grinning, “I should have known you’d understand! Mis hermanas se burlaron de mí, ¿sabes? But it was all silly…” (You’re serious? Yes, my pearl! My sisters teased me, you know?)

“What are you saying? Your sisters… something? I’m still learning, mon chéri.” You pout at him, in a much better mood now that you knew what your boyfriend was hiding behind the door he seemed so desperate to keep you away from.

He shook his head, hair messy after having run his fingers through it many times due to stress, “We should have dinner with them tonight while we’re still in Spain, I said. Let’s go back downstairs?”

“Why? Got anything weird?”

“Don’t say things like that, amor!”

♤ ♤ ♤

daniel ricciardo.

“Danny…?”

“Shit-!” He jumped out of surprise, dropping the box he was reaching from the top shelf of the closet.

“Oh, I’m sorry, mon soleil!” You squeaked, jumping back as well. You hadn’t meant to scare him, but it wasn’t your fault he was so focused in the dead of night. You were just curious is all. The box he dropped was was rectangular in shape, but easily bigger than a shoebox. You shot him a sleepy grin, “What do you have there?”

He sighed, shaking his head, “Why are you up, sleepy girl? Get back to bed, I’ll be right there. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I’m up because you’re up.” You wrinkled your nose, inching closer to him with a small blanket in your arms. You tried to get a glimpse of what fell out of the box, but Daniel wrapped himself around you so you couldn’t see. He wrestled the blanket from your fingers, careful not to be rough with long nails, and threw it over your head with smile.

As you wrestled, your boyfriend only laughed and placed kisses on any part of you he could without being hit by your flying limbs, “Pretty things like you should be asleep. Your brothers would kill me if they knew I disturbed your beauty rest.”

“Are you trying to hide something from me?” You pulled the blanket off your head, hair a mess.

Daniel froze, jaw clenching as he tried to hold a toothy smile. But he didn’t have it in him to lie to you. The moment was completely still, before you finally broke eye contact and crept passed him to see the mess on the floor. You could hear Danny gulp as you plucked the first item from the ground; a pretty, navy blue set of lacy underwear. Yours, yes. But from ages ago, you swore you lost them. Then there were a few pieces of jewelry, a lipstick tube, a silk scrunchie, a press-on nail, a red heel, and two pieces of now-hardened chewing gum. All yours from various points of this past year.

“Daniel,” no, not the first name, he begged internally, squeezing his eyes shut, deciding to just wait for the inevitable disgust and rejection. You never called him by his full first name, only sweet ‘danny’s his way, sometimes ‘mon soleil’ or ‘sunshine’.

“You know you can just ask for my things, yes? You don’t have to take.” You were looking right up at him, navy colored panties still in your hand like you didn’t even mind that he took them. His reasoning couldn’t have been pure, you know that.

You hummed, pulling at his fingers so you can shove the underwear into his balled up fist, “lá.”

“Perfect girl.” He muttered, pulling you back into him and dragging you to bed, “give me the pair you have on then, yeah?”

♤ ♤ ♤

max verstappen.

It wasn’t always like this with you— you used to be just Charles “track terror” Leclerc’s pretty little sister, a little girl. But now it was years later and you’ve become something perfect and irresistible— something he can’t live without. He knows he’d resorted to some immoral, if not a little creepy, behaviors, but it’s not like he’s one of those guys that would ever hurt you. No, you’re a deity to him. He told his sister about his feelings at one point (even thought about showing her the shrine), but she told him— “This is all because you watched You!” The Netflix show that follows a stalker.

So he took down the shrine— moving most of it into his bedside drawer and the rest under his bed. But he realized he didn’t think it all the way through when he had you in his room for the first time; all pretty and perfect and curious.

“Good race, Maxie.” You hopped back onto the bed, your hair bouncing as you landed, “You’re so tense and for what, huh?”

Max had just a little bit of shame about the whole thing, but maybe not too much. I mean, his body definitely felt some kind of physical guilt or something if you’re judging him by the shaking and sweating— but his mind was happy. You were here with him in his home. In fact, the physical reaction might just be from seeing you curled up in his bed. But you’re close to finding out how… intense he was. (As his mother would say.)

“Sorry, lief, I’m just tired and you’re distracting me by being cute.” He smiled down at you as he began to change, “you need a shirt to wear?”

“Yes, s'il te plaît. Hey, can I put my bracelets in here—? oh!” He’d barely turned his back for a second, just long enough to remove his shirt, but that’s all it took for you to pull the drawer open and see the copious amount of photos of you (some edited to have him in them) and unsent love letters.

“It’s not a shrine— I’m not a creep! It’s just some things I made back before we got together—! You weren’t supposed to see them!” He was trying to shove some of the papers back in, but you were already skimming one of the letters.

“Mijn hart,” he winced at seeing the one you had— one of the more unhinged ones. The worst of it was in Dutch, so that worked out for him at least.

“Oh c’mon, Maxie! It’s kind of sweet! You had such a big crush on me! It’s a little hot, even.”

He grew even more red and fidgety at that, “Shit.”

You giggled at the words you could understand before he wrestled the page out of your grip. You grabbed him and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could stray too far.

“From Max Verstappen-Leclerc, hm?”

♤ ♤ ♤

oscar piastri.

“Can’t I just grab a hoodie, Osc?” You questioned as he held you in place on the counter, from his spot between your legs, still in his race suit.

“You don’t need one, Lovey, it’s hot.” He pressed himself into you so he could feel you breathe better. You’d asked for a jacket the moment you’d entered his freezing trailer just after the race. He saw you go for the closet and quickly redirected you onto the counter.

“Non, you’re hot because you just raced in a little car for hours and now you’re all over me. I am normal temperature.”

“Cold?”

“Yes.”

“Then get closer, I’m hot.”

You huff obnoxiously like the pretty spoiled girl you are and Oscar can feel the rush of serotonin he got just from the sound. He knew this is the part where you’d get cute and pretend to pick a fight, his sweet thing. But bad timing— he’s desperate to hide his secret now.

“I can’t get any closer to you if I trieddd. What? You have a girl hiding in that closet? Hm?” He scoffed into your shoulder, but stiffened, knowing just what was behind that door.

You gasped dramatically, likely playing it up to get what you wanted (a tactic you used with your brothers, Oscar noticed), “You do! Irréelle!”

“I don’t!” His face shot up from your shoulder, brows furrowed, but he didn’t let you go, “You know I don’t like any other girls!”

“Then you need to show me so I can be sure! And I’m still cold.” You crossed your arms and pulled your knees together to get him to back up.

“I can’t.” He choked out. “There’s— it’s just— I have this thing—”

You hopped down and booked it across the trailer before he could reach out and stop you, yanking the door open to see what your new boyfriend was hiding.

You breathed out a dramatic sigh of relief at the sight, “Goodness, Osc.” Rather than finding a person, you instead found some sort of… collection? Collage of yourself and your things? Photos mostly, magazines, and lots of hearts drawn on articles about you.

Oscar grabbed you by the shoulders and quickly spun you around into him, slamming the door, “You saw?”

Looking up at him with big eyes, you nodded, “Yeah, why? You really like me that much?”

“What? Yes— yeah I do. You—? Okay.”

♤ ♤ ♤

pierre gasly. | kika gomes.

“I’m prepared to blame you for this if Charles finds it.” Pierre breathed, looking at the start of his girlfriend’s collection of your things. Kika scoffed, a smile playing at her lips as she re-organizes your makeup. Mostly lip balms, you’d let her borrow some of your things, not knowing she wasn’t going to give any of it back. Kika even managed to get a few skirts from you as well. The small framed photo of you sitting in her vanity was just a personal touch.

Pierre would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed, but he could say he wasn’t surprised. He and Kika were a good couple, a good duo in general, but especially when it came to drawing you in. Because Pierre was such a good friend to Charles, it came pretty easy; Charles was easier on him around you. Unfortunately, that grace didn’t extend to Kika just because they were dating. Charles had something of a sixth sense for when pretty girls liked his pretty sister; so he was on to Kika. Where at the beginning it was nothing to get you alone with them, it was now next to impossible.

“Pierre? Kika? Are you home?” Wow it’s like they could hear your pretty voice— oh wait they gave you a key. To their apartment. In Monaco, where you live and you can really just waltz in and see all of the things they took (—yes they, Pierre is a thief too—)

Like two naughty school children, the couple shot up to cover what they’d done before you could reach their bedroom. This was their fault naturally, none of yours at all, they were the ones who encouraged you to come over whenever physically possible.

“Grab everything and I’ll distract her!” Kika whispered, rushing to slip out of the room.

Before the ‘not fair-’ could slip from his lips, his girlfriend was off to catch you, brushing passed him and leaving the door cracked. He could hear your surprised greeting, a cute squeak escaping you, before Kika saying something like ‘Oh, Pierre is busy now’, then silence. Pulling the handle back just an inch, he peaked outside to see Kika’s lips not even a centimeter from your own, her hands gripping your jacket for dear life.

“Oh, pretty girls, ce n'est tout simplement pas juste.” Slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Your eyes shot to his, but Kika’s remained trained on your face. After just a second, your gaze drifted to Kika’s vanity behind him.

The couple froze, you saw. Pierre pulled the door shut behind him as Kika’s mouth opened to form words.

“Oi! Get your hands off my little sister, huh? Démon impoli et pratique, seriously.” Charles slipped into the living room from the front hallway, having obviously accompanied his little sister in her visit.

“Non, Charlie, Kika helped me when I almost tripped.” You smiled at your brother, quickly covering for them, “I was just coming to see if I could get my jean skirt back?”

You looked up at her so sweet and she thinks you’re blushing—“Oh.” She squeaked, “yes, no problem. Pierre.”

“I’ll get it for her, mate.”

“surveille ta copine. je ne suis pas aveugle, mate.”

♤ ♤ ♤

Your man (s girlfriend) is definitely creepy, girl.

note; I made kika and pierres a lil longer bc they’re two ppl so yeah ft charles

thinking part ii with lando, mick (ft the schumachers), lewis, lance, alex & lily, george and carmen?

- ren

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oxygenpdf · 1 month

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Every time someone says Max is arguably the most dangerous person, I’m swiftly reminded that Charles had a car chase with robbers who stole his shit using his Ferrari Pista, in the middle of the night, and was caught on camera 💀

That fucking Ferrari has seen some dark days.

#formula 1 #f1 #formula one #charles leclerc #dumbass with priorities #that poor Ferrari #😭#that Pista has seen dark times

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doomedmoth · 8 days

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Better kind of best friend

Pairing : Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux x Charles Leclerc | Poly & bisexual fem!reader

Warnings : slight emotional cheating, obsessive/possessive/manipulative behavior, suggestive content/smut, fluff then angst then dark fluff, inaccurate racing calendar and school programs, polyamory, use of y/n

Synopsis : When you left the UK for a year long art restoration program in Monaco, you mainly wanted to make some friends. What you didn’t expect was to find your best friend on the first day. And then fall in love with her. And then get tangled in the web of Monaco high society as her boyfriend came back to town, unaware of your little affairs. What the fuck happened to you, you just wanted to make some friends…

Moth’s prophecy💡: Hi frieeeends, sorry for any mistakes, I haven’t written more than blurbs in a while. The poly, Charles, dark parts and smut will happen in the next chapters, I intend on making three of them. The first is mostly gay panic and tooth rotting fluff, so enjoy before it all goes to shit !!

As you stepped outside of Nice’s airport, you felt like you were finally breathing. The weather wasn’t particularly gloomy when you had left London, but nothing compared to the Mediterranean sun and the breeze of the sea. It had always had an inexplicable calming effect on you, now only interrupted by an old French woman throwing what sounded like insults at you as she moved past you towards the parking lot. The sea, you had missed. French people, not so much.

As you embarked on your second journey of buses and trains to your final destination, you took the time of going once more over the details of what would be your schedule those next few months. After getting your degree in Conservation and Restoration of Cultural Heritage, your parents thought it would only do you good to go practice on the field before even thinking of applying to any museum in the UK. You had gone on vacation on the French south coast a few times with them, and in a surprising but welcome turn of events, the Pavillon Bosio, Monaco’s art school, was organizing an internship welcome to all students of arts degrees in Europe. For your parents, a precious opportunity to add an experience to your CV in a prestigious setting. For you, the occasion to enjoy the beach and make friends in an artist residency after five years of hard work at university. Win-win.

The sun was setting on the hills when you finally settled into your room at the residency. Located close to the school, in the high parts of Monaco, the house was old but gorgeous, with pale pink walls and palm trees everywhere in the garden. Ivy leaves were growing at your window, which gave you a view of the port lighting up in the evening. Three floors high, there were a total of 8 bedrooms, all to be occupied by students of the Bosio program. The two remaining were, according to the brief, residents of Monaco.

You threw yourself on the bed with a sigh, your suitcases not even opened yet. The birds were singing softly and your eyes started to flutter in rhythm with them. If you did not make a move, you would be fast asleep, you thought. Yet it seemed like such an effort…

“Ciaoooo !” You sat straight up from the fluffy bed, meeting a pair of green eyes in the opening of the door “Oh scusa, ti ho svegliato ?”

The girl had gorgeous ginger hair, though likely unnatural, flowing down to her waist, and a mischievous smile. She seemed a bit younger than you, and kept staring back at you until you shook your head and answered.

“Sorry ! Um, English is okay ? For you ? No parlo…” was it even parlo ? You were trying to get your point across, hoping she would forgive your mistakes. “No parlo Italiano ?”

“Aaaah yeah yeah sure !” She chuckled, her accent even richer in English. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up ? I just arrived, it seems like we’re the only ones there…”

“No, no don’t worry, I was just resting my eyes. I did not check the other rooms, are we really ?” She nodded, pouting and crossing her arms. She probably expected a big welcome party. “I’m Y/N.”

“Chiara ! Let’s go have a drink when you’ve unpacked !”

You smiled as the girl waved and trotted downstairs. She was right, unpacking right now would probably be a good idea.

“Cazzo, la mia testa…” Chiara groaned while walking down the stairs from her bedroom to the shared kitchen.

Definitely, you had been right to not follow her in town the day before the start of “classes”. The bottle of wine you downed together in under half an hour had been enough, and when she had left to go explore the nearest bars, you had opted for a swift retreat into your room.

This coincided with the arrival of two other students, with whom you spent the rest of the evening making small talk. Apparently another one had arrived in the night.

The Italian boy you hadn’t met was immediately assaulted by Chiara, who seemed to know him. And it also seemed the feeling wasn’t mutual. You understood almost nothing of their exchange, but it made you and your new roommates laugh quite a lot.

The rest of the morning passed slowly, your shared breakfast only interrupted by Chiara’s flow of anecdotes, and a few exchanges about where each one of you was coming from and what studies you did before. One of the girls you had met the night before was going through the rule book of the residency, staring out loud the facts she found relevant.

It’s only around twelve, as you were all getting ready to head to the school for your first meeting, that the three last students arrived to the house. A few pleasantries were exchanged, a promise of a good meal together tonight to meet properly, and you all left the residency, following happily the little path from the garden up the hills.

The Pavillon Bosio looked more like a huge villa than a school, hidden between the trees. With its cute red roof and stunning view of the sea, you were all in awe as you entered through the gates.

“Bonjour, bonjour tout le monde ! This way please, for the restoration workshop right ? This way, come !” An old bearded man with a thick French accent welcomed you all, guiding you through the corridors of the school.

You settled in a small classroom, tables filled with paper cups, coffee dispensers and pastries. The old man introduced himself as the head of the program, and encouraged you to have a drink and get to know each other while waiting for the last two students. You couldn’t help but notice that some things never change, it’s always the one who live the closest who are the latest.

But you had barely any time to put down your bags and take a coffee before laughter was heard in the hallway, two voices clearly making their way towards you. And as they entered the room, your head started spinning.

There they were, the two monegasques, the last missing pieces of your eclectic little group of students. The man was quite elegant, dressed all in black in spite of the warm temperature, and body dripping with gold jewelry. But the girl, oh the girl… With long straight chestnut hair, and eyes of an even darker shade of brown, she was holding on to her friend’s arms with a delicacy only found in children who grew up bathed in the finest luxuries. She was wearing a white summer dress that did nothing to hide the shape of her body, and accentuated her sun-kissed skin. Everyone turned to them as they entered the room, but it seemed to you her eyes were only on you. The thought that you would have been the first to catch her attention made you blush, and you went on to hide your embarrassment in your cup of coffee.

“Alexandra, Luca, bienvenue ! Toujours un plaisir de vous revoir !” The old man, whose name you had learnt was Jean-Paul, went on to shake the hands of the two students, who he seemed to know already. “Je vous en prie, installez vous, prenez un café !”

The man, Luca if you understood correctly, stayed by the teacher’s side, engaging in a conversation punctuated by loads of “Oh !” and “Ah”, but the girl made her way to you with a determination that made you want to hide under the table.

She lost no time serving herself a cup of coffee and a pastry, and turned to you with a smile brighter than the summer sun. As she put her hand on your shoulder, leaning in to lay a kiss on each of your cheeks, you felt as if all the air had been sucked from your body.

“Alexandra, nice to meet you !”

And just like that, your whole world had turned upside down.

In the days that followed that meeting, all the little group of students started to get along pretty well, getting to know each other from their studies to the role they would play in your year-long project, while also sharing personal anecdotes at night, under the trees of the residency’s garden.

But the bond you felt with Alexandra, that was something else. It was as if you two had known each other forever, everything flowed smoothly, and your passions were either shared by the girl, or met with genuine curiosity and interest. Not even two weeks had passed and you already had little habits, inside jokes and plans for the rest of the year.

In the first stage of the program, the work was mainly research and preparation of the artworks, which meant that except for the mandatory seminars and meetings here and there, you were free to schedule your work time and partners as you pleased. This led to Alexandra coming to the house every morning, having breakfast with you, and going to the school together, or settling in your bedroom with your computers and working, or at least trying, together. If you gave yourself free time, she would take you to museums, or restaurants she enjoyed, or just lying down in parks as she tried to teach you some French. She was kind and patient, and in a desperate wish to get her to like you, you tried to be the best student, reading diligently every book she recommended you.

You quickly realized that although she was a true social butterfly, the whole group of students enjoying having her around, she was much more comfortable when you were just the two of you. She would often suggest you sneak off from team activities, wanting to share the secrets of the city she grew up in only with you. And there was no way you would complain about that. By the end of September, you deeply felt like you had found the best of best friends.

You didn’t know how it got so bad so quickly. No, actually, you did. Alexandra was the worst kind of best friend for someone as prone as you to catch feelings. You had always been quite close physically with your friends, hugging and holding hands were essentials for you to express your affection, but you also knew how weak you could be to pet names and fluttering eyelashes, and with each day that passed, she was making it harder for you to only see her as a friend.

You knew she was aware of her beauty and of how everyone seemed to gravitate towards her, but how could she not realize that the amount of affection she gave you was on the borderline of what would be considered “normal” for a girl friendship ? How could she so casually play with your hair, nails softly digging into your scalp as she lulled you to sleep, your head on her legs in your bed ? How could she lack all sense of modesty, casually undressing in front of you when preparing for a party, and expecting you to help her choose a dress as if you weren’t face to face with her lacy underwear and model body.

You truly despised yourself for ruining such a pure friendship with those thoughts, and desperately tried to remember to not break her trust by being not better than those “nice guys” you had so often dealt with yourself. But what you thought could be a simple physical attraction, something that would pass with a few drinks and the arms of an unknown frenchie, turned into a feeling that burned your insides and made your heart ache a little bit more everyday.

You had so often longed for a soft love, someone who would accept and care for you with the same warmth as you would for them. Friends, good friends, you always had many. Deep friendship, much less so. But the bond you had with Alexandra, you had never experienced it before. You were starting to think that if you had ever felt love before, it had been nothing more than a crush in comparison to this.

You tried to be a good friend. Controlling your breathing when she touched you. Inviting others to your gatherings when you felt you might confess after one too many drinks. Trying not to read too much into her actions, but damn it, she really seemed to be like this only with you.

In the end, what lost you were the pet names. One in particular, she would always throw carelessly as if the word didn’t roll on her lips, sweet like honey.

“Coucou mon chou !”

Waving at you and jumping in your arms, she would repeat the pet name again and again just to see you blush, and who were you to deny her… At first you did not know the meaning of it, and thinking of it, maybe you should have never asked.

It was the middle of October, and you were working with her and Chiara in the school, getting started on repairing some of the minor artworks that were entrusted to you. Well, more like you and Chiara were working, and Alexandra was tagging along out of boredom. With her degree in Art History, her role in the workshop wasn’t as much on the artworks than on their exposition. Which mostly meant your ginger friend was peeling little gold leaves while listening to EDM so loud you could still shake your head in rhythm through her headphones, and Alexandra was glued to you, even in the most uncomfortable of positions.

She had started working on little braids in your hair when, once again, the pet name was used.

“Mon chou, d’you have any hair ties ?”

“What does it mean ?” You asked as plainly as possible, while giving her the hair tie on your wrist.

“What does what mean ?”

“Mon chou. I guess that’s a nickname but you haven’t taught me what it means.” Something good, you hoped. Something sweet.

“No way you don’t know what’s a chou ?!” She grabbed you by the shoulders and you had to follow her movement swiftly in order to not ruin your work “Un chou ? Like… un chou à la crème ?” You nodded no, a bit shameful. You should have looked it up yourself. “It’s a pastry, dear. Something delicious, very airy, the best are filled with cream ? My favorite.” She planted a kiss on your cheek, and you thought, honest to god, that you could die happy on the spot. “Just like you.”

If only this had stopped there. But the next day, when she came to the residency, she snuck the breakfast directly into your room. You had barely woken up when she sat on the side of your bed, seemingly quite excited. She made you sit up and pushed some strands of hair behind your ears before placing the small pastry box on your knees.

“What is this Alex…?” You groaned while pushing back the curtains with one hand, rubbing your eyes with the other.

“Des choux !” She was grinning from ear to ear, and did not give you much more time to comprehend before opening the box. In it, a myriad of little golden cream puffs were staring back at you. “Des choux pour mon chou !” She giggled at her joke and you could not help but laugh too, for the gift was both actually funny, and sweet. “You gotta taste !”

You agreed, but she seemed to have something else in mind as she took one between her slender fingers and brought it up to your mouth. Surely she would not…? And surely she did. Taking advantage of your stupid lack of reaction time, she softly pushed the pastry between your lips, not enough to make you gag on it, yet you could still feel her digit rubbing your bottom lip before making an exit, leaving you dumbfounded and mouth full of the soft cream. Oh yes, you were definitely fucked.

October came to an end, the heavy temperatures and lazy afternoons on the beach leaving place to walks in the old town, cuddled together under one huge scarf. But the evening breeze did nothing to appease the fire in your heart, nor did it slow the speed at which your feelings for Alexandra deepened every day. If not too long ago, you wished for your friendship to stay as pure as the summer sky, now you only longed to confess, lay your heart out before her as a sacrifice, telling her to eat it raw, and the whole of you with it. It was a mixture of love, devotion and desire so strong, she could have asked you to worship her and you would have built a cathedral in her honor.

But you were oh so afraid of ruining everything. If she didn’t return your feelings, that was one thing. But what if she hated you for it ? You could not bear the thought of being apart from her, especially knowing you would still have to work with her for the rest of the year. You would rather eat your feelings than let it happen.

You were still pondering what it could mean for you both when you arrived at her apartment, in the very center of Monaco. You had been there quite a few times, even more recently, to work, to crash after evenings out, or just to have sleepovers, like tonight. It was very well located, and filled with expensive and tasteful furniture, but you did not really like it.

She had explained to you that she did her studies in Paris, and her parents still lived in Monaco. She would also often hang out at friends’ places, in and out of Monaco, and even spend weekends outside of the country quite frequently, with friends as well. The apartment was mostly a safety net, an investment, but you could feel nothing of her in it. It was barely decorated, a bit more those last few weeks now that you two were constantly buying stupid trinkets in token of your friendship, but you did not see her in it.

Yet, as she opened the door and took you instantly in her arms, whispering in your ear, home is the only word that came to your mind.

“Bonsoir mon petit chou”

“Bonsoir louloute” you answered sheepishly with your shitty accent, greeting her with the pet name she had taught you, one her friend Luca often used. It did not mean anything, just sounded cute.

She giggled, taking your hand and leading you inside. Very quickly, through music, wine and hair curlers, the mood for the evening was set. The alcohol made you speak more freely, and hopefully, it would help Alexandra too. Even though she said you knew things about her that nobody else did, there were still many subjects where you could feel her hesitation to delve in. It’s okay, with time, she would trust you about those too, you were sure of it.

She was babbling on about some friends’ drama while sitting on the edge of the window, when you took in the sight in front of you. She had taken off her hair curlers, and put on a satin robe that was slowly falling down her shoulder. The show of lights behind her, flickering between the moon and the glow of the city’s street lamps, made her features stand out even more. Her hair looked so shiny, her skin so soft, and the sparkle in her eye… Nothing she said really mattered, yet you could listen to her for hours and hours, as long as she kept blessing you with this sight.

You must have stared too intensely or for too long, because she came down from her seat and knelt on the floor, right in front of you, softly cupping your cheek with her hand.

“Ça va mon chou ?” Her brows furrowed, and she brought her other hand to your forehead. “You okay ?”

Her hot breath, inches away from your face. Her perfume, tickling your nose, you could almost see it dripping from her neck. Her fingers, drawing small figures on your cheeks. And her lips… there she was, so close, almost face to face, you had dreamt of this so often, and only now you realized how pink her lips were.

Maybe it was the amount of wine, maybe the temperature in her living room, but everything started spinning, and before you knew it, you had closed the gap and crashed your lips against hers. One hand on her small waist, the other in her hair, the kiss was messy, sticky like honey, you wanted to bite and barely restrained yourself. You felt like your heart was about to explode when she moaned into your mouth, and you were pretty sure you felt it drop when she pulled away.

For what felt like an eternity, you stayed silent, panting, eyes locked, air heavy with the realization of what had just happened. She blushed, and you started smiling, before she spoke in a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N… I’m sorry I…. I have a boyfriend…”

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

416 notes · View notes

1644s · 25 days

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ruination

warnings/tags: minors DNI, dark themes, Bridgerton!AU, woc!reader, playing fast and loose w/ how things work in the regency era, Prince!Charles, soft dark!Charles, manipulation, peer pressure, possessive behavior, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 6.4k (this is so aksdfljas)

summary: Royalty and greed go hand in hand. Prince Charles is no exception to this rule. If he must ruin you to have you, then so be it.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

rewatched Bridgerton, thought about Charles, and here we are :) obligatory unedited, unbeta'd etc. please let me know your thoughts! and happy reading :P

You wonder how one finds themselves in a position such as your present one.

He is dripping water onto your floors but your other choice was to leave him to his devices and so really, there was no choice at all. You can only hope your cousins remain engrossed in their conversations with the King and his ensemble. Though, you are certain they would find much more enjoyment in finding out you’ve snuck a boy into your quarters right underneath your parents’ noses.

You bring him all of the towels you have and thrust them into his arms. “The bathroom is over there. I left some of my cousin’s clothes in there but…” you trail off, unsure of how to tell him they might be too big. Your cousin was quite testy at this age and you do not wish to further ruin this boy’s day.

“Thank you,” he says politely, a far cry from the bumbling boy you were ushering into your room just minutes ago. The red in his cheeks hasn’t faded away yet but he no longer resembles a tomato.

You sit on your bed, feet dangling, as you wait for him. Luckily, the day is warm and sunny so his clothes will be dry within the hour. Unluckily, you do not know if you have an hour to spare.

Chewing on your cheek, you wonder how you’ll manage to keep this boy hidden for so long and without suspicion. You are due for lunch soon but there should be a delay due to the royal family coming for a visit. Your father is a man unable to not try and seize every opportunity given to him and these types of opportunities can only be taken advantage of with the absence of children.

The bathroom door opens. There’s a disgruntled look on the boy’s face as he tries to adjust his sleeves to no avail. They hang limply over his hands and it takes every ounce of your etiquette training to not giggle.

“Don’t worry. Your clothes will be dry soon,” you say. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about the wrinkles that are certain to appear. But that is an issue he must deal with so you don’t bother to apologize for it.

“Oh, sorry about the water,” he says, noticing the puddle by your vanity. He drops one of the damp towels on top and half heartedly wipes it away with his shoe.

“It’s fine. I think.” The dirt at the bottom of his shoe is going to leave a mark but you’ll worry about that later. The dress your mother put you in has ensured that you won’t be able to do anything other than breathe carefully and sit upright until the King and his entourage leave.

“If it’s not, I can let my father know and he’ll find a way to fix it,” he says unhelpfully. An almost resigned expression flits across his face but he quickly smooths out the wrinkle of his nose with a bland smile.

For some reason, his immediate assumption that you will take him up on it irritates you. He will be long gone by the time a punishment comes if one is to come. Instead of acknowledging his offer, you ask, “How did you end up in the fountain?”

He blinks, surprised. Then he averts his eyes. “I tripped.”

You twist a loose strand from your bed covers around your finger. “Ah.” If only you had come by five minutes earlier, you would’ve had something to laugh about during lunch. “You aren’t bleeding anywhere, right?”

“No.” But he’s looking over himself as he answers you. “No,” he repeats, more assured. “Mother would’ve killed me if I showed up to lunch with my clothes in disarray. Again.”

“You’re going to the lunch too?” you ask, tilting your head. As far as you know, your family and the King’s immediate family are the only ones allowed. Surely, one of the King’s own wouldn’t find himself in such a silly position.

He cuts you an aghast look. “I’m the Prince.”

You can’t help yourself from giving him a once over. “Are you?”

His clothes are quite nice, you will admit to this. It was the first thing you noticed when you saw him toppled over in the water. But what sort of prince falls into a fountain? And wouldn’t the King ensure his sons are by his side his entire time? You glance out your window as if you’ll suddenly see the Kingsguard crawling up the walls and to your room.

“Yes! I am,” he says, flustered.

He seems sure of himself so you choose to believe him. Maybe the kingdom of Monaco is a much more relaxed place than you have been led to believe. “Alright,” you shrug.

“I’m Charles,” he introduces. Charles stands expectantly as if awaiting a dramatic reaction.

It takes a second for his name to register. The spare as he’s been so crudely called.

You give him your name easily. Your father is a lesser known Earl. He’s clawed his way into his position so you aren’t surprised when there is no flare of recognition in Charles’ eyes. Your title hardly matters as you are merely a pawn for your father to move around the board as he sees fit.

“That…makes sense,” he says after a moment. “I was wondering why you were in the garden without a chaperone.”

Distaste sours your mouth. Ever since your first cycle, you have not been left alone without someone to watch over you whenever guests are around. Fortunately, your estate is not plagued with visitors but it is annoying having to seek out one of your cousins when your family does find itself with visitors. You tend to avoid any man older than you by default so you believe you have more than earned the right to wander your own home no matter how improper your mother finds it.

“Speaking of chaperones, where are your guards?”

At the reminder, he scoffs. “I snuck away from them.”

It’s nice to know even the prince feels smothered at times. “And here I thought you lived a charmed life.”

He wavers and then sits a polite distance from you. It should feel illicit—because it is illicit—but the shame never comes.

“I’m old enough to be on my own,” he complains. “It’s not as if Father forces me to train because he thinks I find it fun.”

“Do you find it fun?”

“I do. But that is not the point,” he huffs.

“What a trial it is to have a father that loves you,” you say with a hand to your chest. “Oh, the travesty!”

Your dramatics earn an amused scrunch of his nose. He flops on your bed, head just below your pillows. He tucks an arm underneath his head and sighs. “It sounds bad when I put it like that, huh?”

“No. I get it.” However, to a lesser degree. For all the freedoms Charles is granted in comparison to you, there are restrictions you can not even imagine that he must have. “Somewhat.”

The bed creaks as he shifts to his side. “Really?” he asks.

“Really,” you confirm with a nod. And then you shrug. “But it will not be forever.”

“It will not,” he agrees quietly. “Once I’m of age…”

You wait for him to finish but he doesn’t continue. But it doesn’t matter for you hear your maid knock on your door with three rapid raps. You scramble off of your bed and hold the door closed.

“I’m coming,” you call, hoping the reediness in your voice isn’t noticeable.

The handle stops turning. “Hurry.” With that, she leaves.

You exhale. You do not want to imagine what would have come if Karina had barged in as she usually does.

“You should leave first,” you say. The spike of anxiety has yet to retreat so you sound harsher than you intend.

Charles does not need to be told twice. His gait is stiff as he leaves. He looks back at you before he disappears around the corner.

After a respectable amount of time passes, you walk to the dining room. You can hear your mother chiding one of your cousins and pray she is too distracted by whatever mischief they’ve gotten into to notice your late arrival. And because you are not known for your luck, you accidentally come across Charles and his mother as they enter.

“Why are your clothes damp?”

You’re close enough to catch the Queen’s question to her son. Charles tries to wave it off but she pinches a cuff between her fingers and asks again.

The resigned downward curve of his mouth is what drives you to interrupt them. “It is my fault, Your Majesty. I was getting a drink of water and managed to spill it on His Highness. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Her eyebrows raise. She inspects her son further. Something about him must amuse her for she smiles in that knowing way all mothers do and says, “It is fine, my dear. Let us go eat.”

Charles tries to catch your eyes during lunch but you keep your gaze steadfast on your cousins whenever you speak. It is only when the adults turn their attentions away from your section of the table that you meet Charles’ earnest gaze with a smile. You tip your chin in the direction of your father and give the barest hint at a shake of your head.

Before he and his family depart, Charles pulls you aside. Your parents are too focused on saying their farewells to the King and Queen to notice you’ve been sequestered away. Unfortunately, Charles draws the attention of his older brother much to your horror. Your urge to stomp on his foot is only quelled when Lorenzo shakes his head with a little laugh and holds a finger to his lips.

“Write to me,” Charles says in one breath. “Please.”

“Your Highness,” you say, unsure.

“Charles,” he corrects. He digs into his pocket and slips a folded piece of paper into your hand. He closes your fingers around it. “I’ll await your letters, my lady.”

He’s hurried off to his family before you can say another word. Shaking off your bewilderment, you tuck the paper given to you into your sleeve, and go to join your parents in wishing the Leclercs a safe journey home.

Hours later, when you are finally alone are you able to unfold and read what Charles has written you. It is an address with instructions on how to write it so that any letter of yours arrives at his personal quarters.

You press your tongue at the back of your molars, a little impressed at his confidence. It is not unfounded as that same night, you pull out a piece of paper and begin writing to him.

It is seven long years before you see Charles and his family again. But it is as if no time has passed as you and Charles exchange letters in your time apart.

You were able to conceal your correspondence with Charles with the simple lie of having befriended one of the maids the Leclerc’s brought along with them. Guilt did not swirl in your stomach at the disappointment in your father’s face when he realized the sturdy letter in his hands did not come from the King or Queen asking for your hand in marriage whenever you were eligible. It is pure luck you happened upon your father receiving the mail and were able to extinguish his hopes with a nonchalant lie.

He’s funnier than a prince ought to be. It doesn’t take long for you to forget you are talking to a prince and not one of your peers and formality becomes a thing of the past. By the end of that year, you considered Charles one of your closest friends.

You were one of the first to find out about his father’s passing. It took hours of convincing and a smidge of bribery to coax your cousin into bringing a gift to Charles from you the next time he went in for training at the palace along with your condolences. Letters from Charles ceased for a handful of months understandably but you sent your weekly letters faithfully. You detailed everything from your days to your studies to the little warm pockets of memories you had of his father and his kindness to whatever else crossed your mind. You didn’t know how else to comfort him from so far but when Charles finally returned his pen to the page, it was to thank you for allowing him some respite during the worst of his grieving period.

The years pass and while communication becomes strained as you two come to grow into your respective roles, you still consider Charles a very good friend. He’s one of the first to hear about your woes on your upcoming debut into society. You are approaching your twenty first year and you are sweating at the thought of what’s to come. You detail to him the families that have begun sniffing around you as if to test the waters of what sort of prestige your father is expecting. It is taxing but you deal with it well. You have no other choice after all.

Charles is strangely reticent at the topic of your debut. He offers a sympathetic ear but struggles to reassure you in ways that don’t make you vaguely uncomfortable. You can’t quite put your finger on why but his insistent claims that you will not have to worry about the men circling you like vultures does not set you at ease as you suspect he thinks it does. It reeks slightly of ownership but you brush it off as surely his written word is more one dimensional than his thoughts. It is far more likely Charles thinks to soothe you by the implication of an order of protection as he has no way to actually prevent someone asking for your hand. It is the thought that counts, you think.

This time around, the Leclerc’s visit is rather unexpected. You are due to travel to Monaco in a week’s time to make your debut but you cannot say you do not welcome the chance to see your old friend sooner.

Except, he is not the Charles you have kept so dear to your heart over the years. He is a man grown now. And you do not recognize him.

“Hello, Your Highness,” you greet, curtsying as suited for your station. You do not let yourself linger on him, to soak in how much he’s changed over these years.

It feels like a slap in the face even though it is to be expected. With your correspondence spanning from childhood until now, it should not come as a surprise to see Charles as the prince he is. But foolishly, you’ve held onto the image of him as the boy whose sleeves were a tad too long and whose smile hadn’t quite grown into the charming one he’s sporting now. Before, you could trick yourself into believing Charles was a friend of equal standing. But now you know that has never been the case.

He has always been Prince Charles Leclerc.

You greet his younger brother next, dutifully reciting your introductions to one another. A flash of recognition crosses his expression and his eyes flick to Charles for a moment. You pretend you do not notice.

His older brother, the king, makes idle conversation with your parents. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your lehenga. The weight of your necklace is suddenly stifling and you bring your hand up to adjust it.

“Are you excited about your debut?” Arthur asks politely.

Seeing as your parents and the king have left the three of you to your own devices but within their eyesight, your shoulders loosen. “If my mother asks, I told you I’ve never been more excited in my life,” you say, sharing a conspiring smile with him. There is little doubt in your mind that Arthur is expected to happen upon a wife during this ball somehow.

“And if I ask?”

Charles’ voice is smooth and playful. He is not someone you can ignore regardless but you wish he made it a little easier to look at him without feeling blinded by his beauty.

“I am dreading it,” you confess. And he is well aware of that.

“Still scared no one will ask you for your dance card?” Charles teases.

You look up as if considering the possibility. The thought crossed your mind months ago but your mother had quickly assuaged those fears. “No,” you say. It isn’t arrogance that fuels your adamant denial. It will be a shock if not one man approaches you for a dance at your debut of all things. “More that I am scared my father will throw me to the first man who extends his hand.”

Your dry confession wipes the smile off of Charles’ face. “He would not do that.”

Arthur looks aghast. “Would he?”

“He would,” you say seriously. “We all have our duties do we not?”

You manage to shut Charles up while encouraging Arthur to complain about how his mother plans to spring a bride upon him to keep her wayward son home. Said mother beckons to him after ten minutes to point him towards Lorenzo’s guard, leaving you and Charles with the illusion that you two are alone. Hyperaware of his presence, you take a step back. You may not be searching for a husband but it does not mean you can tarnish your reputation by being careless. You turn to head back to your room with the intention of feigning ill. Except, a set of footsteps echo your own.

Charles follows after you. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

Not particularly, you think but force the thought into the recesses of your mind. “While that sounds lovely, your Highness, I really must go.”

His hand wraps around your wrist before you can take another step away from him. “Must you be so cold?”

“Your Highness,” you whisper warningly. Your voice pitches at the end as your eyes dart around the two of you. There are eyes in every corner and none are to be trusted.

“Charles,” he corrects. “I’m Charles.”

His grip isn’t so tight that you cannot pull away and yet, you do not make an attempt. You stand there with his hand around your wrist and your heart in your throat like a fool. “We cannot be alone, Charles.”

“We’ll sneak off then,” he implores. His voice lowers. “Please. I’ve missed you.” The words linger as if he has more to say but he limits himself to this vulnerability.

The ache in his voice threads through your ribs until it wraps around your heart and squeezes. You chew on your lip for a moment you do not have to spare and then admit defeat. “Wait for me in my room,” you whisper. “I trust you remember how to get there?”

A boyish grin tugs at his lips. “How could I forget?” And then he is off, walking through the halls as if they are all he’s ever known.

You make your way to the kitchen with half a mind to sneak off into the gardens on your own. But you banish the thought, having briefly imagined the disappointment on Charles’ face if you do not show up. You quickly pack lunch and loop your arm through the handle of the basket.

It’s easy enough to get to your room without any prying eyes but you can never be too cautious. You peek around yourself, angling the basket so it looks smaller than it is to a wandering eye, before opening your door. Charles is digging through your vanity and spins around when he hears the creak of your door.

There’s something crumpled in his hand that he quickly shoves into a pocket. He grimaces. “You are back.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “I am. Are you ready for lunch?” You do not have the patience to question what he’s taken as a souvenir. It is likely something innocuous and something you’d give to him without thought anyway. Nothing you have is of value to a prince of all people.

“Are we to eat in here?”

You shake the basket hanging from your arm. “Of course not. We shall eat in the garden.” Eyeing the worn out throw on your couch, you point to it. “Take that so we may sit on it.”

Charles acquiesces, carefully bundling it in his arms. The hallway is empty and there are no echoes of hurried footsteps so you motion for Charles to follow you. Instead of leaving how you came, you lead Charles towards the rarely used back hallway. With two quick turns, the two of you find yourselves near the unused lower quarters.

Charles glances around himself, mildly surprised. “I was not aware these were here. Even from the outside it looks so…”

“Decayed?” you offer, amused at how he doesn’t correct you. “My grandfather never bothered to include these in the renovations so they remain empty. Every once in a while, someone will come down and clean it but if anyone is down here, it’s either me or my cousins.” You think it’s haunted as well but you don’t tell Charles that.

Pushing open a door with your back, you bring Charles to the very edge of your mother’s garden. A quaint pond sits off to the side, hidden from view.

Once the two of you are settled atop of your blanket with food in your hands, you ask, “Is this the season you intend on finding a wife?”

Charles chokes on his sandwich. You jerk back, nearly dropping your own due to his coughing fit. He thumps at his chest a few times before clearing his throat. With watery eyes and a raw voice, he says, “No. It is not the right time yet.”

Charles is twenty two to your twenty. He is considered young in a way you are not granted. Envy begins to drip into you but you quickly cauterize the entry point of it. The freedom you long for is no fault of Charles.

“You do love your dalliances,” you agree teasingly.

Embarrassment scalds his face to a deep red. You are confident if you were to hold your hand up an inch from his cheek, you would feel the residual heat.

He splutters, unable to form a string of words in defense for himself.

You laugh loudly. His reputation as a rake has preceded him. You don’t think it to be as scandalous as higher society wishes to believe but there must be some kernel of truth mixed in with the rumors. Despite the rumors circulation, it certainly hasn’t affected his value on the marriage market.

“I don’t—“ Charles presses his lips together and sighs. “Okay, that is true. To an extent.”

“Oh, is it now?”

He throws a piece of carrot at you. The red in his cheeks is receding but not by much. “I’m young,” he defends. “And I am trying to be patient for her sake. Or else, I would already have a betrothal in the works by now.”

Your ears perk up. “There is someone you wish to wed?” you repeat excitedly. He has not mentioned anyone in particular to you but perhaps they are someone he wishes to keep close to his heart until the match is secured. While so far none of your letters to each other have been placed into the wrong hands, some subjects are too delicate to risk the chance.

Charles looks off to the distance and then back to you. A crumb rests on the corner of his mouth and the casualness of it is at odds with the severity that pinches his face. “Yes.”

“Do they know of your intentions?” You try to think back on if Charles has accidentally hinted at someone being in the picture but you are drawing a blank.

He scoffs. He sounds almost bitter but when you look at him, the purse of his lips is closer to self-deprecating. “Not in the slightest. She would run in the other direction if she knew.”

“Oh please, you are a prince,” you say, exasperated. “You will be hard pressed to find a woman who wouldn’t swoon at a proposal from you.”

“You would be surprised.”

You knock your shoulder against his. Many dream of becoming a part of the royal family and romanticize it to an extreme degree. The insight Charles has given you over the years has proven it is anything but and you do not envy the women who will find themselves by the Leclerc’s sides.

“I am surprised. Besides being a prince, you’re charming too,” you say thoughtfully.

“And handsome.”

“And handsome,” you agree much to his delight.

“See? I knew it. I knew you thought this as well.”

“So then you understand why I think it is absurd you are so hesitant. You’ve always been brave. But maybe that is a testament to how fond you are of her.” You will have to make sure to keep a careful eye on who captures Charles’ attention at the ball. Perhaps, you may even need to deploy Arthur to gather some intel.

“I am very fond,” he says softly.

You look up at him to find his eyes already trained on you. Unease weaves itself through you, opening a pit in your belly. But you ignore it. “Hopefully, you will invite me to the wedding.”

He is silent for a long enough time that you fear you’ve overstepped some boundary you weren’t aware was in place. Before you can apologize, Charles brings his hand up. For a moment, you think he will lay his hand against your cheek and you begin to move away. But he merely picks a stray rose petal that has somehow found flight in the wind and tangled itself in your hair.

Whatever look is on your face softens him and the intensity radiating from him peters off into something less stifling. He leans back and examines the petal in his hand. It’s ruby red and faintly fragrant. It seems to center him for Charles says to you, “Save me a dance?”

Your answer is an easy, “Of course, Your Highness.”

Seven short days later, you find yourself in Charles’ home. The ballroom is stunning but its beauty cannot take away the nerves that have overtaken you. Your bones feel soft and weak and you fear you won’t have the strength to stand in front of the Queen. You long to hold your mother’s arm, clinging to her as a child once more, but you force yourself to take each step into the ballroom by yourself. You take a cursory look around, relief overlaying your anxiety at how many other nervous debutantes there are. Your anxiety is fully extinguished once you see Charles chatting with who you believe is Pierre. As if sensing your attention, he slowly turns to your direction and finds you almost instantly.

You give him a mockery of a curtsy.

He gives you a wink.

And so, your debut comes and goes with Charles dominating your dance card. Arthur manages to sneak himself on there as well as Pierre but other than the Leclerc brothers, Pierre, and a few others, your dance card is barren of any of the men your father hoped to potentially marry you off to.

A sticky sort of relief coats your lungs at managing to delay the inevitable for a while longer.

“Last night would have been awful if not for you. Thank you.”

You must head back to your home this afternoon but somehow, you have managed to carve out some time after breakfast to sneak away to say your goodbyes. It took the length of one dance to convince Charles to abandon his duties to allow you to say goodbye. It makes you think perhaps it is a good thing Charles was not the first born.

The glances you keep taking over your shoulder are more instinctual than anything. According to him, this part of the castle is secluded.

“I am indebted to you.”

Charles puts a hand on the ledge to lean forward until he’s all you can see. This close, you can the brown ring around his irises. He studies you, studies how you can’t help but sneak a peek at his mouth, and hums.

“I’ll be sure to collect my debt then.”

You enter your twenty fourth year with no prospects in sight. It horrifies your father.

You have become accustomed to it. The disappointment used to sit bitterly in your stomach but now you’re able to set it aside and put acceptance in its place. You’ve joined your younger cousin for her debut as her chaperone. The castle is as you remember it and so you’re able to impart onto her the two places she can go to for a breather if the chance arises and is needed.

She’s already danced with three gentlemen when she makes her way back to your side. You almost shoo her away but she grabs at you insistently. “The Prince is looking at you,” Sarish whispers.

“He’s probably looking at you,” you whisper back, distracted. You’re tempted to rip your bracelet from the thread it’s caught upon but with your luck, you’ll end up unraveling a good portion of the delicate seam work your mother labored over.

“No, he is not. Look,” she says urgently.

To appease her, you look around until you find one of the younger Leclerc brothers. Arthur has been coerced into a dance with another young woman but Charles remains off to the side. As Sarish says, he is looking at you.

He raises his champagne flute to you, earning the attention of those around him as he does. People crane their neck to see who has caught the eye of the ever elusive Prince Charles Leclerc.

Thankfully, the ballroom is so full, it is impossible to pick out who Charles motioned towards. You have learned to be grateful for the little things and that does not stop now.

“See!”

“I see,” you say through gritted teeth. “Oh look, more gentlemen are coming.” And then you leave your cousin to the swarm of men coming her way because while you are a chaperone, you never promised to be a good one.

It is surprisingly easy to escape to the backyard. Fleetingly, you think they should have more guards around but the lack of them works out in your favor.

You head towards the fountain a few feet away. The gentle lapping of the water soothes you and you take a fortifying breath. Charles can afford to be reckless but you cannot.

Gravel crunches beneath someone’s feet behind you and you whirl around, a hand to your heart. But you find that it is only Charles.

“I hear another betrothal is in the works for you,” Charles says after the silence stretches on for a moment too long. He adjusts his cuff links, smile thin and eyes devoid of all feeling.

You cast a wary glance over his shoulder. The party is in full swing and the guests haven’t quite yet begun to trickle into the backyard. “You called me out here to speak to me about rumors?” you ask doubtfully. Your father, a greedy man with an even greedier extended family, has been anguishing over your lack of proposals. The few courtships you’ve had have extinguished before they could get off the ground. And it is not for a lack of trying on your behalf either. Marriage may not excite you but you see its practicality. It helps that marriage will mean you are no longer be under your father’s thumb and beholden to his politics.

As the months drag and your various suitor’s indecision remains, your father’s hopes at finding a match lessened until he’s now grasping at straws.

“Your father has sent a letter to Carlos,” Charles informs you in a tight voice. “Expressing his interest in potentially being a foothold for the Sainz in Monaco.”

You close your eyes, cursing your father. He must truly be desperate if he thinks to weaponize his little influence to sway an outsider. “The Sainz are a smart family. They will not entertain such a clumsy scheme.”

The gravel shifts underneath his shoes. “Do not worry. I am the only one who saw the letter and I do not think your father so stupid as to think he can insert himself into matters such as this. Desperate, yes, but not stupid.”

The ironclad grip on your heart releases. “Thank you.”

“You have met Carlos though.”

He does not frame it as a question but you answer it like one anyway.

“Yes.” It had been a peculiar week when the Duke’s son found himself at your family home. An accident you still find hard to believe. You smile at the memory.

Charles grinds his teeth. “He is considering making his own offer for your hand.”

That stops you short. “What?”

“He sent the letter before your father’s arrived. The Duke was kind enough to inform me of your father’s…lapse in judgment. He also let me know of his son’s intentions.”

You did not think you left such an impression on Carlos but alas, maybe your luck is looking upwards for once. You cannot control the grin that graces your mouth at this information. If you must marry, you suppose he is a fine choice for a husband. He is certainly someone you know you can come to love and it would be far from a chore to do so. “I see,” you say diplomatically.

“Will you marry anyone then?”

His tone is disapproving and it immediately makes your hackles rise. Charles is a second prince and with his nephew’s arrival, he is no longer considered the spare. He is free to choose who he wants rather than what is good for the nation. Surely nothing holds him back from marrying the girl he loves he mentioned just a scant four years ago.

“I will marry anyone my father finds suitable,” you correct coolly. “It seems you forget my station.”

He rubs his mouth angrily. “Why haven’t you considered me?”

One second you are capable of breath and in the next, you feel as if your lungs have been compressed. The corset is much too tight and there is a sudden lack of air.

“Pardon?”

Charles steps towards you. A perverse sort of torment crosses his face. “Have you not thought of me as I have thought of you?” Another step. “Not even once?”

You must not hide your expression quick enough for his eyes light up. “Charles,” you say with a touch of warning.

“You must have,” he decides, advancing forward. A pleased smile stretches across his mouth.

“If I have, it was fleeting,” you say, taking an equal step back. “I do not dare to wish for more than I can be granted.”

“But you can be granted me.”

“But I don’t wish to be a part of your family, Charles.” Your head is spinning. “I am ill suited. I cannot be your wife. I cannot handle those expectations with grace, Charles.”

“And I cannot bear to be without you,” he interrupts desperately. “I tire of waiting. I tire of waiting for you to come to your senses.” He says your name, a longing whisper on his lips. “I tire of you refusing me.”

Your blood turns to ice. There is a brief swoop of your stomach as you take another step back from Charles. The back of your heels hit the fountain and you nearly buckle backwards.

“I think you should go inside now, Your Highness,” you say, voice caught in the back of your throat.

Charles has no care for your personal space and neither your propriety for he comes closer. He cups your cheek with a too warm hand despite your flinch. This point of contact is damning. “Why would I do that?”

“Charles, I don’t have a chaperone.” The music is winding down and perhaps that is why your heartbeat sounds deafening in your ears. It will be no time at all before the guests begin to trickle out to enjoy the night air.

If Charles will not course correct, you will. You have every intention of slipping off and fueling a different type of rumor but Charles doesn’t move out of your way. Instead, his thumb rubs across your bottom lip with reverence. His touch anchors you to your spot.

Dread runs sluggishly through your veins when his eyes trail down your face. You are beginning to understand that there is only one way this night will end. And you are a fool for not realizing it the moment Charles stepped foot in this courtyard.

Your ankle scrapes against a sharp edge on the fountain, reminding you of your place. You have nowhere to go and nowhere to hide from Charles. He’s set the trap and you’ve found yourself a willing participant in your demise.

“You haven’t had a chaperone with me for years, my lady,” he points out softly. “Must you start now?”

Charles doesn’t wait for an answer.

For all of Charles’ gentle appearance, he kisses you like he’s starved. He dips you slightly, placing his other hand flat against the small of your back for stability. Without his foresight, you might’ve taken you both into the fountain.

Your hands weakly push at his chest but he pays no mind. Instead, he deepens the kiss. Scandalized does not cover what you feel when his tongue slips past the seam of your mouth.

A gasp is what allows you to pull away from Charles. Shock still clings to you, making your limbs stiff and your reaction delayed. His hand cradles your face even as you turn your head ever so slightly to gauge the damage.

And with the multiple pairs of eyes staring back at you, all with varying degrees of incredulity, you know there is no way for you to sweep this under the rug.

He gently turns your face back to him. A satisfied smile rests upon his mouth. Victory lurks behind his smile as he says, “Spring is a lovely time for a wedding, mon amour.”

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

#charles leclerc #Charles Leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #Charles leclerc imagine #soft dark!charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #x reader #dark fic #writing: charles leclerc

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leclercskiesahead · 3 months

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Thank you admin for this never seen before view of their hair

#carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc #scuderia ferrari #charlos #c2 #c square #monza 2023 #f1 #also the way you can make out the hairiness difference of their arms even from here #and Carlos’ bracelets #also you can see the darkness of their hairs #Charles’ medium brown still throws some light off #meanwhile carlos’ hair is so dark it’s absorbing so much light that even the highlights are muted

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st-sainz · 1 month

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she ate with this concept here

bonus

i hope they dont get mad at me for screeshotting them but feel free to contact me if youre the acc and want this post deleted

#maturing is embracing carlos villain narrative as his essential anti hero lore #il diavolo rosso? iconic of you ask me #something abt the duality of him and charles reflecting what the collective decides or see of whats good/evil or light/dark #“religious symbolism” is “religious symbolisming” all over them #i dind blur the op @ cause honestly credits to ger for having the vision #charlos #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #australia 2024

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norrisleclercf1 · 1 month

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I absolutelly love your writing and I love your Mafia Charles!!!

I want to request more of Mafia Charles, with whatever plot you want!!

Love from Brazil!

A/N: Feeding the children @mariahcarreyyy @piastrification @leclerced even though you all turned on me

WARNING: Knife, Blood, Death, all that fun stuff in the world

If there was one thing in the world that you wanted right now, it'd be a knife. Anyone else would say a phone, their boyfriend, hell maybe even gun, but you? No you wanted a knife so you could slash the bastards throat before you.

It was supposed to be a quiet day, where you and your very gorgeous boyfriend would just lounge around. Instead, when you went downstairs to get the food you're knocked out and then dragged to god knows where in the middle of fucking nowhere. It'd be pretty hard to keep you in Monaco, you were either in fuck middle France or Italy.

Honestly you didn't care, you were just pissed that you couldn't eat your pasta and then fuck your boyfriend. You roll your eyes thinking about what he must be going through. Charles, was probably tearing apart Monaco looking for you and Max, Carlos, and Pierre maybe even Lando would have to be calming him down right now.

Your head snaps up when the large door rolls open, eyes narrowing you try not to swallow the wad of cloth in your mouth, tap covering it so you couldn't easily spit it out. Hating this sand paper feeling in your mouth you tried not to think about the wine you were drinking earlier as you were just getting far more annoyed as the time passed.

"Wake up," Your head whips to the side so hard and fast your eyes could spin in your head. Trying to gather your ground you blink quickly but nothing helps until your hair is grabbed and forces your neck backwards at an awkward angle as you face one of the men that have taken you.

"I wonder, would he pay quicker if I bloodied you up a bit? I think he would," The man groans and you flinch at the hot breath wanting to gag but clearly, you couldn't. "Mark! Leave the girl alone, he'll take out heads if we hurt her," The other man snaps, Mark, growls and shoves you, chair going toppling and you whimper hearing a sick crack from one of your wrists.

You were going to cut that one like a fish.

---------------------

You were taught at a young age that closing your eyes and deep breathing would help you sleep, and at this moment that was what you were trying to do. You slowed your breathing down impressively, almost making it look like you weren't breathing.

"Hey, I don't think she's breathing!" The other one screams, you hear the one named Mark scuff. "Who cares, we'll just dump her body to him when we get the money." "Mark!" Groaning the guy gets up, you try hard not to breath in relief when you feel your wrists get cut loose and then your feet.

"Take the gag off," You wince unable to stop it when the tape is ripped off and your mouth pried open and the cloth taken out. You try to swallow but can't still having to play dead. "Fucking bitch, she better not have died." You feel something sharp poke you.

Snapping your eyes open you swing your leg out, Mark screams and you grab the knife and move, shoving it deep into the unnamed man before you. You hate the sound of men choking on blood, they sound pathetic. Grabbing the gun you cock it and point it Mark whose glaring at you, but starts to smirk sickly at you.

"Little girl, I suggest you put the gun down before you hurt yourself." "Fuck you, pussy." You don't even blink as you shoot the gun, almost blowing the guys head off as you sigh. "How long you been there?" You ask, seeing Charles leaning against the door smiling.

"Since you arrived here, was seeing how long it'd take you to escape, but I wasn't expecting this. This," He looks around and smirks, playing with the rings on his fingers. "was much hotter." You drop the gun and step over the bodies. Some of your blood and their blood on your clothes.

Charles stares at you with such hunger and want you almost jump him right then and there. "I think they broke my wrist," You admit, finally feeling the pain as the adrenaline starts to leave your body, making you shaky and tired. His eyes narrow and his delicate fingers grab and hiss seeing the ugly purple and black surrounding it.

"Fuckers, lucky they're dead." He curses and places a soft kiss on the wrist before looking over you. "Come, let's get you home." "How far is home?" You ask, not wanting the long drive back to Monaco. "Oh, 5 minutes, they're not really bright." Charles tsks and you stop in your tracks.

Max was never going to let you live this one down.

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buckyhad · 8 months

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Sweet dreams

Pairing: Dark!Max Verstappen ft reader ft Dark!Lando Norris

Warning: Somnophilia, cnc turning to nc, smut

————————————————————————

Max was an amazing boyfriend, sweet, caring, and he was so pretty it makes you want to try so many different things.

Like that time you read a book and the next thing you knew, your hands were tied behind your back while he fucked your brain out.

That takes us to the article you read this morning, something about somnophilia that catched your attention so bad you couldn't wait to talk to Max about it.

"Max?" You said.

"Yes?"

"I was reading something before and I found this thing that I really want to try tonight".

After talking to him about it, he was inmediatly on board, fucking you while you slept? He had dream about it so many times he lost count.

————————————————————————

You were finally asleep, chest lifting and falling slowly, calm while on your stomach with your leg up. Giving your boyfriend easy access to your pussy to that thing you've wanted to try all day.

His fingers started to caress your leg slowly, fingertips bussing with excitment.

He couldn't wait to have his dick buried inside your tight cunt, he could already feel the warm around him.

He moved your little lace panty to the side, fingers touching your folds. He picked your face to see your reaction, a little sigh leaving your mouth.

He licked his finger before pushing two slowly in. Shuddering at the feeling.

After hearing you moan he just couldnt resist anymore, wetting his tip with your arousal, pushing in slowly, pausing to breathe and not come right at that moment.

"See? I told you you would feel better" Max chuckled to Lando while touching your cheek, fisting his cock watching his friend fuck you.

————————————————————————

"You are so annoying today whats wrong with you" Max said pushing Lando's shoulder.

"Nothing, stop bothering me" the brit whined.

"There's something c'mon tell me" Max pushed.

"Fine, I haven't get laid in like forever and my hand its not fucking enough and-" Lando started babbling

"Don't laugh, that's why I didn't want to tell you".

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I think I've a way to help you".

"I'm not fucking you".

"No mate, but you can fuck my girlfriend".

————————————————————————

"You really went for it last night, all my body ache" you laughed while hugging him.

Max chuckled still looking at the tv "Yeah, I was really excited".

————————————————————————

A/N: hey loves, finally here, didn't proof-read it so any mistakes feel free to tell me, lots of love.

#lando norris smut #max verstappen smut #carlos sainz smut #pierre gasly smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #f1 fanfic #lando norris x you #charles leclerc smut #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x reader #dark!max verstappen #dark!lando norris

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tommydarlings · 6 months

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Now available to read on my Patreon and tomorrow available to read here on tumblr! <3

(based off of this request!)

PATREON MASTERLIST!

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rene-spade · 19 days

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miss louisiana i | c. leclerc, a. saint mleux | chase landry

poly! | fem! reader x obsessive! exes! charles leclerc, alexandra saint mleux (+chase landry and f1 grid)

synopsis. your obsessive exes refuse to accept your new relationship with a man completely different from them. maybe they should move to louisiana? jk!. . . unless?

note. ok so reader is from louisiana and has cajun roots for context. chase landry is from swamp people 😭✌️ I loved that show when I was younger & I rewatched some recently and it reignited my crush on him sorry

WARNING(s); obsessive/possessive behavior, toxic/creepy exes (I make is as fluffy as I can tho trust), ooc Alex and Charles being a rich and out of touch, a spec of classism, stalking oops, (everyone Loves you)

miss.y/n📍belle river, la

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, jacoblandry, carlossainz55, and 1,006,349 others

miss.y/n back where I belong ☀️🌷🐊🐝🐍🌿🐠

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mariene.y/l/n be safe in the water my baby 🤗

miss.y/n yes maman 🤞😊 you know I’m protected

user oop who’s protecting you miss ma’am

user omgggg how did Charles n Alex fumble so baddd 😩😩🙏 I’ve needed y/n’s cajun french baddie ass since DAY ONE 🗣️

charles_leclerc so beautiful mon ange 😍 but that water is dark and might be dangerous. ta maman a raison!

see translation | your mom is right

user stopp didn’t y/n break things off with them???

user2 currently losing it my fav throuple might be back 💪🗣️

carlossainz55 hope you’re doing well mi dulce ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux yeah no this isn’t happening

user carlos sweetie delete this comment while you still have hands <3

user SHE’S BACK IN LOUISIANA RAHH

user2 how did I not know she was from the middle of nowhere 😭 what is pierre part??

user3 how didn’t you know!!! her dad literally used to hunt alligator before he died and her mom remarried and moved back to France . Her dad was cajun

user this might be a reach but y’all think she knows anybody from swamp people? Love that show 🤣🤣

liked by miss.y/n

♤ ♤ ♤

Alex’s leg bounced up and down nervously as her call went to voicemail for the 7th time in a row. She’d been calling your phone nonstop since hearing the news, anxious to know if it was true or not. It was always something that ate at her; her and Charles’ inability to relate to your childhood in Louisiana. They’d grown up among a higher class than you and in foreign countries. You would just giggle and wave off her concerns, insisting that even though they couldn’t understand your upbringing, that at least you could understand theirs.

“No answer.” She muttered, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. It was a habit she’d had as a child, one that you disapproved of and had trained out of her before you left them.

“She left us for a swamp man.” Charles pathetically finished Alex’s thought as they sat in his car, waiting to meet some other drivers and wags at the high-end restaurant Carlos chose.

“Don’t say it like that!” Alexandra turned her body towards the passenger window, “She didn’t leave us— not in that way! I told you she was homesick!”

Your father was a Cajun man who definitely took his culture to heart, doing a lot of hunting and fishing before he passed away suddenly when you were 12. Your mother was from France originally, and she remarried a rich Frenchman who’d ended up funding your modeling career after your success in pageantry. You moved straight to France at age 14 and found yourself in a completely different culture from how you grew up. You’d visited France before during summers with your mother, but it wasn’t home to you like Louisiana. You’d met Alexandra when the two of you were 19, and instantly bonded. Despite only really meeting briefly, it was love at first sight on Alex’s part and she supported you all the way to when you won Miss Universe after starting out Miss Louisiana.

When Charles had come along and had the same feelings that she did for you, it felt perfect, like everything had finally come together.

“With us is her home.” Charles replied, sucking his teeth.

“I can’t even—” Alex didn’t have to finish, the two had the same thought. They can’t even fathom the idea that you were with someone else.

Daniel was practically cackling in joy while Carlos at least tried to hide his amusement by covering his face. It was no secret that most of the f1 grid was praying for you to leave Charles/Alex so they could get a chance— but this wasn’t what they were expecting.

Bickering around the table ensued, only a few seconds before Alex was rolling her eyes with a groan and putting her face in her hands, “He doesn’t have any recent social media so I can’t even stalk him.”

“So we will just go there!”

“And what? Become swamp people?” Daniel was laughing so hard he was tearing up.

“Cha, that’s so ridiculous.” Alex mumbled.

“It is—!” Kika agreed suspiciously fast, “I just mean the split was recent, so maybe me and Pierre should visit her before you guys?” It’d only been a few months, but that had been enough to drive Charles and Alex a bit off the rails.

They’d only ever been apart from you for just over two days in the last year, up until you ghosted them. Well— it wasn’t technically ghosting when you left a note; a very brief letter in your familiar handwriting that told them you needed some space. They didn’t take it as a break up, although they did panic. Their numbers weren’t blocked, so they naturally took that as a good sign. This was probably because you wanted their attention since all their calls and messages were going through. The finality of it didn’t hit until it reached two weeks of no-contact from you and their photos were removed from your Instagram. The public noticed and so did the rest of the grid despite Alex and Charles’ now 3-month-long denial stage.

“le lieu s'appelle Pierre Part, yeah?” Pierre grinned and Charles sneered at him. (the place is called pierre part)

“They might have a point,” Daniel winced with a wide grin, “I think you’ll just look crazy if you show up. At least, one of us would just look like a friend who misses her, ya know?”

“None of you are visiting our girlfriend!” Alex frowned.

“Ex,” Carlos gently corrected into his fist with a cough before straightening up, “She jus’ is homesick maybe so give her some space and she will come back in no time.”

“I knew this would happen.” Alex slumped with her chin in her hand, “cet endroit est sa maison.” (that place is her home)

“You’ve never heard ‘if you love something, let it go’? If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back.” Daniel tried to reassure, but his face was almost a wince.

“We just wanted her close to us is all! We travel so much, we didn’t mean to take her away from her home—”

But Daniel gave them a look, knowing about their behavior with you. As in love with you as they are, Alex and Charles are intense about it. Endearing on one hand for awhile, but then the jealousy got worse and they were pretty delusional about their tendencies. He could understand it honestly— you were lovely. He imagined he’d be in the same state as Alex and Charles if you were his and you left him. Which is why he cut them so much slack, the rest of the table too.

“I don’t understand why she ran away like that!” Charles finished with a huff, running his fingers through his hair. He was starting to sweat. This felt like a cruel joke on your part— a mean way to get their attention.

“His ears are a little big.” Alex whispered, staring into her phone with a pout.

“et cela! regarde nos oreilles!” (and that! look at our ears!)

Pierre lost it at that; Charles pulling at his ears to make a point, “Maybe he’s just a nice guy, man!”

“We are nice!”

“Let me see.” Carlos walked around the table to see Alex’s phone.

She’d googled the name of your alleged new boyfriend— Chase Landry. He had starred on some Southern US reality show ‘Swamp People’; it mainly surrounded cajun alligator hunters in Louisiana. They had known you liked the show, but had never seen it themselves.

“Eh,” Carlos shrugged, “his ears aren’t that big. He is a little old for her though, no? 34?”

“Exactly! He is a pervert! I’m calling her again, actually.”

♤ ♤ ♤

miss.y/n 📍pierre part, la

liked by jacoblandry, carlossainz55, francisca.cgomes, danielricciardo, and 1,014,108 others

miss.y/n me and my dirty swamp man foreva 🤞💛🌷🦆

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user STOPPP SHE SAID THAT’S MY MAN N IMMA STICK BY HIMMMM

user2 stfu 😭✋ the fact that this man most likely has no idea that this is going on

user3 his brother liking her posts and filling him in

miss.y/n jokes on y’all Jacob doesn’t know what’s going on either

bellahadid beautiful lily faery and her dirty swamp bf <3

miss.y/n <3 literally

user BELLA⁉️

arthur_leclerc beautiful view of the water, ma sœur!

see translation | my sister

user THEY SENT Y/NS FAVORITE LECLERC BROTHER IN TO PLAY DAMAGE CONTROL

user2 not “my sister” 😭😭😭 leclercs let her go challenge

user y/n’s harem coming to her defense like the mighty morphin power rangers 😭😂🤣

this is part 1 of perhaps 3. I plan on making part 2 much longer and more writing than social media like this one, just for some balanceee

taglist; @alliwantisadonut @splaterparty0-0 @charizznorizz

Ren

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #dark! f1 #f1 grid x reader #obsessive f1 #charles leclerc x reader #poly f1 #f1 oc #obsessive charles leclerc #ex! charles leclerc #Charles leclerc fic #carlos sainz x reader #alex saint mleux x reader #alexandra saint mleux #f1 reverse harem #swamp people x reader #chase landry x reader

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