#emilia romagna grand prix | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

il-miele-che-scrive · 3 months

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Please have your asks open okay so hear me out

Charles Leclerc x Greek ! F1 driver ! Reader

You can choose the brand anything Ferrari because I want it to be like a little rivalry to lovers . Social media au or not . Reader being in f1 more time than Charles or Charles with rookie reader .

Thank you in advance

Hello!! I decided to go with rookie reader, hoping you'll like it❤️🙏

scuderiaferrari We are thrilled to announce a historic moment in Formula 1 as we welcome Y/n Y/l/n to our racing family! 🚀 Introducing Y/n Y/l/n, the first woman to compete in F1 since the iconic Lella Lombardi in 1976, and proudly representing Greece! 🇬🇷 Teaming up with our Charles Leclerc, Y/n brings a fresh wave of skill, determination and passion to the track. Together they'll conquer the 2024 season with the iconic Prancing Horse🐎

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yourusername I feel extremely honored to become a part of this family❤️

username1 Miss girl has no idea what she signed up for 💀 wishing her all the best tho

username2 A GIRL, GUYS WE FINALLY GOT A GIRL IN F1

username3 I have a bad feeling about this...

↳username1 wtf? care to explain?

username3 By the summer break she'll have hooked up with half the grid

username1 bye I'm not even participating in this conversation, misogynistic brain rot

carlossainz55 Goodluck @/yourusername 💪

↳yourusername Thank you Carlos 🙏

↳username4 Help why does his comment seem kinda salty

username2 wdym salty lol he literally wished her goodluck

username5 I get him tho, a girl stole his seat

username2 what "stealing" are you talking about? his contract expired, they didn't prolong it and went with some fresh blood that happened to be a woman, not to mention you have to be like the best of the best to get into F1, there was def no stealing done

charles_leclerc Exciting times ahead, let's see if you can keep up

↳yourusername Buckle up 🤠

↳username2 now THAT'S what I'd call a salty comment

username5 Charles forgot they're on the same team lol

achi_of_greece Hellenic Hurricane 🌪

↳yourusername I'll never escape from this nickname will I? 🫶

↳username1 NOT Y/N HAVING LITERAL ROYALTY UNDER A POST ABOUT HER

↳username3 Let's see if the hellenic hurricane can keep up with Lighting McQueen

username4 keep up? 🤡 miss girl will beat his ass up

username5 once again, i kindly remind, they are a TEAM!

lewishamilton History in the making

↳yourusername Omg sir Lewis Hamilton I'm gonna cry 🥹

username1 Y/n being a fangirl just like us

username4 she's so real for this frfr

oscarpiastri Finally🥴it was a bit lonely

↳yourusername Hi f2 bestie 🫶

logansargeant What about me

yourusername you know Oscar and I love you!!

f1 A historic day at the Imola Circuit as Y/n Y/l/n, the Hellenic Hurricane, wins the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix! Congratulations to Y/n and the entire Ferrari team for this outstanding performance.

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yourusername A dream come true honestly 😭🙏

↳carlossainz55 Great job👏

↳lewishamilton So proud

↳username4 Someone explain why the 7 (8)times WC and Charles' ex teammate are more supportive than Charles himself

username2 I think it might be an ego thing? He could be jealous? Personally I think it's Ferrari's fault, they kinda messed up the friendship between CL and CS too at the end

username5 yeah Y/n is definitely the 'favorite child' to Ferrari because she's new and they want to focus more on her or smth

maxverstappen1 Well deserved

↳yourusername THANK YOU MAX

↳username6 Why is Max here and Charles is not😭

username1 A GIRL. IN FERRARI. WINNING IN ITALY. I WASN'T READY FOR THIS

username2 The haters are pretty quiet rn

username4 No cuz I was gonna ask if she found a therapist yet... But she might not need it

username6 Excuse me it's been a few weeks and we get a Y/n win already?? I love it here

landonorris Max Verstappen is screaming crying throwing up

↳maxverstappen1 I'm literally not

landonorris You must admit it was refreshing not having to listen to the Dutch anthem again

oscarpiastri Best rookie fr

↳yourusername I learn from the best (even though you didn't have a win in your rookie year)

oscarpiastri Wdym i didn't, i won sprint in Qatar. Not to mention rookie of the year

yourusername Yeah yeah, stop flexing pookie

logansargeant Go bestie

↳yourusername Can't fvck with these hoes cuz they messy 💅

username7 live laugh love Y/n

username1 the Verstappen curse has ended🙏

↳username3 you know it's probs her first and last victory in F1 right?

username1 I just wonder why is Charles so quiet

charles_leclerc Congrats 👍

↳username7 not Charles commenting after people started to wonder why he didn't say anything 😭

↳yourusername How did you enjoy looking at the back of my car? Oh wait, you couldn't even see it from P8

username1 maybe it was better when Charles didn't comment 💀

username3 if that was how my teammate talks to me I'd be pissed too

username1 if this is angrily my name is Ayrton Senna

username2 pls if he was angry, it was only cuz he's in love with her but can't do anything about it

↳username3 he can, they're both single, if he wanted he would've, but he knows they have to keep it professional

username2 that's why I said he can't do anything, literally. i predict a relationship the moment one of them leaves ferrari (or f1 in general)

username4 dude is so in love it's embarrassing

username5 I just know he's thinking about unholy things

↳username7 angry sex lmao imagine

username6 oh to have someone who'll look at me the same way Charles looks at Y/n

username7 okay so my theory is they're attracted to each other okay? but neither of them can talk about emotions, but they tried to have a talk about it, which turned into an argument cuz both are short tempered pookies

↳username3 this is so delusional 🤡 why would they talk about it in that exact moment?

username7 let a girl fantasize

↳username5 quietly manifesting this to be true

↳username2 I'll never believe in true love if this doesn't turn out to be real

username8 No cuz hear me out guys. The LONGING gaze in the second picture? There is chemistry between them whether they admit it or not

↳username6 I totally see it, that is the stare of a man in love with the woman he's just argued with. Look at him. He doesn't look angry. He looks upset. Why? Because they had this argument and didn't make up. Now he's worried they'll get in the cars and something bad will happen either to him or Y/n and... You can imagine how the rest goes

username3 And i thought the previous person was delulu wtf

username9 I can die happily the day I see CharlesY/n happen

↳username7 be careful what you wish for, I feel like it can happen sooner than we'd expect

username10 I need to know HOW didn't Y/n fold after being looked at like this

username11 My friend went to Monaco for the GP and she has a paddock pass, she told me she overheard Y/n talk to some girl from her team that she liked Charles AND they even had "THE talk"™ (which could mean they did "IT"?), but Y/n can't imagine a relationship with him

↳username3 out of all the things that didn't happen, this didn't happen the most

↳username1 I can see that, they're very similar - competitive, short tempered - each of them is like a ticking bomb alone, so in a romantic relationship they would be truly a nuclear weapon (which doesn't mean I don't want it to happen)

yourusername A great day for some karting 🥴 summer break!

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username1 did I gaslight myself that hard or she's really in the number 16?

↳username5 nah, I see that too

↳username2 girlie giving us hints, is it soft launching yet?

username2 16 I'M SCREAMING

username4 enemies to lovers?

↳username3 when were they enemies?

username4 well they never seemed very fond of each other

username3 then just say rivals 💀

charles_leclerc You forgot to mention I won this time

↳yourusername first and last time you got a higher place than me

username4 I can see them having "the winner gets to be on top" kinda bets

↳landonorris 👀

username1 LANDO KNOWS SOMETHING

username11 i told yall, there's too much tension between Y/n and Charles to not be AT LEAST fuck buddies

oscarpiastri What's the longest you can go without being on track?

↳yourusername Mate as I'm writing this I'm waiting for a plane home, won't sit behind the wheel for like a week or more 😭

↳username2 Y/n is dedicated to her job

yourusername είσαι η αγάπη μου❤️🤍

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username1 the red and white hearts?? just saying but they're colors of the Monaco flag

↳username2 and the guy lowkey looks like Charles🤔

username3 looks like Charles? The best you can see is the back of his head

username2 and it looks exactly like Charles' 😌

francisca.cgomes Where credits for the last pic?

↳username4 KIKA WHAT ARE U DOING HERE

↳yourusername Pierre said not to tag either of you 😭 safety reasons or something 🙄

username4 AND PIERRE IS THERE?

username3 Okay, she's in a relationship, y'all can stop shipping Charles with her

↳username5 wdym 💀 this is literally Charles

username3 And y'all say that based on the back of his head, delusional

oscarpiastri @/landonorris and I want an invitation next time

↳yourusername Sorry pookie, it's not for kids

landonorris I'm not a kid

yourusername Then don't act like one

username5 lmao Ferrari had no idea they're getting a sassy queen

username6 Y/n is in love 🥹

↳username2 She's winning, she's in love, what else could a girl want?

username7 Not the soft launch as if we didn't know it's literally her teammate

username1 WHAT.

username2 I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU.

username3 You know it's totally normal for friends to hang out? I'd take it as they finally made up

↳username2 UP OR OUT

↳username4 they totally look like just friends, sure😐

username5 IN HER HOMETOWN 😭 HE MET HER FAMILY

↳username7 I'm super curious how it went. "Mom, dad, this is Charles my teammate, I hate his guts. Oh, and we're also lovers"

username6 So where is the person who said they can die happily when CharlesY/n turns out to be real?

↳username2 dead probs lmao

username7 The power couple we needed 😭

username8 imagine their PR team lurking onto gossip pages seeing this

↳username1 I know FOR A FACT that the pr people do look at the gossip accounts

username9 Y'all remember how once someone said Y/n will hook up with half the grid? Staring with the teammate is easy, let's see who'll be next

↳username3 Yeah, I'm so surprised it didn't happen earlier

↳username2 stay mad lol Y/n is living her best life with the man she loves

username5 THIS and it doesn't matter that they met through being on the same team

username6 They knew each other before tho! Y/n used to be friends with Arthur, so she def met Charles in the past

username3 Oh so she tried to get with Arthur but because it didn't work out she went for Charles?

username6 That's literally not what I said. She was friends with Arthur. FRIENDS

username3 You know there's no such thing as friendship between a man and a woman?

username6 look at who is delulu now 🤡 I'm not having this conversation

charles_leclerc Partners on and off the track

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username1 Man literally said fuck a soft launch 😭

↳username2 as he should! we've been dying for them to announce it

yourusername Je t'aime 🩷

↳charles_leclerc Je t'aime avec tes défauts et tes qualités

yourusername EXCUSE ME

yourusername DO YOU THINK I CANT USE TRANSLATOR?

yourusername WHAT "DÉFAUTS" YOU MEAN? I HAVE NO DÉFAUTS

charles_leclerc That's adorable ❤️

pierregasly Remind me, who took the first photo? 🤔

↳yourusername Kika did 🫶 @/francisca.cgomes

francisca.cgomes First and foremost I am the biggest CharlesY/n fan

pierregasly But you took the pic with my phone, I am the author just as much 🙄

francisca.cgomes No❤️

landonorris OH

landonorris I thought you won't have the balls to hard launch

↳yourusername The balls are there indeed

yourusername And more

landonorris EWWWW TMI

yourusername 😐

landonorris exactly my face rn

oscarpiastri So that's why Lando and I weren't invited

↳yourusername It's a couples trip 🤷‍♀️ there wasn't space for the Aussie and his emotional support extrovert

oscarpiastri fuck Lando, what about the Aussie and his GIRLFRIEND?

oscarpiastri Because I do have a girlfriend, you know?

landonorris HEY that's mean

logansargeant I can't say I didn't see it coming

↳username1 We all did, Logan

↳yourusername You were literally the first person I told about my crush on Charles...

logansargeant But who said I believed it would work out?

oscarpiastri HE was the first to know?

yourusername And you were the first to know about the night Charles spent in my hotel room in Monaco

charles_leclerc You talk to them about these things, chérie?

yourusername Don't act like you didn't run to Lando to tell him all about it on the next day

username4 So the theories were real after all, the spicy night in Y/n's hotel room was the cause of their argument

↳username3 She didn't say that...

username4 But it's obvious. Look - the night happened, they felt weird about it and boom there goes the argument. It makes a lot of sense

username5 However it happened, I'm glad it happened

username6 What happens now? Are they even allowed to be a couple?

↳username7 wdym allowed lol it's better than if they were from different teams, they'd have to sign NDA or something

username6 Isn't the team worried they'll distract each other or something?

username7 At least they'll be traumatized together

scuderiaferrari 🇬🇷❤️🇲🇨

↳username6 The team is indeed not worried

yourusername The benefits of having birthday during the summer break

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username1 I love the Y/n and Charles/Kika and Pierre friend group

↳username2 they're everything I want fr

username4 okay but I NEED to know whose idea the cake was

↳username2 I would expect it from Logan and Oscar, honestly, but they weren't in Greece with them

↳yourusername ofc it was Kika's idea!!

francisca.cgomes and I'm proud of it

logansargeant It hurts to know you're making new friends 🙄

↳yourusername I figured I needed some girl friend after spending so much time with you and Oscar 🙄

logansargeant Do you even remember about us anymore?

oscarpiastri I bet 10 of your american dollars that she doesn't

yourusername how could I forget? You two still haunt me in my nightmares 🫶

username1 lmao Charles wakes up screaming box box and Y/n wakes up screaming what's a kilometer and shoe thongs 😭

yourusername that's an accurate description

charles_leclerc I swear I once heard you talk in your sleep something about running a mile in shoe thongs

yourusername And I don't even know how long a mile is, so you can only imagine how terrifying that was

lewishamilton Happy birthday to my favorite rookie

↳yourusername Every time you appear in my comment section I cry a little

lewishamilton The good tears I hope?

yourusername happiness tears of course😭

username5 Do y'all think Charles is jealous seeing his gf interact with THE Lewis Hamilton?

↳username2 No? Why? Lewis is Y/n's idol so obviously she's gonna fangirl a lil

username6 Y/n being a WAG and a driver at the same time, iconic

username7 My fav wag duo for real

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 smau #f1 social media au #Charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #Charles leclerc smau #Charles leclerc social media au

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mobogiant · 2 years

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Emilia Romagna F1 Qualification Results Red Flag Repeatedly

Formula One championship champion Max Verstappen claimed pole position at the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix on Friday. The session was interrupted by a series of red flags during the qualifying phase, which ended with five of them. Verstappen took pole by over eight tenths of a second, beating McLaren’s Charles Leclerc and Landon Norris by more than a second. Mercedes team principal Toto Wolff has…

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#emilia romagna grand prix qualifying results #f1 qualifying results #f1 qualifying results 2022 #f1 qualifying results today 2022 #f1 qualifying time #f1 results standings #f1 results today #f1 results today live #f1 starting grid tomorrow #miami f1 qualifying results

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httpsserene · 6 months

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𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟵: 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗹𝗲𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗿𝗰 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗮𝘀𝗺 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘆/𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗮𝗹

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the 2023 season has had a despicable effect on charles’ self-worth. it pains you to see how he attributes ferrari’s failure to deliver to himself. you can’t stand to see him berate himself for things that are out of his control. when the emilia-romagna grand prix is understandably canceled, you start forming a plan. if charles doesn’t believe he’s as good as you say he is, you’ll make him internalize it–using any means necessary. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. orgasm delay/denial. handjobs. no penetrative sex. dom/sub undertones. sub!charles. mild praise kink. not beta read. orgasm control. charles’ self deprecation. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: charles leclerc x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: drabble. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: get you daniel • caesar ft. kali uchis

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: not going to lie to you, after charles told xavi “let’s talk after the race” in austin, this upload automatically came to mind. in my delusional mind this whole fic convinced him to finally speak up for himself, even though it wasn’t posted before that (he hacked into my google docs or smith idk). i love when men whimper. haha, lol, who said that. a small drabble to satiate my soft!charles urge. hope y’all enjoy !!!

do you want to be added to my general taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

your hand is dripping lube on charles’ thigh as you brush a featherlight touch of a finger on his cock. he’s been rock hard since you’ve pulled his clothes off, even though he complained that this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. his head is turned to the side, buried in the pillow, already muffling his whimpers at your barely there touch. the red flush of his cheeks is already spreading down his chest and you haven’t even started touching him properly; this may be easier than you thought.

you shift forward, situating yourself comfortably between his legs, and you speak quietly but firmly, “tell me when you’re close.” charles hums, nodding his head jerkily, and bucks his hips upwards searching for more friction. you laugh at his desperation and push his hips down with your free hand, pressing him firmly into the bed—he doesn’t attempt to fight your grasp. power rushes to your head; he’s completely capable of pushing you off him with little to no effort; and he’s lying beneath you willingly. you loosely wrap your fist around him, and slowly drag your hand up and down. the amount of pressure you’re applying is incredibly light, but charles reacts as if you’re roughly squeezing. his back arches off the bed, thighs twitching sensitively, and his hand flies down to grasp at your wrist.

you pinch his thigh in warning, a sharp gasp at the fleeting pain escapes his lips, and you chastise him gently, “hey, i thought you were going to be good for me? hands off—put them by your head.” he squirms at the sound of your disappointment, and in his haste to be perfect for you, he takes your command a step further. he places his hands above his head, and tangles them together—he strives to be good for you.

you stare at him, unmoving, and watch as his eyes flutter across your face desperately trying to read your emotions. his eyes are wet with unshed tears, and his tongue flicks out to wet his dry lips anxiously. you break, it’s so hard to be mean to him when he looks so pretty. resuming the sweet stroke of your hand, you keep you motions calm and controlled—you want his orgasm to come to him calmly. however, no matter how gently you handle him, it doesn’t seem like your preferred outcome will play out. charles’ abs flutter, undulating at the effort he’s using to refrain from pushing up into the wet grasp of your fist, and his nails are digging into hands. on your next upward stroke, you twist your hand around the head of his cock, and his shocked moan echoes around the room. his face flushes a deeper red, humiliated at how easy he is, and he whimpers at the smirk that rises to your lips. you pick up the pace immediately, and wrap your other hand around him at his base. you sync the twist of both your hands, and hyperfocus on teasing the head of his cock. you lightly press your thumb across his slit randomly forcing a pitchy squeal from him, sometimes you trace the underside vein with a nail and a pained whine is muffled into the pillow.

it’s mortifying—not even three minutes after you started touching him, and he’s going to cum. you see him struggle to fight the coiling knot in his tummy, it’s useless, this is another race he always loses. charles’ chest heaves with his stuttered, rushed breaths and he whines in shame, “s’il te plaît—‘m close—sorry, i can’t help it!”

you coo at him, pouting your lips at his apology, “oh, charlie, don’t feel bad. you’re supposed to be close” you rub the palm of your hand roughly across his sensitive tip, and his body tenses at the switch in treatment, eyes rolling back under the intense pleasure, and you confidently reassure him, “thank you for telling me you’re about to cum. you’re always my good boy.” and, you pull your hands away from him, ceasing all motions.

charles crumbles. he sobs forcefully at the feeling of his release being pulled from him at the last second, tears streaming down his face, no longer having the will to hold them back. he thrashes his head against the pillow, and pistons his hips upwards into the air like it will convince you to touch him again. he flexes his cramped hands before he pulls them down to hide his face from your view. you let the monegasque cry out his emotions, knowing that his tears are from the shock of you denying his orgasm rather than pain. he unintelligibly pleads in french, brokenly whining about how close he was, his mouth running uncontrollably. when his tears slow, and his shoulders stop shaking, you tenderly pull his hands away from his eyes, and whisper at him sweetly to open his eyes.

he opens his pretty green eyes, and you lean down gently pecking his lips a few times before you speak, “there’s something you forgot to tell me. if you wanted my permission to cum, baby.” charles drops his eyes away, refusing to meet your gaze.

“you were supposed to tell me how good you are,” you see his lips part as he rushes to do so, but you smack your teeth, silencing him before he begins, “not how you’re good for me, charles—how you’re a good driver. how you’re one of the best, most talented formula one pilots we’ve seen. how you’re ferrari’s youngest driver since 1961. how you’re capable of winning a championship,” charles scoffs disbelievingly, “how you’ll no longer blame yourself for things out of your control. how you’ll realize that the team’s mistakes aren’t your fault. how you’ll stop allowing yourself to be the scapegoat for their shortcomings. how you’ll stop accepting their excuses for constantly disappointing you.” you stare at charles with earnest eyes, letting him absorb your words.

“you’re one of the best charles. you’re loved. everyone wants to see you succeed. everyone wants to see you become confident in yourself again. everyone knows that if ferrari gave you the car you needed, you’d be racing towards your championship. you’re skilled, charles. you’re wonderful.”

charles shakes his head, doubtful, and whispers timidly, “i’m not.”

your heart shatters, and you shakily respond, “oh,” you sniff, gathering your composure, “so, you’re saying i’m lying to you? are you calling me a liar, charles?”

charles wiggles against the bed, fighting the double-edged sword he turned on himself, and whimpers in frustration. he sobs, but shakes his head furiously at your question—you’d never lie to him, you wouldn’t hurt him. you halt the vigorous shake of his head, grasping at his chin with one hand and turning him to face you, “then…i must be telling you the truth, hm?” charles swallows, and murmurs out a soft oui.

“good,” you clear your throat and drop your hold, bringing that same hand down to wrap around his cock again. charles tenses at the moist warmth of your palm. “since we’re on the same page, if you want me to let you cum, all you have to do is convince me that you believe the same things i just said. i have all night to make you accept the truth, charlie. don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld@buendiabebeta@butterfly-lover@lana-d3l-rey@dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj@miahgonzalez16@jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic@sweetpiccolo-blog@my-ylenia @zaynzierulez@reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane @inloveallthetime

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its-avalon-08 · 2 days

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hey can you write that Carlos Sainz is his wife Y/N (she is also Spanish) are nicknamed the couple the funny ones in the paddock because they often play pranks on each other on TikTok and they often tease each other because they have the same personality as it's their humor and that they are both tactile

glitter and lucky socks

the air in imola crackled with nervous energy, race day for the emilia romagna grand prix. but amidst the tension, a familiar giggle echoed through the ferrari garage. there, carlos sainz, in his pristine red race suit, was doubled over, socks clutched in his hand.

"no, no, no!" he wheezed, laughing so hard he was struggling to breathe. "that can't be real! y/n, you didn't!"

across the garage, you, his ever-playful wife, smirked, phone in hand. "y/n! you dyed my lucky socks pink?" carlos' voice, laced with mock horror, reached your ears.

you winked, feigning innocence. "what socks, cariño? i haven't seen any pink socks around."

carlos knew that look. it was the same mischievous glint he saw reflected back in his own eyes every time he'd snuck toothpaste into your shampoo or replaced your coffee with a peppermint smoothie (much to your initial disgust since you hated it, but ultimate amusement).

"oh, come on," he whined, getting up and moving to grab you from your waist. "mi amor ¿por qué debes burlarte de mí? (my love why must you tease me?). y/n still holding up her phone, to record her shenanigans, had small tears in her eyes following her husband's reaction. after posting the tiktok the caption read: 'sending some extra luck to my favorite driver (don't worry, they're his backup pair) #f1 #pranksforsainz #losdivertidos

the video had already blown up, with comments like "y/n is savage" and "carlos, your wife is a menace!" erupting like virtual popcorn.

charles leclerc, carlos' teammate, strolled by, phone in hand. he glanced at the video, then at carlos' pink-socked foot, and burst out laughing. "mate, you're doomed!"

carlos groaned, but a smile tugged at his lips. you two were known in the paddock as 'the funny ones'. your constant pranks, playful teasing, and the undeniable fact that you seemed to share the same mischievous personality – it was all part of your humor, your way of showing affection. as charles saw the way carlos and y/n looked at eachother he chuckled as he remembered the times carlos had put a whoopie pillow down on y/n's chair infront of the ceo of ferrari much to her horror or how y/n had replaced carlos's hair gel with glitter. the two were madly in love and in such a serious world, they still found time to be human.

charles continued to recall how carlos would always hold you in anyway he could, how he would grasp on to your pinky finger in a crowd, how y/n would always hug carlos from behind, the way carlos and y/n's hand were permanently intertwined. amidst all the pranks and jokes, the couple knew each other inside and out.

later, after the race (which carlos, miraculously, managed to win, pink socks and all), you found him in the pits, a towel draped over his shoulders.

"so," you said, leaning in for a kiss that left him breathless, "about that luck i sent your way..."

carlos chuckled, pulling you into a hug. "you're lucky i love you," he mumbled against your hair.

"and you're lucky i put the real socks back in your bag before you left for the grid," you whispered, earning a playful shove that sent you both into another fit of laughter.

as mechanics swarmed around them, celebrating the win, charles shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. there they go again, he thought. those two are a riot. but then he saw you plant a big, lipstick-stained kiss on carlos' cheek, and a warmth spread through him. maybe a little paddock romance wasn't such a bad thing after all.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more <3 happy reading! 🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

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holllandtrash · 1 year

Text

red flags | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

this is based off a request an anon left for @leclvrc but they opened it up for someone else to write it: 'toxic ex Charles where the reader and Carlos are together and Charles just couldn't stand that his teammates is with his ex'

word count: 13.2k (im so sorry) tags/warnings: 18+ toxic, smut, a lot of swears, really toxic, not healthy, i don’t condone any of this, this has so many red flags, more than the 2022 Emilia Romagna Grand Prix qualifying session (which was a lot) cheating, which i also don’t condone AT ALL holy moly don’t cheat on your partners, not even for charles leclerc, a little degrading, some choking did i mention this is just angst and hate and smut, thigh riding, overstimulation, p in v, all of it, this is bad this is all bad, if you ever come across a guy like this fucking run and alternatively if you relate to y/n pls seek a therapist.

Honestly, it was fucking stupid. All of it.

The way Charles looked at you when you walked into the motorhome as if you were a driver for a rival team was stupid. The way he literally rolled his eyes or made a face of disgust whenever you kissed Carlos was stupid. The way he completely disregarded your presence as you stood at the barrier to congratulate Carlos and him at the end of a Ferrari 1-2, was fucking stupid. And it was on international television so everyone and their mother was able to see the way Charles purposely ignored you after hugging the people on either side of you.

You decided to call him out on it the second you and Carlos returned to the hotel.

“What room is he in?” You demanded, storming down the hall when the elevator doors opened.

“Mi cielo, I don’t have a key to his room.”

The endearing term almost made you forget about ripping into Charles. Carlos had such a good weekend, he just wanted to relax and celebrate with you. Instead, he was following you down the hallway as you pointed at all of the numbered suites, waiting to see if Carlos would react to any of them.

And he did. He swallowed when you passed room 1250. You came to a sudden halt and looked back and forth between him and the door.

“This is his room?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh my love,” you clicked your tongue against your teeth, stepping forward to cup his cheek with your hand. You felt his stubble under the pads of your fingers as you plastered on your sweetest smile. “You have a distinct tell when you lie.”

Your smile dropped as Carlos tried to argue with you, assuring you that he wasn’t lying. But he did the same thing every time a little white lie passed through his lips. He always glanced up and to the left. Very quickly, you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it, but it was a nervous tell of his you came to learn early on into your relationship.

Turning on your heels, you raised your fist to the door and started to hit it obnoxiously loud. Carlos attempted to grab your arm to get you to stop, muttering something about how there were other people in this hotel, but you just swatted him away and kept pounding on the wooden surface.

Charles knew you were out in the hall. There was no one else who would be causing this much of a disturbance just to talk to him. You had done it before, before you two even broke up. There were countless times when the two of you had gotten into fights during a race weekend and he’d ask for the hotel keys to be switched, purposely locking you out for a few hours, occasionally even for a full night if the argument was bad enough.

Honestly, you should have walked away from Charles a lot sooner.

But when things were good they were really fucking good. And the make up sex after you two were finished yelling at each other was almost as good as the hate sex.

And that’s all it was that was keeping you together. The physical attraction, the intimate pull you two shared. It wasn’t love, it wasn't romance and it certainly wasn’t the idea that you two would start a family and settle down one day. It was purely sex and it was unhealthy.

Whereas Carlos was everything Charles could never be.

Obviously jumping from one Ferrari driver to another caused a bit of an uproar, but it made for an entertaining episode on the last season of Drive to Survive. The producers had a habit of creating their own drama, but they didn’t need to embellish anything between Carlos and Charles. There was tension on the track, the determination to be the better driver, the constant fight and you were in the middle of it.

It wasn’t your fault that Carlos just so happened to be standing in the motorhome when you and Charles got into one of the worst screaming matches of your lives. You both thought the place was empty, it was nearly midnight and no one had any reason to still be at the paddock.

But Carlos heard it all. He heard all of the things Charles called you. He heard every swear in every possible language you knew come out of your mouth. He heard the door slam. He heard the way you screamed ‘We’re done’ with such strength and fury that he himself was paralysed with fear as you stormed down the stairs.

And then he saw your tear stained cheeks. He saw your trembling hands and heard your ragged breaths as you landed on the bottom step. You met Carlos’ eyes and not only were you embarrassed that he was a witness to that whole mess, his pitiful stare was what pushed you to the edge.

Your knees gave out as you all but collapsed to the floor. Carlos crossed the motorhome and bent down to your level, hurrying to take off his jumper so you could use it to wipe the tears that just wouldn’t stop.

What were you even crying for? Your relationship had been over for months by that point. Charles treated you like shit. You treated him like shit. It was a toxic cycle that was finally coming to an end.

But for two years, he was all you knew. He was everything to you. The good, the bad, the disastrous, it was your life.

You didn’t intend on anyone picking up the pieces. This was your mess, you had to move on by yourself.

So when Carlos offered to take you out, get you away from the motorhome, away from Charles, even just go for a drive, you almost said no. He had seen the downfall of yours and Charles’ relationship coming for a while now and you didn’t want to burden him anymore. You should have just stood up and left.

But you didn’t.

You hung out with Carlos that night. Nothing happened, of course. Maybe because part of you was holding onto that sliver of hope that Charles would call and ask where you were, only that call never came. He was done too.

There were no ulterior motives when you decided to keep hanging out with Carlos. It wasn’t to get under Charles’ nerves, it wasn’t so you could still be around the paddock. In all honesty, you avoided the races for a while, not wanting to run into Charles. Your friendship with Carlos grew, but you kept it private. It wasn’t until the second last race of the season, nearly four months after you and Charles called things off, did you decide to show up in support of Carlos.

God did you regret that. If you had known the Drive to Survive production team was still hanging around, you probably would have stayed home. Instead, you gave them the last little bit of drama they needed before calling it a wrap.

Charles spotted you first, which wasn’t ideal. You hadn’t shown up with Carlos, but he was expecting you. Charles, on the other hand, stopped in his tracks and took his sunglasses off, narrowing his eyes at you as you walked in his direction.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Charles asked, clear annoyance on his face. To him, you were a headache with legs. He thought he’d never have to see you again.

You weren’t going to let his attitude get to you. If anyone was going to be the bigger person you made sure it was you. You smiled sweetly at him, not even bothering to stop to give him the time of day as you just pointed at the Ferrari motorhome.

“You can’t go in there,” Charles scoffed, pivoting on his heels to follow you. He reached for your arm and you were quick to pull it from his grasp.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you snarled.

“Then don’t show up at the fucking race,” Charles shot back. “Why are you here, Y/N? You have no reason to be here.”

“I’m just here to support my favourite Ferrari driver.”

The confusion on his face was priceless. 100% he was wondering if you were there in hopes of winning him back.

But Carlos’ timing couldn’t have been more perfect. He was walking from the other end of the paddock and picked up his pace the second he saw you and Charles already bickering. He didn’t want you two to cause a scene, but he might have already been too late.

When you spotted Carlos, you genuinely forgot about the Monegasque driver standing right next to you. Your hard features softened. Your scowl shifted into a smile. Your shoulders relaxed.

Before Carlos could even greet you, Charles let out a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking my teammate.”

“Not yet,” you shrugged. “I’ll see how well he does today first.”

It was a joke that Charles took literally. Once Carlos finally reached you, he placed a hand on your back and asked how your drive in was, giving Charles the cold shoulder.

Charles couldn’t believe what was right in front of him. His ex and his teammate. Friends? Possibly more than friends? He scoffed, pulling you both from your private conversation, “This is a fucking joke.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” You challenged him. Carlos picked up on your venomous tone and pulled you closer into his side, ready to intervene if he needed to.

Charles just looked at Carlos and slid his sunglasses back on, “Have fun with her, mate. She’s a wild card.”

“Can we just all be civil?” Carlos asked, looking between you and Charles. Neither of you said anything. That wasn’t something either of you could promise. Carlos eventually sighed, staring right at Charles, “She won’t bother you.”

“You don’t speak for me,” you snapped your head towards him.

Carlos wasn’t about to put up with your attitude right now. You were annoyed, your morning hadn’t started off the way you wanted and you were dangerously close to taking it out on the wrong person. Carlos recognised this and spoke directly to you, “You won’t bother him, right?”

You didn’t want to ruin Carlos’ day. So you nodded, agreeing to stay out of Charles’ way granted he offered you the same courtesy.

Charles stalked off immediately following that conversation. And he was true to his word, he stayed out of your way.

The only problem was, the fucking Netflix crew managed to capture most of that interaction. Even if they didn’t get audio, they didn’t need it. They could fill in the blanks and turn this situation into a goddamn soap opera.

It didn’t help that when Carlos landed a podium, you were right there against the barriers. Neither of you had crossed that line yet and had remained friends for the last few months, but the adrenaline was high. Carlos had one of the best races of his life and you were genuinely so excited to have witnessed it, to have been there to cheer him on, to be one of the first people he saw when he parked the car at the end of the race.

You made the first move, and even then, it wasn’t really a move. You kissed his helmet, barely able to contain the grin on your face as the crowd behind you exploded for him.

You didn’t expect him to pull his helmet off, that’s for damn sure. But he did. He handed it towards a team member for temporary safe keeping and grabbed your face, crashing his lips against yours. There were about twenty other people he could have celebrated with first, you were only a friend up until now, but he wanted to kiss you in front of thousands of people.

Charles never did that.

He’d hug you, maybe, if you weren’t in a bad mood and were actually watching from the garage. He wouldn’t jump into your arms like he did the rest of the team. He wouldn’t make it public that he was elated to see you in the crowd. He’d squeeze your arm or your waist, that was it.

Carlos didn’t think twice about the repercussions. He didn’t think about twitter and instagram blowing up as CARLOS CELEBRATES WITH CHARLES LECLERC’S EX-GF topped all of the trends. He didn’t think about how bad this would look for you or the team, or for the dynamic between him and Charles moving forward.

The upside was there was only one race left. One race, which of course you attended. And then you two were in the clear.

During the winter break, you were in your own little world. Carlos treated you how you knew you deserved to be treated. He didn’t raise his voice at you, or if he did it was only in a playful way or when you had stolen the remote and changed the film when he stood up to use the bathroom during a movie night.

Slowly but surely, you were falling in love with the Spanish driver.

It was a whirlwind romance that came out of nowhere and knocked you off your feet. The two of you were on cloud nine from December to March. Four months where the world beyond his house didn’t matter. The drama didn’t matter. The impending tension as you moved closer and closer to the start of the new season, didn’t matter.

You didn’t even care that Netflix painted you out to be a villain. At this point, the majority of Charles' fans couldn’t stand you and about half of Carlos’ fans didn’t trust you. Paddock Bunny, you were called. Hopping from driver to driver.

But people didn’t know about the toxic relationship you shared with Charles. No one outside of the Paddock knew you two were at your absolute worst when you were together. If they did, they’d probably be over the fucking moon to hear how Carlos was treating you in comparison. They’d probably stop rooting for the Monegasque driver.

What a sight that would be. People burning their 16 caps and CL merch because they found out how awful of a partner he was. It would never happen, but you could dream.

You were tempted to make that dream a reality when you showed up at testing in Bahrain with Carlos. You had so much dirt on Charles, so many stories that would ruin him and the Leclerc name that when he took one look at you in the paddock that first weekend in March, you nearly sent in an anonymous email to Sky Sports.

Carlos talked you out of it, telling you that you couldn’t drag his teammate through the mud.

But Charles was such a fucking asshole. He stayed out of your way, sure, but if your paths did cross he made you feel so inferior, like you weren’t allowed to be in the Paddock. He’d make snarky little comments to other drivers or to members of his team, calling you names you didn’t want to repeat, all because you were with Carlos now. He treated you like you were scum of the earth.

So…it was similar to when you were dating. The only difference now was you couldn’t scream at him or cause a fight when you felt the tension building. You couldn’t even attempt to work through it, even temporarily. Both of you just carried all of this weight and frustration on your shoulders, both angry at the other for the stupidest fucking reasons.

Flash forward to today's race when it finally came to a boiling point.

Charles won. Carlos finished second. It was a Ferrari 1-2 at the second race of the season. This would do wonders for the constructors and for both of them. You hated Charles but you would always be a Ferrari fan. You supported Carlos so in some way, you were sort of forced to support Charles. At an arm's length and through tooth and nail, but you did want to see both drivers succeed.

When both drivers made their way out of the cars, Carlos found you first. He kissed you, of course he did. He was glistening with sweat, his name was being called from all angles but he found you and he kissed you like there wasn’t a single person watching.

He made his way down the line, celebrating with his team and Charles did the same. They exchanged a hug as they met in the middle of the line and it was only a few seconds later when Charles was right in front of you.

He didn’t even look your way. He hugged the person to your left and then grabbed the arms of the person to your right, bypassing you completely.

You weren’t expecting a celebratory hug, you certainly didn’t want one. But the cameras had caught the lack of interaction and now once again your name was trending. CHARLES GIVES EX THE COLD SHOULDER AFTER FERRARI 1-2.

You looked like a fucking idiot. It didn’t help that someone with a camera captured a clip of you staring at Charles like he had just spit on you or insulted your entire family. The disgust and betrayal on your face was evident.

Carlos tried to tell you that it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe he just didn’t see you. You were right in the front and you were the same fucking height, of course he saw you.

So you were pissed the entire drive to the hotel. Carlos asked you not to say anything. He practically begged for the two of you to just go back to your room, but the moment you stepped out of the elevator, your mind was made up.

Now here you were, banging on his hotel room door. The underside of your first was starting to turn numb and no matter what, Carlos couldn’t get you to stop. Each time he tried to grab your hand or pull you away, you elbowed him in the side or yanked your arm out of his grasp.

“Open the fucking door!” You yelled, landing one more exceptionally hard hit on it. Carlos winced at the contact. Your hand was going to hurt in the morning, but the fact that you paid the pain no attention right now said a lot. How often did you find yourself in this situation?

But it worked. Charles probably had enough of the disturbance and he swung the door open. You had half a mind to land a hit directly to his nose, but that wouldn’t look good for his image.

He didn’t even look at Carlos. His gaze hardened as he met your stare, “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything!” You jabbed a finger against his chest, pushing him further into his own hotel suite. Carlos tried to grab your arm and pull you back but it just resulted in him being dragged into the room after you. There was no stopping you when you were this outraged. You scanned over Charles, hating his I’m-too-good-for-this-shit, expression he wore. “What I need is for you to get your fucking head out of your ass.”

“What are you talking about?”

The nerve of this man.

“Have you not looked at your phone recently?” You tried not to scream at him, but it was hard to keep your voice at a respectful volume when the person who caused you so much grief and anger was standing a foot away from you. “Everyone saw the way you completely ignored me at the end of your race. I’m a fucking laughing stock on social media right now.”

Charles nodded, his jaw clenched, “Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, you brought this on yourself by sleeping with your ex’s teammate?”

You turned over your head at Carlos who was now leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets as he watched you two hash it out. This was probably a long time coming. This was also the longest you had gone without fighting, you had a lot of pent up aggression and you were certain he did too.

Carlos knew that there was a time and a place to step in, so he just watched carefully, listening for when one of you crossed a line. He couldn’t place a bet for who would be the first to do so, but he knew it was coming.

You stepped forward, expecting Charles to step backwards to keep the gap, but he was never one to back down from you. That was your problem, one of them at least. You were both too stubborn.

“I don’t know why you think this is just a fucking hook up, Charles, but let me remind you that it’s not. I love him-”

“I love you too,” Carlos added from behind you and your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t humanely possible to grow tired of hearing those words.

But again, time and place.

Charles snickered when you held up a hand towards your boyfriend, a nonverbal reminder that now was probably not the time to interject, even if he did so with the sweetest intentions.

You focused back on Charles. “I love him, so I’ll be sticking around for a while whether you like it or not.” And just to get under his skin, you added, “I know love is a word you’re probably not familiar with-”

Charles dragged his hands over his face. It was his turn to raise his voice as he cut you off mid-sentence before you could finish whatever painful truth he didn’t want to hear, “Why the fuck are you here?”

“I want you to apologise for completely disregarding me earlier.

“What are you on about, Y/N?”

You hated the way he said your name. Like each individual letter was laced with its own personal brand of venom.

“Are you kidding me?” He had to be playing dumb to piss you off even more. “I was at the barrier and you hugged every other person around me and didn’t even have the audacity to look at me. I don’t need a hug, Charles, but maybe get off your fucking high horse and show some fucking appreciation when I show up in support of Ferrari! Put on a fucking act when the cameras are around, at least.”

Charles raked his eyes over your body. Your chest was rising with each angered breath. He knew your heart was racing. He knew what you were like when you were riled up like this.

He also knew that if you weren’t with Carlos, this fight would end very differently.

He knew you would turn around and leave with Carlos when you finally got the last word in but if Carlos wasn’t glued to your side right now, you wouldn’t be leaving until Charles fucked you so hard, you forgot why you were even mad in the first place.

He’d pin you against the wall to get you to stop talking and kiss every inch of the skin visible on your neck before his hand found a home on your throat. His other hand would work to keep your wrist glued to the wall to keep you from grabbing him.

He’d tease you until you were begging for him to actually do something and even then, Charles would take his time with you. Sex with him was never easy. It wasn’t gentle or loving, it was rough and fueled by a variety of emotions, anger being the most prominent.

But that wasn’t how this fight was going to end. Charles could rile you up all he wanted but at the end of the night, you’d go back to your room with Carlos. You could take the rest of your anger out on him in bed and he’d probably run you a fucking bubble bath afterwards and kiss your shoulders. He probably had a whole assortment of ways to make you forget why you were upset, wholesome ways. Ways that didn’t make you want to claw his eyes out.

Charles hated the thought.

He hated knowing that you could stand here and yell at him and get most of your frustration out and at the end of it, you had someone else to turn to. Someone to turn things around for the better. Whereas he had no one. He had to stand here and listen to you scream at him and when you left, he’d be alone.

There would be no hate sex. No make up sex. No waking up the next morning with you in his arms. He wouldn’t be able to bury his face into the back of your neck, making you laugh softly when he muttered something about your hair being too long. He could no longer reach for your arm to pull you back on top of the covers when you tried to stand up to go take a shower.

You two had some horrible days and a lot of insufferable nights.

But the mornings were good.

Before anything else mattered, before either of you could remember why you were fighting twelve hours earlier, before a comment was said that negatively affected your mood for the next few hours.

The mornings were fucking good and god did he miss that.

He wondered if you did too.

But you probably had the best mornings with Carlos. He probably made you breakfast in bed, something that Charles was always too tired to do. Carlos probably pulled you into the bathroom to shower with him whereas Charles always complained about the type of shampoo you used and how you hogged most of the water. Carlos probably invited you out to his events, his meetings, to run errands and Charles wouldn’t even consider letting you tag along, knowing that a fight would break out one way or another.

You brought out the worst in each other.

He should have walked away from you a long time ago.

He had enough experience with red flags to know that you were the worst of them.

Neither of you could explain why you put up with each other for so long. It wasn’t love, it was never love. What you had with Carlos was love.

Charles could admit he was envious.

Why couldn’t you ever look at him the way you looked at his teammate? Why was it so easy for Carlos to make you laugh? Why did he walk in on conversations where Carlos was talking about you like you put the fucking sun in the sky?

What did Carlos have that he didn’t? Besides patience. And a sense of humour. And the ability to admit when he was in the wrong.

The more Charles thought about it, the more it sunk in that he wasn’t good for you.

He remembered when you first started dating and he wanted to be good for you. He wanted to be what you needed. He wanted to fall in love with you and he wanted you to fall in love with him in return.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when something in your relationship shifted for the worse, but it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

This whole thing was fucking stupid. You kissing Carlos after he got second place was stupid, especially when he thought about how you never kissed him when he got a podium. You banging on his door hours after the race to yell at him was stupid. And now, you standing right in front of him while your boyfriend, his teammate, listened with caution in case he had to step in was fucking stupid. You could handle yourself, Charles knew that much.

You were still yelling at him about how he had completely disregarded you after the race. Charles zoned out for a second, something he often did when you raised your voice. All of these fights sounded the same, it didn’t matter what the current problem was. The biggest problem was always your relationship in general. The two of you should not have been allowed within ten feet of each other.

He promptly cut you off, “Y/N you are the absolute last person I want to see when I finish a race.”

“Well suck it up because I’m going to be around for a while,” your jaw tightened as you spoke. The lines in your forehead were making a reappearance. You were always scowling at him, Charles couldn’t remember the last time you looked relaxed.

“That doesn’t mean I need to put up with it.”

“Yes it fucking does,” you retorted. “I’m here for Carlos and here for Ferrari. You just so happen to be part of this fucking team so unfortunately for both of us, we can’t just avoid each other all season, Charles.”

“Well we can fucking try and you can start-” he gestured towards the door, “-by getting the hell out of my hotel room.”

You tugged at the roots of your hair, inhaling a deep breath, “Oh my fucking god-”

“Can you please control her?” Charles turned his line of sight towards Carlos. Carlos looked like he didn’t want to be dragged into the middle of this, but now he had no choice.

“Control me?” You yelled. “Oh you pretentious, arrogant fucking bastard-”

“Come on, Y/N,” Carlos stepped forward, cutting you off before you could start swearing in French. He reached for your hand and you were harsh in pulling it away from him. The last thing you wanted right now was to be touched, though.

“No, mate you’re doing it wrong,” Charles interjected. A wicked smirk on his lips as he stared at you but spoke directly to Carlos. “You can’t grab her like that, she doesn’t like it. She’ll only listen if you go for the throat, choke the words out of her-”

Now Carlos was getting involved. You made a swing towards Charles, aiming for his face but Carlos grabbed you and pulled you back, his arms tightening around your waist and using his strength to his advantage, something he didn’t like doing with you. He practically pushed you towards the door before squaring up with Charles himself, nearly chest to chest.

Carlos was fuming over what Charles had said. He knew your relationship was toxic, but he couldn’t believe that after months, almost a year, of it being over, Charles could still say something so degrading, so disrespectful.

And Charles was smirking. He thought this was entertaining. He knew Carlos wouldn’t hit him. He knew Carlos wouldn’t let you hit him. He also knew that you weren’t going to be able to get the last word in, something you thrived on.

“I’m not wrong,” Charles said quietly, eyes darting towards you for a brief second as you stood with your arms crossed by the door. Charles gestured towards his own neck, “Give it a try sometime. She likes it.”

“How about you just stop talking about her, yeah?” Carlos suggested, with an underlying bitter tone that wasn’t usually present when he opened his mouth. “Don’t talk about her, don’t talk to her, don’t even look at her.”

He made the mistake of looking at you right when he said that and Carlos raised his hand to push on Charles’ chest, forcing his attention away from you.

He didn’t want to fight with teammate, but he was going to stand up for you no matter what. Time and place, he decided, and right now, Charles had to be put in his fucking place.

“She’s not worth it, mate,” Charles chuckled.

“It’s the other way around, mate.” Carlos mimicked. “You’re not worth it. At least Y/N was able to figure that out.”

They both flinched when the door slammed. Carlos turned over his shoulder to see that you were no longer standing there. You stormed out of the room. Charles tried to tell him to just leave you be, you did this all the time, but Carlos wasn’t Charles.

He followed you out and found you furiously pressing the elevator button, tapping your foot impatiently on the carpeted floor. Carlos knew better than to reach for your arm at this point, so he settled for putting his hand on your waist and stepping forward until his chest was against you. You felt the tension in your shoulders dissipate when he slowly snaked his arm around your stomach, pulling you against him.

You dropped your head to his shoulder, eyes closed and you whispered, “I hate him.”

“I know,” Carlos pressed a kiss to your temple.

What a fucking difference. Usually you were screaming ‘I hate you’ and you’d hear those three words repeated back. Sometimes in French. Sometimes in Italian. Once, Charles took you by surprise and screamed it in Spanish. Whatever the context, whatever the language, whatever the fight, you’d always hear it back.

You raised your hand to press your palm against his cheek. Carlos hugged you tighter against him and you stayed like that until the elevator doors finally opened on the twelfth level.

You pressed the button to take you to the lobby and Carlos raised an eyebrow, knowing the room you shared was on the tenth floor.

“I need air,” you answered his wordless question. “Just for a minute. I need to take a walk.”

“I don’t want you walking around by yourself this late,” Carlos was worried for your safety and that was such a foreign concept to you. When you told Charles you need to go for a walk he would say ‘I don’t care’ or ‘don’t come back’. He wasn’t concerned about what could happen to you when you stepped outside.

You extended your hand out to grab his, giving him an assuring squeeze, “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Carlos walked you to the doors of the lobby, not letting your hand go until he had to. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and slid the extra room key into your jacket pocket. He then took hold of your face, tilting it upwards so he could look you directly in the eyes.

“I love you, mi cielo,” he kissed your lips feverishly. “Call me if you need me to pick you up.”

Mi cielo. My sky. My heaven. Carlos started calling you that soon after you started dating. When you asked what it meant, he said that he was calling you his own personal slice of heaven right here on earth.

That’s when you knew you loved him.

You assured him once more you’d be fine before stepping outside, letting the midnight air hit your cheeks. Your jacket was thin, but you didn’t plan on staying out for very long. With your hands shoved in your pockets, you made your way down the sidewalk, replaying the last few minutes in your head.

You really did hate Charles.

Everything about him infuriated you beyond reason.

You couldn’t stand his arrogant attitude. How he couldn’t own up to his own mistakes, in his personal life, in your relationship, on the track. Charles just couldn't be wrong. All of his problems were always someone else's fault.

You remembered the first horrible fight you got into. You had bickered here and there, all couples did, but when he returned home after a race weekend and you showed him the text you got from Pierre, one that read ‘did you and Charles break up?’ you lost it on him.

He cheated on you. Why the fuck else would Pierre be asking you that? There were no photos, no proof, and Pierre refused to go into detail, but you knew. You could practically smell the infidelity on him as he walked through the door.

When gaslighting you into thinking you were crazy didn’t work, Charles tried to blame you for his actions. He tried to say that you didn’t pay him enough attention, that you should be joining him during race weekends so he didn’t feel tempted to seek affection somewhere else. It was your fault he cheated.

And you loved him, well you thought you did, so you started accompanying him more often.

God did that just make things worse.

Everything was a constant downhill in your relationship. There was no silver lining. There were good moments, but they were always overshadowed by the impending dark clouds. It was never easy for you two.

And you weren’t perfect either, you could admit you had flaws and contributed to your relationship falling apart. You didn’t trust Charles, as much as you wanted to, you never did. There was no solid foundation for you two to ever stand on so you shouldn’t have been surprised when the cracks started forming.

You became annoyed with every little thing he did, or said, or even the way he looked at you. Qualities of his you used to admire soon because the reasons why you struggled to be in the same room as him.

The two of you were constantly at each other's throats. It was unhealthy and everyone around you saw it.

His team was probably ecstatic when they heard you broke up. They didn’t have to worry about a blow up in the garage or Charles being in a bad mood during meetings.

No one could have expected you’d show up again with Carlos.

The team walked on eggshells, watching to see if you and Charles would return to your ways, bickering, arguing, yelling.

But that didn’t happen during testing. Nor did it happen during the first race weekend, or the second. There were only petty comments made behind the others back, but nothing that caused the two of you to get into each other's faces again.

You thought maybe you could work with this. Just having to see Charles. As long as you didn’t talk directly to him, everything would be fine. That’s what the whole team was hoping for, at least.

And then this bullshit after the race happened and you couldn’t bite your tongue anymore. You needed Charles to understand where you were coming from, why he couldn’t just brush you off in front of the public eye like that.

There was so much more you wanted to say to him too, you wondered why you even stormed out.

Going for a walk and getting air wasn’t helping. If anything, the anger stirred inside of you and the more time you spent not letting it out, the more worked up you became.

Maybe that’s why you found yourself hitting button 12 instead of 10 when you returned to the hotel. You needed to get one or two more things off your chest and then you’d be fine, then you could go back to Carlos.

You knocked on the door, politely this time. Not like it mattered because he probably looked through the peephole to see who was standing in the hall.

The door swung open. Charles rolled his eyes after checking to see if Carlos had followed you up. When he realised that you were alone, he pushed the door open some more, just enough for you to step in.

“I take it you’re not done?” Charles’ assumption was correct, but it was a little surprising that he invited you in without you needing to cause a scene. Maybe he had more he wanted to say to you as well.

He grabbed the remote off the edge of the counter and paused the movie that was playing. You recognised it instantly. He was watching The Princess Bride. One of your favourite movies.

There’s no fucking way he was just scrolling through the tv guide and came across it. He had to purposely search and pay for it.

You raised your eyebrows and pointed at the television, completely ignoring his question, “Princess Bride?”

He shrugged, “It was just on.”

Bull-fucking-shit.

“I thought you hated this movie,” you recalled the number of times you tried to get him to watch it with you and he never would.

Charles shrugged again, “Well you seem to like it.”

“So you’re just now giving it a chance eight months after we’ve broken up?”

“Would you rather I not watch it?”

“I would have rathered you watched it with me when I fucking asked you too!” It only took ten seconds for you to raise your voice at him. “Jesus, Charles, when I told you it was my favourite movie you went out of your fucking way to never let me watch it.”

“You’re being dramatic. I never did that.”

“Don’t gaslight me.”

“Stop using that fucking word,” He had heard it so many times during your fights.

“Stop giving me a reason to.”

And just like that, you had fallen back into your previous cycle. Pointless, stupid, meaningless fights. Over a movie for fucks sakes. But you were both so easy to piss off. No one worked you two up quite like the other.

“Why are you here?” Charles asked, shifting the conversation back to you. “Shouldn’t you be with Carlos?”

You caught the lingering jealousy in his tone. The way he waved his hand to the side, acting as though you dating his teammate didn’t bother him, when in reality it did.

But Charles also caught the way your breath caught in your throat. He noticed how you shifted your balance from one leg to the other, something you only did when you were nervous. You may not have been a good pair, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know you.

“Carlos has no idea that you’re here right now, does he?” Charles didn’t even have to ask. He knew the answer.

Maybe that’s why he stepped forward slowly, eyes raking over your body like they had done so many times before. Maybe because he knew Carlos didn’t know your whereabouts, Charles felt confident enough to step around you and tug at the sleeves of your jacket until it was no longer on your body. You didn’t know why you let him. You came here to yell at him some more and in a split second, in the blink of a fucking eye, the atmosphere shifted.

Charles reached for your wrist and you reacted like you did every other time someone touched you, by flinching away and putting some space between your bodies.

But that wasn’t going to work with Charles.

He paid no attention to your reserved tendencies and just grabbed your other arm instead, gripping your wrist and turning you to face him before you could react fast enough. You attempted to pull away, you even pushed on his chest, but Charles was unphased. He just waited a few seconds, letting you think you’d win this and then he grabbed your other wrist and spun you around so your back was pressed against his chest, your arms crossed over your body like an X.

Charles dipped chin so his mouth was right by your ear. His breath was hot against your skin. There was no doubt in your mind that he could feel your heart racing through the clothes on your back.

“Mon amour,” Charles spoke so softly, but you didn’t let his gentle tone fool you. Neither did you let his name for you affect you the way it used to. “Let’s stop fighting, oui?”

“Don’t call me that,” you pulled against his hold but his grip was too tight.

Charles chuckled and you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach, “What would you rather I call you? Mi cielo?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you snapped.

“Yeah, I can’t believe he calls you that,” his lips travelled dangerously close along your skin. You could feel goosebumps rise over every inch of your skin. “You were always picky about pet names, but Carlos doesn’t know that, does he?”

“Don’t-”

You lost the last of your argument when Charles suddenly let you go, only to pin you against the nearby wall instead. His hand went to your throat, keeping you in place without applying any pressure. Before you could push him off of you, he grabbed both of your wrists and placed them above your head.

This was a position the two of you had found yourselves in more often than not.

But you were broken up now. You were with Carlos. You loved Carlos. Charles had absolutely no fucking right to be trying to pull a move like this.

And you had no right to be enjoying it.

“Answer me,” Charles’ eyes darkened. “Does Carlos know what you like? Does he know how to turn you on, mon amour?” He leaned in, his lips hovering right over yours, “Does he know you still think about me?”

“Let go of me,” your voice was barely audible, like you had to convince yourself to say the words and even then, you weren’t even sure if what you were demanding was what you really wanted.

Charles noticed how you avoided each of his questions, which in itself was a good enough answer to all of them.

When he released the hold on your neck, you expected his other hand to follow. You weren’t surprised, however, when his grip on your wrists only tightened. His fingers trailed down your side, stopping to push up the hem of your shirt. You shivered under his touch and it gave Charles a bit of an ego boost, the confidence he needed to go further.

You wanted him. Even if you said you didn’t, the way you reacted to the faintest touch told him otherwise.

He needed to hear it though. He’d tease you until the sun came up, he’d done it before. What Charles wanted was to hear you beg. He wanted you to tell him how desperate you were for him, how these last eight months without him had been unbearable.

He had no idea what your sex life with Carlos was like. He didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter. Charles knew he would always be the best fuck of your life. No one would ever take that title from him.

He undid the button of your jeans, all while keeping his eyes locked on yours. Waiting to see how you’d respond, if you’d put up more of a fight or not.

You were the one that showed up here, alone, after an argument.

You may have been broken up, but if there was one thing Charles knew, it was recognising a fucking pattern.

He then dragged your zipper down next. He traced his fingers along the seam of your underwear and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at them to see what colour they were.

Of course they were red.

“For Carlos,” you told him, reminding him that you had a boyfriend. You wore a matching lingerie set for your boyfriend. “He likes me in red.”

“Of course he does,” Charles tossed that thought aside, “It’s a shame he won’t be able to enjoy them.”

He slipped the tips of his fingers past the seam. It was embarrassing how your back arched off the wall. Charles made sure your legs were spread by keeping a knee pressed between them and he looked pleased with himself as his hand travelled further down your panties.

His hand rested just above your clit, he didn’t need to go any further to know you were soaking. Charles knew exactly what to do and say to turn you on, to leave you craving him. His nose brushed against yours and if you tilted your chin up the slightest bit, your lips would connect.

But Charles dipped his head to attach his lips to your neck instead, the spot where your throat met your jawline. You craned your head upwards, automatically giving him easier access as his teeth grazed your skin.

Charles knew your body better than you did. He knew that the second he took your earlobe between his teeth, your breaths would become staggered. He knew that the tighter he held onto your wrist, the more you gave in, you always gave in. He knew that the moment his fingers brushed over your clit, a helpless whimper would pass through your lips.

Charles knew the pattern by heart. He knew you.

So when he did all of that and Carlos’ name didn’t cross your mind, you knew you were screwed. You should have been trying harder to push Charles off of you. You shouldn’t have even showed up here in the first place.

He started massaging your clit, slowly yet confident in his actions and you were absolutely throbbing. Charles didn’t like gentle so the fact he was taking his time right now, purposely trying to work you up even more, only pissed you off further.

Charles dropped his mouth, moving to suck on another sensitive part of your neck. He debated leaving a mark, something you’d struggle to hide when you eventually, inevitably, returned to Carlos.

“Charles,” you swallowed, legs shaking as he focused all his energy on your clit. Rubbing the nub beneath the pads of his fingers.

“Oui, mon amour?” His voice was sickeningly sweet, it was an act. Nothing about this, about him, was sweet. He lifted his head, nose brushing against yours as he dropped his forehead to yours. “Tell me what you want.”

It took a second, but you managed to form a single coherent thought, forcing the name out through clenched teeth, knowing just how much it would get under Charles’ skin.

“Carlos.”

Charles had the audacity to laugh. His lips hovered over yours, barely touching, but close enough that you found yourself trying to lean forward to connect them.

“Wrong answer.”

Without warning, Charles’s hand dipped further and he plunged two fingers inside of you. He watched with a smug look on his face as your jaw fell open and a helpless inhale was all that came from you. You attempted to clench your legs together but Charles made sure that his knee kept them apart as he slowly started to slide his digits in and out.

“You always take me so well, don’t you?” His praise sent a wave of pleasure straight to your core. He kissed your jaw softly, “So tight, Y/N. Does Carlos not know how to fuck you?”

He wasn’t looking for an answer. And it wasn’t like you were in the state of mind to give him one. Charles curled his fingers inside of you and your hips bucked against his hand, desperate to get as much out of this as you possibly could.

He was relentless with his fingers and stubborn in the way he held your wrists above your head when all you wanted to do was touch him. Each time his fingers entered you it was driven by fury and lust, a dangerous combination that you knew so well.

He was purposely keeping his lips off of you now, wanting to watch you crumble from just his fingers alone. He’d tease you with his breath hitting your lips, or grazing his mouth along your jaw, but he wouldn’t give you what you desperately wanted.

This was a game to him. Bring you to the edge until you had no choice but to beg.

He added a third finger without so much of a thought, loving the way your walls clenched around him. Charles wished he didn’t have to use his fingers to fuck you, but he could be patient. He could play the long game tonight.

And then he stopped, his fingers deep inside you but refused to move them. You swallowed and attempted to rock your hips against his hand, but Charles wouldn’t budge.

“You’re too quiet,” he said, head slightly tilted. It was true, though. There were no helpless moans or whimpers coming from the back of your throat. No pleas to go faster, harder. You were biting your tongue and holding back.

It was because you didn’t want him to know how desperate you were. It was the last bit of pride you were holding onto, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“Maybe you just don’t turn me on the way you used to.”

He laughed cruelly as he started his assault on your pussy again, curling his fingers and getting just the right angle, knowing what you said was bullshit. Charles smirked, “We both know that's a lie.”

“Fuck me,” Your head fell back against the wall, your legs were shaking. Charles was the only thing keeping you standing.

“Ask nicely and maybe I will.”

“I’m not asking you for anything.”

“That’s fine, mon amour,” Charles dragged his thumb over your clit and that familiar sensation started to build in your centre. “I will happily watch you cum all over my fingers again, and again, and again, until you forget your own name.”

He rammed his fingers in you again, picking up his pace.

“Or better yet,” Charles left a delicate kiss right below your ear, applying more pressure to your clit, “Until you forget his name.”

That should not have been what did it for you, Charles dragging your relationship through the dirt, but the second those words left his mouth you were gone.

Your orgasm hit you hard and fast. What was worse was the strangled moan you failed to keep back that was music to Charles’ ears. You pulsed around him and he continued to fuck you with his fingers through it all, not letting up until you were shaking and even then he just brought them to a halt and left them inside you.

Charles released the grip he had on you and your wrists were sore and tender. You didn’t have to look at them to know how red they were, and in all honesty, the pain you’d feel tomorrow was the last thing on your mind.

You were breathless, staring up at Charles and trembling each time one of his fingers brushed against your sensitive walls. He leaned forward, once again hovering his lips over yours, both of you wondering who would make the move to close the gap once and for all.

Him fingering you was one thing. It was pure sexual tension built up over the course of god knows how long. But by kissing him, this moment would become so much more intimate. Less lust, more desire. A kiss was supposed to be shared with the person you loved, it was supposed to make you feel safe and adored.

And you didn’t love Charles.

But you kissed him anyway.

With his hand still down your pants, you took that daring step to press your lips against his. It was rough and frantic and your tongues were clashing as you held onto the side of his face, relishing in the feeling of his stubble beneath your fingers.

Charles didn’t let you enjoy this for very long. He pulled back, keeping your jaw between his forefinger and thumb as he forced your mouth open. His thumb traced along your lower lip and as he slowly slid his fingers out of you, past your aching folds, you recognised the deviant look in his eyes.

Charles brought his fingers, soaked with your juices, up to your lips. The sight of you licking yourself off of him turned him on more than anything else ever could. This was a mess he created and you were cleaning it up, without so much as a verbal instruction.

He forced his fingers into your mouth, suppressing a moan when your tongue swirled around his digits. He could see the tears well up in yours as he pushed them as far back as his knuckles would allow, getting off on the control he held over you.

That’s all it ever was. Charles needed to be in control. You wouldn’t have had a problem with that if that desire of his didn’t extend past the bedroom, but it always did.

Charles pulled his fingers out of your mouth when he noticed you struggling to breathe around them.

It was safe to say that neither of you what to do next. This wasn’t like all of the other times you fought and made up with sexual acts. You weren’t supposed to be his to fight with anymore. You shouldn’t have caved as quickly as you did.

He wasn’t holding you anymore. Nothing was keeping you from pushing him away and heading towards the door. You could storm out of here and pretend like none of this happened, like your boyfriend's teammate wasn’t just knuckles deep inside of you.

But you didn’t leave.

You stood with your back against the wall, eyes locked on Charles as the same thoughts ran through his mind. He didn’t want you to leave. The longer he kept you here, the more time you spent away from Carlos. Fuck Carlos, he thought. Fuck his teammate for stealing you from him.

Charles still wanted to hear you beg.

All it took was a microscope raise of his eyebrows and you knew you weren’t going anywhere. Charles feverishly reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it off your body, swearing under his breath when he saw the red lace bra you had on. That you wore for Carlos.

It had to go.

Before he could rip the material off of you, you grabbed his shirt and peeled it off his body. If you were shirtless, it was only fair that he was too.

And then it was a race to see who could get the others clothes off fastest. Charles’ lips attacked your neck as he pushed your jeans down as much as he could, relying on you to step out of them and kick them to the side. You unzipped his joggers and he stepped out of them, hearing him groan when you palmed his painfully hard dick through his briefs.

He cupped your panties, feeling how soaked you were through them. He had half a mind to fuck you against the wall, but he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted that easily.

Charles had to fight with himself to step away from you and when he did you were confused. You stood with your back against the wall as you watched him walk backwards towards the bed, the outline of his cock constricted against the thin material.

He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread as they hung off the end of it. His palms rested against the blanket as he leaned backwards and nodded his head, gesturing you to follow.

And you did. Of course you did. Charles was intoxicating as much as he was toxic. You couldn’t get enough and for that reason alone, he would be the death of you.

You stood between his legs, arms draped over his shoulders as Charles took in the sight of your body, your curves that he had had memorised, the red lace that was giving him a headache.

He reached around you and unclasped your bra, throwing it to the side. Your fingers became tangled in his hair as he rolled one of your nipples between his fingers, pinching it until you moaned in pleasure, or pain, or both.

Charles kept his hand on you, continuing to fondle and show attention to one of his favourite parts of you as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the spot right between your breasts.

He was being uncharacteristically slow. Something that never lasted, but you didn’t let yourself think about it as Charles took your other nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it like he had done so many times before. When he grazed his teeth over you, your knees momentarily buckled. You could feel the wetness pool between your legs again and you needed him to do something about it.

You dropped your knee to the edge of the bed, ready to straddle him, but Charles had other plans in mind. He stared up at you, devilishly handsome, dark hair pulled in all sorts of directions, an unruly sight that was making you want to drop to your knees.

And you probably would have, had he not spun you around and pulled you to sit on his lap. Charles could feel how wet you were as you soaked through your underwear and onto his bare thigh. He used one hand to force your legs apart as the other found your neck, not yet applying any sort of restraint but it was only a matter of time.

You were so focused on what Charles had in store for you that when he gave you a second to compose yourself, you found that you were staring directly at your own reflection. There was a mirror across from the bed. Charles wanted a show.

The sight of you settled on his thigh, his hand around your throat as the light caught the bulging muscles in his arm almost made you cum again. He was watching you, eyes glued to yours in the reflection.

“You’re going to ride me, chérie, understand?” Charles raised his lips to your ear, dragging his teeth over the lobe and you shivered in response. You could see his sly smile in the mirror, “You’re going to watch yourself as you get off just from my thigh.”

All you could do was nod. You weren’t in any position to argue, nor did you want to.

So slowly, you started rocking your hips back and forth atop his leg, clenching where you could to feel any bit of friction. You found a steady pace, one that seemed to suffice as Charles watched silently, jaw locked and eyes never leaving yours.

You wished you didn’t have your underwear on still, but that was half of the tease. Charles knew how desperate you were to feel his hard thigh against your folds, bringing you to the edge, but he also knew that you wouldn’t last if that was the case. He needed you to work for it.

He grabbed your chin and roughly turned your face towards him, temporarily pulling your eyes off of the mirror.

And then he was kissing you. Hot, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue diving inside of your mouth like he owned it. His suppressed groan only encouraged you to rock your hips faster, which you did. The ache between your legs was borderline painful as you became overstimulated, desperate to find that second high so soon after your first.

Charles wasn’t going to help you at all. The most he did was trail his hand up your body, squeezing your breasts and tweaking your sensitive nipples until you cried out against his lips. Your body had been tense since you first stepped into his hotel room and now you were feeling all of your energy being sapped. And he hadn’t even fucked you.

“Please,” your helpless whisper against his lips earned you a wicked smirk in response.

“Please what?”

His dick was rock hard against you and you wanted it inside of you. It wasn’t fair that he was making you wait for it when you knew he was just as desperate to fuck you.

You hadn’t even noticed you stopped moving until Charles landed a light slap to your cheek, “I didn’t say you could stop.”

You fell into that rocking motion again. His grip on your breast was tight and it took all of you not to bury your face into his neck, knowing that you either had two choices. Look at him or look in the mirror.

You opted for the mirror, looking at how dishevelled you were. Faded mascara under your eyes. Red marks on your neck from where Charles held his grip. The girl in the mirror was desperate for a release, swaying back and forth on Charles’ thick thigh.

It was the worst possible time for Charles’ phone to start ringing.

“Leave it,” your voice almost caught in your throat, but you were in no position to be making any demands. Charles kept one hand on you as he reached backwards, grabbing the phone he had left on his pillow before you showed up.

The glint in his eye was unmistakable. His smirk, mischievous. Usually Charles didn’t have a problem letting his calls go to voicemail, but he wasn’t about to do that and you knew why when you caught a glimpse of the screen, seeing your boyfriend's name on the caller ID.

Your heart sank to your stomach, but Charles sliding his hand towards your core was a good distraction.

“Don’t,” now you were begging, but for all the wrong reasons. “Don’t answer it, please.”

“It could be important,” Charles’ tongue slid across his teeth. “I suggest you stay quiet, mon amour.”

And then he answered it, bringing the phone up to his ear, “Carlos, what’s up?”

You probably could have stayed quiet had Charles not dropped his hands past the seam of the red lace once more. He wasted no time in rubbing his fingers over your clit and you inhaled a sharp breath, watching him with worried eyes through the reflection.

“I don’t even know why I’m asking,” you could hear Carlos through the receiver. You only hoped he couldn’t hear your staggered breathing, “but you don’t know where Y/N is, do you?”

Charles looked so calm and collected as he answered. You wanted to slap the smug expression off of him, “No, why would I know?”

It shouldn’t have surprised you how believable he sounded. Charles knew how to lie, he did it frequently throughout your relationship. This was the first time you were part of his lie.

And then he slipped his finger inside of you again, something that he wasn’t originally going to do, but with Carlos calling, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. He wanted you to squirm, to make a sound, to do anything that Carlos would hear and leave him questioning when he hung up the phone.

You brought your hand to your mouth to silence yourself and Charles’ devious smile only grew.

“She went out for a walk a while ago and she isn’t answering her phone now. I just want to make sure she's okay.”

You had completely abandoned your phone in your jacket pocket. It was sitting right by the door to the hotel room, forgotten about.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Charles plunged a second finger inside of you and started to scissor them. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you could taste blood. Charles wasn’t going easy on you, he wanted you to be struggling right now.

You had stopped rocking, trying to gain a little bit of control as Charles kept you angled against his chest to keep his fingers in you. He wanted to feel you dripping all over his thigh. He wanted his fingers to glisten when he pulled them out.

“She could be lost-”

“Mate,” Charles cut him off harshly, simultaneously picking up the pace with his fingers. He so badly wanted to tell his teammate that you were safe, in good hands, falling apart on top of him. “Maybe it’s for the best. You’re better off without her.”

Leave it Charles to degrade you to your boyfriend while he rammed his fingers inside of you so hard you could feel it in your stomach.

Carlos, bless his soul, you didn’t deserve him, scoffed into the phone, “Just let me know if you see her, okay?”

He pressed his thumb to your clit, meeting your stare in the mirror and taking a second before answering, just to bring you a little bit closer to the edge. Your legs were shaking, you could feel yourself climbing closer and closer to your release. Charles’ fingers in you, the attention he was giving your clit, the way he stared at you like he was challenging you to say something while he was on the phone, all of it was overwhelming in the best, and worst, ways.

There was no singular thought in your mind except his fingers, and how good they felt, and how badly you wanted to cum. You clenched your walls around him and Charles momentarily forgot that Carlos was waiting for a response. The quietest groan passed his lips and he tried to cover it by clearing his throat.

“Yeah, will do,” Charles couldn’t hang up faster. He threw his phone to the side and focused all of his attention on your pussy. Dragging his fingers through your folds, rolling his thumb over your clit.

With his other hand finally free, he raised it to your neck once more. You barely had time to take a breath before you could feel the sides of your windpipe becoming constricted under the pads of his fingers. The lack of oxygen gave you a headrush. Charles was taking complete control as you continued to sit on his lap and fuck his fingers for the second time, all while watching in the mirror.

“You’re the worst,” you spoke through clenched teeth, dragging your hand up to tangle your fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

Charles was unaffected by the words he had heard so many times before, “I told you to be quiet.”

A gasp left your mouth when he tightened his grip on your neck. You still attempted to find your voice “You- fuck, you didn’t want me to be quiet,”

He chuckled, “You’re right.”

His abuse on your clit became heavier as he pulled his fingers out of you agonisingly slowly. He nudged his leg against you, instructing you to get back to riding his thigh, you weren’t supposed to have stopped.

“I can’t help it that I love the sounds you make for me,” he was practically growling. “I wanted Carlos to hear, he’s probably never heard them before.”

You stayed quiet, feeling all logic leave you as it became increasingly harder to catch your breath or keep your eyes on him.

Charles loosened his grip for a split second, just to give you a break, “Answer me when I talk to you. Carlos doesn’t know how to make you feel this good, does he?”

You shook your head, stammering out a quiet, “No.”

“Didn’t think so,” his hand tightened around your throat, constricting your airways once more.

The only sound that filled the room was your occasional whimpers between breathless moans of pleasure. Charles continued to praise you quietly in your ear, telling you how perfect you looked getting off from riding his thigh. It was the praise combined with his suffocating grip that brought you to edge but it was the way he feverishly rolled his thumb over your clit that pushed you over.

You came undone on his lap, your panties absolutely soaked as your pussy convulsed while waves of pleasure coursed through you. Charles let go of your throat and you leaned your head back against his shoulder, pulling on his hair as you rode out the rest of your high.

Charles waited a few seconds before taking your chin in his hand and turning you to face him. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, it was one of those rare gentle moments you two shared between rounds.

“You think you have one more in you?” He asked, barely moving his mouth from yours. You couldn’t speak, but you could nod and you felt his lips curve into a smile, “Good girl.”

He flipped you around and got you situated at the top of the bed, your head falling back onto the pillows. Charles finally discarded the last bit of red lace you wore, they were absolutely ruined at this point, and he pulled his briefs off as well.

If you had the energy in you, you would have reached for him, attempted to give him a half-assed hand job or possibly taken him in your mouth, but all you could do was lay there and watch as he fisted his hand around his already hard cock.

Charles pushed your legs apart until you were on full display for him. You were staining the hotel sheets with how wet you were, not like either of you cared.

None of this mattered, it was all fucking stupid. The way the two of you ended up crawling back to each other after eight months of moving on was stupid. The way you found yourself desperate for him to fuck you after fingering you twice was stupid. The way Charles wanted to stare at you just a little bit longer because he knew this opportunity would never come again was stupid. All of it.

Charles shifted towards you, dropping his body on top of yours but using his arm to keep himself propped up. You could feel the tip of his dick run through your folds, teasing you, because that’s all he seemed to know how to do.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” Charles whispered, staring down at you with a look that was filled with lust and loss, a combination you hadn’t seen before with him.

“You shouldn’t have let me in,” you retorted, not about to take the sole blame for the situation you found yourselves in.

“I’ll always let you in.”

There it was. The sprinkle of good hidden beneath the cascading tsunami of bad.

“Don’t say that,” you shook your head, swallowing when he inched his cock into you slowly, taking his goddamn time because he knew how much you hated it.

“I mean it.” Charles’ voice was hoarse as you watched his features tighten. He pressed his forehead against yours, sliding out again right before you could feel all of him. “We could have been good together, Y/N, we could have worked through our problems. Instead you ran directly to Carlos.”

You didn’t entertain that idea for a second. The two of you would have never been on the right terms. Years of couples counselling couldn’t fix what went wrong. You were each other's worst nightmare, your own individual walking red flags that should have been avoided at all costs.

But that was Charles’ favourite colour and you looked the best in it.

“Carlos loves me,” you said, which was most definitely the wrong thing to say as Charles dragged the tip of himself over your centre again.

He laughed, of course he laughed. Carlos loved you and yet here you were, about to let your ex-boyfriend, Carlos’ teammate, fuck you because you couldn’t work out your issues in a healthy way.

“And where is he now, hmm?” Charles asked, eyes darting all over your face. “More importantly, why aren’t you with him, chérie?”

You didn’t have an answer. Which was better for Charles anyway. He didn’t want to give you the chance to change your mind about what was to come next.

With no warning, and a quick snap of his hips, he rammed his dick inside of you. Despite how many times he had fucked you before, you never seemed to get used to his size. Charles stretched you out, making you gasp in relief of the feeling of finally being full. You loved his fingers, but they just didn’t compare.

“Carlos can’t fuck you like I can, that’s why,” Charles answered his own question as your nails grazed his back before clenching onto his bicep. He kept at this steady pace for less than a minute, watching as your face twisted in pleasure, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.

Your back arched off the mattress when he pulled out suddenly. He would always fucking do this.

“Charles,” you groaned, mostly due to annoyance but your tone carried a delicate plea. That’s what he wanted after all, for you to beg for him. You swallowed your pride, you had no choice, “Please.”

“Please, what?”

You were throbbing for him and his dick teasing your entrance did nothing to help.

“For the love of God, Charles, just fuck me already.”

That was as close to a beg as he was going to get.

Charles slammed back into you, so hard and fast that a scream left your throat. God you hoped these walls were soundproof. He didn’t give you a chance to adjust as he began to thrust in and out.

Your body couldn’t take it after already coming twice. Your legs shook beneath him as you clawed his back, digging your nails so deep into his skin you wouldn’t be surprised if you drew blood.

Charles knew your body, he knew what angles to go from to hit all the right spots. Searing pleasure mixed with the pain from overstimulation had you helpless, but this was what you wanted.

You looked up at him, recognising the familiar animalistic stare in his eyes. Charles reached above you to grip onto the headboard, his pace never faltering. You don’t know what came over you as you brought your hand to his cheek, but you watched as his gaze softened for that brief second.

Charles liked it rough, but you still craved that bit of tenderness to balance it out. Even as you took your anger out on each other, you wanted to feel his lips on yours. You wanted to swallow his breaths and pretend that for a minute, everything was fine.

You pulled his face towards yours and kissed him before you could think twice about it. His tongue fought yours and you felt his thrusts becoming unsteady. A sound emerged from the back of his throat as you kissed him like there was no tomorrow and you swore you could have came for a third time right then.

Charles dropped his face to your neck when he felt himself starting to experience something other than lust and jealousy. He didn’t want to be craving you again, he didn’t want to fall back into this cycle.

“I fucking hate what you do to me, you know that right?”

“I know,” you dragged your fingers through the hair on the back of his head, body quivering when he kissed the spot below your ear. “And you know I hate you, right?”

“Oh I know,” He accentuated his words with a particularly hard thrust that had you reeling and it was only a few seconds later when you were seeing stars for the third time that night.

Your orgasm was earth-shattering. Almost like the entire world around you paused while waves of euphoria crashed through your entire body. Charles continued to fuck you through your high as you screamed his name, holding his body tight against yours.

Your pussy clenched around him as you shook with pleasure. Everything about you felt numb as Charles continued his violent thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall. He didn’t plan on slowing down, desperate to fuck the literal living daylight out of you for one last time, before you had to return to Carlos.

His dick twitched inside of you, followed by a string of French and English expletives under his breath against your skin. And then he was cumming too, releasing everything he had inside of you.

His body shook before he collapsed on top of your already exhausted body. Your heavy breaths were synchronised as you loosened your grip on his hair, switching to gently twisting your fingers through the dark strands instead.

Charles hummed into the crook of your neck and you braced yourself as he pulled out, wincing at how empty, and sore, you suddenly felt. You half expected Charles to stand up and go to the bathroom to give you the opportunity to leave without saying anything. You wouldn’t have even been surprised if he was blunt and told you to go back to Carlos.

But he rested his head on the pillow next to yours after pulling the covers over your bodies. He then turned your face gently so he could admire you and your post orgasmic glow. All lust behind his eyes had faded, replaced by something else now. Something you were never able to put a name to, something you once convinced yourself was love.

It was longing. A yearning desire for what used to be, what could have been. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

You knew the right move would be to get up and leave. You fucked your anger out. Carlos was worried sick about you. You needed to leave.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Not as you watched Charles’ eyelashes flutter softly until they closed, his hand still resting on the side of your face. You turned slightly to kiss the inside of his palm, and climbing out of bed did cross your mind.

You probably would have, had Charles, in his half-asleep state, not muttered, “Stay.”

It wasn’t long until you fell asleep as well, the two of you facing each other throughout the duration of the night. At one point, his hand found your waist and that’s where it stayed. Charles lovingly touched you more in his sleep than he ever did while awake.

You could have stayed in that bed for hours with him, but you had a rude awakening when you heard your phone ringing from the bedside table. Charles groaned, having woken up too, but he just waved the call off, letting you deal with it.

Your eyes were still shut when your hand fumbled around the surface next to you until you found what you were looking for. You barely registered what you were doing or what time it was as you slid your finger across the screen to answer the call.

You cleared your throat, “Hello?”

“Y/N?”

Carlos saying your name in response jolted you awake. Your eyes widened when his accent flowed through the phone, the concern evident in the way he said your name.

“Carlos,” you sucked in a breath. “I-, I’m sorry, I was out-” you didn’t even know what time it was. You were struggling to come up with an excuse as to why you didn’t go back to the hotel room, something that he would believe, but nothing came to mind. “I didn’t- I mean-”

None of what you were saying made any sense, but as it would turn out, you didn’t need an excuse. There was a more pressing issue at hand.

His heavy breath had your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach and you couldn't have prepared yourself for the next words to come out of his mouth.

“Why are you answering Charles’ phone?”

this is so long im so sorry, if you made it this far..see u in hell

masterlist here

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc smut #f1 smut #f1 one shot #formula 1 x you #holllandtrash #nsfr #im so sorry #f1 requests #f1 #cl16 #cl16 x reader

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scopeiguess · 9 days

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Nico said that, at one point, he thought he would never win because he’d already been racing for 6 years and hadn’t won, but then on his 111th grand prix in china 2012 he got pole and won the race. China 2024, 12 years later, is Landos 109th grand prix. Emilia romagna is his 111th.

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thissying · 1 year

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“On Wednesday afternoon the news came that the Grand Prix was cancelled and then Max himself came up with the idea of organizing a sim race, so that there is still something to experience for the fans this weekend, but also to draw attention to what is happening in Emilia-Romagna and to support the people affected by the storm. "So this really happens on Max's initiative," Atze Kerkhof of Team Redline told Motorsport.com. “Max will of course participate and there will be quite a few members of the Red Bull Junior Team with Enzo Fittipaldi, Ayumu Iwasa, Arvid Lindblad, Jak Crawford and Isack Hadjar. There will also be drivers from Formula E, including Antonio Felix da Costa and Oliver Rowland. Three-time Supercars champion Shane van Gisbergen and Luke Browning have also agreed to participate.”

F2 driver Richard Verschoor, Aston Martin reserve Felipe Drugovich and Alpine reserve Jack Doohan have also been confirmed via Twitter. A grid of twenty-five to thirty drivers is targeted. Kerkhof himself will also participate, just like a few other riders from the Team Redline stable. “But also Sebastian Job, who is part of the Red Bull Racing Esports team. So it will be a nice mix of professional sim drivers and names that normally come out on the track.”

Just like the previous races that were held under the name Real Racers Never Quit, they will be driven on iRacing. “We will be running four races in a row at the Imola circuit, with four different cars,” Kerkhof explains the format of Sunday's event. “We are doing a race with a Formula 3, a race with a Formula Ford, a race with a Mazda MX-5 and a race with a Toyota GR86. Max chose these cars because they are not too difficult to master in the game, are fun to drive and can make for entertaining races for the viewers. We could also have gone for a Formula 1 or GT3, but then you will spend a lot more time getting to know the game version of the car and it might also be less competitive in the races. But because we want to have races that are fun to watch first and foremost, Max picked these four.”

As mentioned earlier, Verstappen wants to raise money with the sim race for the victims of the storm in Emilia-Romagna. “We will support the same action as AlphaTauri,” explains Kerkhof. “As you know that team is based in Faenza and that place has also been hit hard. We will show a link and QR code in the stream that can be used to donate money to the emergency fund. We will encourage anyone watching to make a donation."

Setting up a major sim racing event this hastily is no easy feat. Kerkhof: “Verstappen.com Racing and Team Redline have worked together to get this event off the ground. And Verstappen.com Racing is in turn supported by Red Bull, which has helped to gather some of these drivers. So yes, it is a lot of work, but the fact that Verstappen.com Racing and Team Redline have joined forces makes it a lot easier.” - Atze van de Kerkhof about tomorrow's RRNQ (X)

#f1 #max verstappen #team redline #sim racing #rrnq #gp imola #atze van de kerkhof

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kiwisa · 1 year

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genesis ✩ the harpy

F1 Grid x Fem! F1 Driver! OC

fluff, angst • 5,500 words • series' masterlist

IN WHICH... astrée makes her debut on the track and proceeds to also make history.

Like many other stories, it all started with a mistake.

✩ March 28, 2021

“Latifi crashed after taking Bahrain’s tightest corner too fast! He lost control of his rear axle which sent the rest of the car in a violent spin! And — oh god — he just hit the wall!”

...

“For the moment, no news from Latifi. The red flag has been raised.”

...

“The drivers are gradually returning to the pits while the rescue services are still trying to get the number 6 out of his car. The car was, one could say, literally smashed to pieces after having rolled over a dozen times.”

...

“According to what I'm told in my earpiece, Latifi is unconscious but breathing. His vital prognosis is not engaged. The race will resume.”

...

“Will the Canadian driver be fit to compete in the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix, which will take place from 16 to 18 April?”

✩ April 2, 2021

And then fell the verdict.

NICHOLAS LATIFI WITHDRAWN FROM THE 2021 F1 SEASON FOLLOWING HIS ACCIDENT IN BAHRAIN

Astrée watched all this from her flat in Paris, far from the scene of the accident. After the chaos the announcement of her inclusion in the category had been, Williams, its tail between its legs, had decided not to show her on Bahrain’s paddock.

“We'd rather wait until the storm has calmed down,” came the lame excuse from a communications guy whose name escaped her. Probably Jack or Harry. Some shit like that.

Thus, far from the warmth of Bahrain, Astrée, like all the other fans, was reduced to a spectator. The tone on how she would be treated during the season seemed to be set.

So, because it was not yet time to show them her true personality, she quietly observed all this panic from the screen of her television: the continuous news, the imprecise answers of the commentators, the worries of the fans, as much for Latifi as for Williams' future. Because after all, everyone knew what that future would look like. There was no uncertainty about it, and that was precisely what the chauvinistic fans feared.

LATIFI'S BAHRAIN ACCIDENT MARKS ASTRÉE IRAKLIDIS' HISTORICAL F1 DEBUT WITH WILLIAMS

To see her come along and disturb what they knew – the male-bondage that the Frenchwoman had broken through – terrified those misogynistic assholes. The tweets spoke for themselves. Astrée had not yet appeared on the paddock and people were already hating her. She almost enjoyed this, laughing heartily at their mediocre insults, at their fear that she almost fed off.

How she loved to see men cry. There was nothing more beautiful.

The radical decision to end Nicholas's season sent shockwaves around the world, not so much for the health of the pilot as for the fear of who would replace him.

Jost Capito's confirmation that “yes, Iraklidis will be in the second Williams car at the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix” was enough to finish off the last survivors of what many on social media nicknamed “The Williams disaster.”

With her eyes fixed on her phone screen, her eyes fixed on her future, Astrée gloated. This accident was the chance of a lifetime: hers.

She was being offered a year on a silver platter to prove herself and secure a permanent place in this closed Formula 1 clan. Because one thing was certain, Astrée Iraklidis would not remain a reserve driver for another year. At the mere thought of this title, she scoffed. The woman was better than some of those so-called first drivers but, because she had breasts, she was relegated to the background.

Women were never taken seriously, even though they were just as capable – even more so sometimes – than men. All her life, Astrée had to face these prejudices. Even in 2021, she was still a victim of it. The world would not change.

“Be a stand-in and shut up,” that is what she had been told, word for word, when she signed that cursed contract. A one-year contract. Renewable, of course, but Astrée knew perfectly well that she was just a publicity stunt, a new toy for the media to play with. Williams would not renew this contract. She knew that for a fact. It was as if her entry into Formula 1 had only been possible because they had first made sure she would leave it just as soon.

“All eyes are now on Astrée Iraklidis,” the nasal voice of the sports channel presenter gave her a headache. “A woman in F1 is almost unheard of. I'm curious to see how she will do in the big league. It's bound to be a change for her. It's a far cry from her karting days or Formula 2. If she manages to land herself in P20 instead of a DNF, that will be an achievement on itself. She'll–”

Her knuckles turned white as her fist clenched against the remote control, which she restrained herself from sending into the wall.

She had no choice. If Astrée wanted to stay, she had to win. Fortunately, that was her speciality, and these nineteen men would soon understand that, as others before them – in karting, in Formula 4, in Formula 2 – had done, by dint of repeated humiliations and podiums stolen by a "weak woman."

The taste of victory was even more delicious, sweetened by the karma that always knew how to deal with men who were a little too sure of themselves.

Her phone rang for two seconds. An employee – she didn't know his first name either, he was simply registered as “CM dude” in her contacts – asked her to react to the news. She posted a simple tweet that said, “You can count on me to do everything I can to bring Williams to victory.” The first responses called her a “whore.” Others told her to crash at the first corner. The usual, which was no less bitter.

Astrée locked her phone, her jaw clenched, determined to make her words a reality and, above all, to make them eat theirs.

Her parents had always told her: “you will do great things, Étoile.” And the Greeks were never wrong when it came to prophecies. It was time to make it come true.

The brunette stood up and, deliberately ignoring the clock in her office which read 11.30PM, switched on her simulator before selecting the Imola circuit. Her fingers wiggled alone ⏤ as if they had a mind of their own ⏤ and tapped on the gears. First, second, third... Soon the woman fell into a trance that could only be triggered by racing: slowing down at the sadly infamous Tamburello corner, starting again, overtaking, never giving in to the pressure of the opponent, not flinching at the Rivazza, winning.

It was April 2. D-16.

Astrée pressed “restart the race.” The clock already read twelve past one.

✩ April 5, 2021

Then came the first practice.

With an umbrella in her left hand and her helmet tucked under her right arm, Astrée cursed the English weather almost as much as she cursed the fact that she was in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

It was D-13 and the first practice in real condition would occur on a – very – wet track. She could see from here the large puddles that dotted the training track in a patchwork of elements – between earth and water – that made her cringe.

Astrée was not afraid – she never was. On the contrary, she even found that the rain always added a welcomed challenge. However, it was obvious that she would have preferred to test the limits of her car in dry tires before putting it on full wet blue tyres.

Since signing her contract, the woman had obviously trained in real conditions, ready to step in if she was needed during the first race. But, as Imola was approaching, the pressure was increasing and so were the demands of the team.

Astrée nearly burst out laughing at this. She refrained from pointing out the nerve of Williams to put so much pressure on her when Latifi had not won any points in 17 races the previous season.

The record to beat was literally zero.

She did not know if she should laugh or cry.

Astrée did not want to think about whether Nicholas Latifi had been put under as much pressure or if it was something that was reserved just for her.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. She looked at it in dismay before glaring at whoever had dared to do this. John – or was it Harry? (she still hadn't resolved the dilemma) – immediately withdrew his hand and apologised.

He had been awkwardly reassuring her for a good quarter of an hour, ever since she'd let out a big sigh at the sight of the soaked track.

“It's okay, Astrée. You'll just have to be a little less abrupt in the corners, otherwise you'll –”

“I know how the car works, John. Thank you.”

“My name is Adam.”

“Oh.”

Shit, she gritted her teeth, neither of them then. Without a word, the woman got into the car – fucking awkward, she thought – and closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying that first feeling in her single-seater.

This is it.

"So, how do you feel?" a new voice to her right startled her.

George Russell looked at his teammate with a rather creepy smile ⏤ a good intention of course, just poorly executed. She returned the gesture, although hers was somewhat tense. Astrée had never been good with strangers.

They hadn't met yet. Or at least, not spoken. A handshake when she signed her contract, two or three words of courtesy exchanged during the inaugural photoshoots, and an almost obligatory follow back on Instagram: their interactions had stopped at that.

“More enjoyable now that it's mine.”

Hers. Her car. Her place in Formula One. The 10-year-old Astrée would probably be crying. The 21-year-old Astrée just nodded in approbation.

Don't show your emotions, they'll think you're weak, her father's voice echoed in her head like a mantra.

“You can go now, Astrée,” Jo– Adam told her. “Elijah is ready.”

The only name she had remembered, the only name that mattered to her: her engineer's, her second conscience.

"Radio check, Astrée, do you copy?”

“Copy.”

“Great. Whenever you're ready.”

Inhale. Exhale. The void. The tar. The car. The corners. Nothing else. A roar echoed through the silent track and rekindled the flame in her heart. Birds that had been perched on the edge of the pit flew away as the engine purred. Immediately, she exited the garage and zig-zagged down the track to warm up her new tyres.

“We'll do two warm-up laps to be safe.”

Taking advantage of being alone on the track, Astrée braked sharply, feeling the rear end take off, and accelerated again to see how well the tyres gripped, how responsive the steering system was, and the overall handling of the car.

“Just warm up your tyres for now.”

“I want to see their limits when they are still cold.”

“Copy. Just be careful.”

The first two laps alternated between zigzags, braking, accelerations, and corners taken too short or too wide. When the third lap finally began, already a little more comfortable with her car and her tyres – now warm –, the driver let the pleasure dominate everything else, so that she did not see the laps go by, nor the turns follow each other. Soon Elijah's voice signalled the end of practice.

“Box.”

“Copy.”

When she got out of the car, her legs shaking, a dozen people rushed to share their first impressions of her driving. They had already seen her drive in many other tests as a reserve driver. They had witnessed it, but had they bothered to pay attention at it on those occasions, when she was only the reserve driver, the product of a marketing stunt?

“It was better than I imagined!”

“That's pretty good for a woman.”

She took these half-hearted comments without complaining, reluctant to make enemies within her own team, but thanked her helmet, still pressed down on her head, which hid her dark expression.

Soon, in the midst of this group, a figure stood out and stepped forward. George, his own helmet in hand, ready to go for a series of laps himself, reached out for hers with the other one in a symbolic gesture: “It will be a pleasure to be on the same team.”

Astrée was careful not to share her opinion – quite different from his – and shook the dark-haired man’s hand, with the same tight smile on her face. He may have been her teammate, but on the track, they were – above all – opponents. She couldn't forget that, as she had never been able to in the past. Her journey in motorsports had been a lonely one because of her competitive spirit, and it would continue to be so for the rest of her life.

“Likewise.”

✩ April 16, 2021

On her first real day on the paddock, Astrée had to face her worst nightmare: media day. Wearing the compulsory mask – a sort of protective barrier for the introvert she was – reassured her a little but did not totally calm her racing heart, nor her annoyance. Because Astrée knew, she knew exactly what kind of questions she was going to be asked.

Journalists had the rather impressive capacity of never renewing themselves and having the same ideas. If the human brain normally sought to distinguish itself from others, the journalist's brain thrived for lack of creativity and repetition. From karting to Formula 2, everyone had had the same annoying questions for her. A routine of boredom that had a knack for annoying and sending her into despair.

Her doubts were soon confirmed.

“Not too scared?”

“What kind of underwear are you wearing right now?”

“How does it feel to have George Russell as a teammate? He is rather handsome, isn’t he?”

Beside her, because all the segments were done as pairs today, the aforementioned George was trying to calm things down, defuse the question or just change the subject altogether. At one point, he even held back her fist when it almost – voluntarily – came into contact with the cheek of an old pervert, who had made a remark about her tight suit.

Astrée appreciated the gesture – she didn't want to be called hysterical on her first day – and let him know when, finally, the line "interviews" was crossed off their to-do list.

“Thank you for holding me back. It's bad enough no one likes me, I think it would have made things worse.”

“Yeah, no problem.” There was a rather awkward pause as they both walked towards Williams’s garage, the crunch of their footsteps on the tarmac their only melody. Finally, George decided to go on, unable to bear the heavy silence. "I mean… If I could, I would have hit him myself. Don't listen to them, okay? All those... people? assholes? whatever,” he gestured vaguely with his arm at her haters. “They’re not worth it. You drive a Formula 1 car and they don't. In the end, you're the winner.”

Astrée decided at that precise moment that George was perhaps worth it. He had not, after all, made any remark about her gender, nor had he let her eyes wander lower than necessary: two criteria – low, certainly, but the standards had to be revised downwards – that would have seriously hindered her wish to maintain a semblance of friendship.

If her loneliness in Formula 2 was mostly explained by her introverted personality, many deliberate choices had put an end to any hope of creating links with others within the championship. Astrée had been treated as an object of desire and fragility by many of her teammates. Voluntary isolation had been the wisest decision to make, especially if she didn't want to be penalized or excluded for assault and battery against another driver.

George, on the other hand, had treated her as an equal – which she was, but then again, the bar was at the lowest – which already set him apart from every other driver she'd encountered in her career.

“Would you like to eat something? I could introduce you to some of the guys.”

Astrée winced, reluctant to be thrown into the lion's den so quickly. The lion being a dozen boys who would look at her as the latest attraction or as the enemy to be shot. Take your pick.

“I promise you they're nice,” George reassured her, seeing her reluctance very clearly.

“I don't doubt it.”

The woman especially hated the nicey-nicey spirit almost imposed by the new generation. She wasn't in F1 to make friends, just to win. George would be the exception to that, she decided. Surely her choice was encouraged by the fact that he was not really a threat to her.

Astrée had researched all the pilots, mainly their point totals. It was a way to give her a quick statistical overview of what she had already deduced from her viewing of each race. Thus, she knew that last season George Russell had come away with 4 points, failing to stand out from the rest.

That was already four points higher than Latifi, she couldn't help but think, a mocking smile on her face.

“We’re here,” her teammate's voice brought her back to reality.

The moment they walked through the door, a collegiate atmosphere engulfed them. Laughter, conversation, the smell of coffee and the sound of spoons banging on cups immediately gave her a headache.

A glance at the clock on her phone. 9AM. An hour before the first free practice. She could allow herself a croissant or an apple, but no coffee. Throwing up during her first real F1 race would not make a good impression. No doubt about that.

"George, over here mate!"

Lando Norris had been the one shouting: an orange blob in the middle of the black-clad staff. Beside him were Pierre Gasly and Daniel Ricciardo. All eyes turned to the newcomers and Astrée felt like dying at that very moment.

So much for discretion.

George grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her – against her will, mind you – towards the trio who were too noisy for her taste. It was far too early to have that much energy, or had they taken too much coffee?

“Nice to meet you, I'm Lando! This is Daniel and Pierre, whom you might know. You're both French.”

She restrained herself from saying that sharing a nationality with someone could not guarantee an acquaintance.

Of course, Astrée and Pierre had crossed paths before, at the FFSA Academy in Le Mans in particular, but always from a distance. He probably had better things to do than talk to a ten-year-old girl.

“I know who you are, thank you.” The woman smiled, hoping that this one didn't look too fake. “Astrée Iraklidis, nice to meet you.”

Not really. In an hour, Twitter will ship me with one of you three.

“We know who you are,” Daniel laughed. “I don’t know if you noticed but you’re the talk of the town since you were announced as a reserve driver, but hey, you're not that anymore. Congratulations, by the way, and welcome to Formula One!”

“Thanks!” she smiled, frankly this time, always happy to be reminded of her achievement.

“The interviews weren't too annoying? It's bad enough that we get crappy questions, it must have been worse for you,” asked Pierre.

“Well,” Astrée shrugged, “they just asked me what panties I was going to wear under my suit. You know, the usual.”

The three pilots winced as George sighed at the memory of the old man. Maybe he should have let her hit him.

“Why don't they ask me that?” Lando complained. “I've invested in Calvin Kleins. With the price I paid for them, I’ll show them off in a heartbeat.”

Astrée laughed – to her great surprise – which she tried to hide by clearing her throat, but the four men saw right through her and smiled.

It was obvious to them that the woman was reluctant to bond.

In the WhatsApp group they all had – which she had yet to be added in – Sebastian Vettel had emphasised the importance of making her feel welcome and comfortable on the paddock. Since they were the same age, Lando had been given the task of breaking through the shell that surrounded her.

The speed with which her face fell back into a neutral expression told him that this would be no easy task.

“If you have a problem,” Daniel smiled at her, “you can come to me anytime.”

“And if you get tired of speaking English, je suis là,” added Pierre.

Before the woman could respond, George butted in.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've been asked to return to the garage, Astrée. We have to get ready. It's nearly ten o'clock.”

The two of them said goodbye to the trio – who also decided to leave, seeming to remember that they too were expected somewhere – and went back to Williams’ to change.

As she closed her white and blue jumpsuit up to her neck with one hand – a difficult task to execute with a helmet under her arm – the Englishman called out to her and asked her what she thought of the three drivers.

“They are nice. It's hard to form an opinion. We only talked for a few minutes. But Daniel is very… sunshin-ey.”

She left it at that, her mind already focused on the free practice session.

These went without a hitch. Astrée chose not to fully display her capacity, to even appear clumsy, taking some turns much too wide while still pushing the car to its limits so that the mechanics could make modifications if necessary. Elijah asked her what was going on – why was she driving like that when the practices in England had gone perfectly well? – but she didn't answer, knowing full well that all their communications were recorded, and sometimes even broadcasted live.

Make them think you are impressionable and fragile. They'll underestimate you and be more distracted, her mother had once told her, a wise piece of advice she was now following to the letter. It had worked in Formula 2, there was no reason why it couldn't work in the top category.

To win, you had to know how to use all possible means. The other drivers’ internalized misogyny was one of the most effective tools.

When she got out of her car, leaving the engineers and mechanics to do their job once she had given them her impressions – in particular on a problem on the left side of the front suspension – Astrée winced, already feeling the stress rise in her throat and roll up into an impossible-to-dislodge ball.

In the garage, she put her helmet on the table intended for that purpose. As soon as that was done, the woman unzipped her suit and tied it around her waist, wanting at all costs to free her neck, which was already under strain from her growing anxiety.

“I'm going to stretch my legs,” she signalled to Adam – she had finally remembered his name.

Glances burnt the back of her head, but Astrée ignored them. In the midst of the constant hubbub of the paddock, between the cameras, team members, drivers, assistants and guests, she blended in and was forgotten for a while.

Whispers tickled her ears as she passed by some of the journalists.

“Astrée Iraklidis was disappointing during the free practices. If we don't ask the pilots to bring out the heavy artillery during these four hours, we ask them to have a minimum of knowledge on what they are doing. The number 95 didn't manage to show this.”

And then, that question. Always the same.

"Should women drive in F1?”

She deliberately scoffed loudly as she passed by the idiot who asked that. This had the desired effect as the journalist stammered. Not even his mask could hide his cheeks, which were flushed with embarrassment. A sly smile stretched her lips. Good.

“Astrée! Hey! I believe we haven't talked yet?”

She turned around and almost collided with this stranger – a familiar one – much too close for her taste. Taking her step back, she immediately recognised the newcomer. The Dutch accent was quite a clue.

Max Verstappen. 214 points last season. 3rd in the championship. A threat. Maybe even the worst of all. She was immediately suspicious. This reflected in her tense shoulders and calculating eyes. If the Dutchman noticed, he pretended not to.

“Max, nice to meet you.” He shook her hand with great gusto and immediately began to speak again. His gestures and words followed each other at the same speed as he drove. Astrée felt dizzy. “I saw your free practice. I must say I'm a little disappointed because I've been watching your races since they announced your arrival. But it must be stage fright.”

“Probably.”

“I think you could make up for it by accelerating more and playing with the gears a little.”

On Twitter, everyone was constantly talking about “maxplaining.” The woman didn't think she'd have to pay the price so soon, and on her own performance on top of that.

“You could try to play more on the inside. In fact, for example, in the third turn, you took it much too wide, which made you lose a lot of time. And then...” The rest of his explanation soon became background noise.

He continued to follow her, not understanding that she was walking faster to lose him.

God, give me the strength.

“I'll do all that,” she finally cut him off. “Thank you for the valuable advice.”

He grinned brightly at her.

For a man whose harsh attitude was a trademark, he didn't quite understand sarcasm.

✩ April 17, 2021

And then there was the adrenalin of qualifying, lulled by the voices of the commentators who paid special attention to her every move.

...

“All eyes are on number 95, of course! This is a historic moment, ladies and gentlemen. For the first time, a woman is taking part in the F1 World Championship!”

...

“The Williams driver's debut seems rather complicated. She’ll have to realize we're not in F2 anymore if she wants a good place on the starting grid!”

...

“Astrée advances in Q2, but it is clear the Frenchwoman seems to have some difficulties to find her marks.”

...

“Look at this! Iraklidis seems to systematically take her corners too wide, which makes her lose valuable time. Is she trying to save energy and preserve her car for the race? Or is it simply a lack of skill?”

...

“Astrée will not advance to Q3. It's a P11 for the Frenchwoman. Already very impressive for a first race, but it's still far from the capacities that Williams had made us hope for.”

Over the radio, Elijah's sizzling voice tried to reassure her: “If you don't get a point in the first race, it's not bad, it's even normal. Don't worry.”

“Oh, I'm not worried.” You could almost hear her smile. “P11 is fine. You have to give them a head start. It's not as much fun otherwise.”

This sentence was broadcasted live. Insults rained on Twitter. She ignored them all, high on adrenaline and confidence.

She was going to show them that women could and should drive in F1.

✩ April 18, 2021, 3PM.

Blackout. Just flashes: the warm-up lap, the zigzags, left right, left right, her heart speeding up, the lights turning green.

The first acceleration.

Take advantage of the confusion during the first corner.

The total absence of hesitation.

The Tamburello, taken tightly. Three places already won.

The routine that sets in.

The fear of all other drivers.

The laps, one after the other.

The nonstop overtaking.

“Astrée Iraklidis seems to have woken up! It's like we’re witnessing a different driver. Look how fast this Williams is going! Was her hesitant attitude during qualifying just a decoy? It sure seems like it.”

…

“22 laps! 41 more to go!”

…

“Box,” said Elijah. “Tyre change.”

“Copy.”

...

“It seems that Williams has chosen to favour the undercut. If Astrée risks losing time and places, she will get them back when the drivers in front of her also have to pit.”

...

“The Williams pit crew was very effective on the stop. It’s as if the whole team is riding on the adrenaline that Iraklidis' performance triggers!”

...

“George is DNF. He crashed with Bottas.” Elijah informed her. “You're on your own. Only 33 laps left.”

“Merde! Okay, copy.”

...

“And now Iraklidis overtakes the two Ferraris in a stroke! What's going on?” The commentator laughed in glee. “Williams is putting on a great show, as Verstappen and Hamilton continue their fierce battle!”

...

“The Williams is one place away from the podium! Only Lando Norris stands as a barrier between her and her goal. Will she succeed?”

...

“Incredible! Iraklidis overtakes Norris in the very tight Tosa! It's clear that the new driver is not afraid of doing what must be done. It was a very risky move, especially with worn-out tyres and less grip. But the risk paid off! Now the number 95 will have to defend her position for ten laps and maybe – maybe! – chase an even higher standing!”

...

“Only 5 laps to go and Iraklidis is still third! Four seconds ahead of Norris who seems to have been destabilised by his fall in the standings! Verstappen, on the other hand, seems untouchable with his 20 second lead over Hamilton!”

...

And then, the liberation.

“Max Verstappen wins the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix! Hamilton takes 2nd place while Iraklidis closes the podium! The first woman to do so! This is a historic moment, ladies and gentlemen!”

✩ April 18, 2021, 6PM.

Finally, there was the podium, without its famous cooldown room and with a mask on.

They still gave the three pilots time to recover from their emotions and to discuss their race a little. Astrée immediately detached herself from the two men and threw herself on the water bottles, drinking the transparent gold greedily. It was without any delicacy that she wiped the few drops that had fallen on her chin, almost choking when she saw who was coming towards her. Her cheeks flushed within seconds and her hands began to tremble.

If nothing else compared to the feeling of finishing third in her first ever Formula One race, meeting Lewis Hamilton was a close second. She'd never seen him up close and personal. The television didn't do justice to his beauty.

Damn, what is his skincare routine?

“The dermo-system range from Dior.”

“Huh?”

“My skincare routine. It's Dior.”

“What? I– OH! No! I mean... I– You know what? I'm gonna shut the fuck up,” she muttured, making him laugh.

The Englishman was one of her idols, one of the figures who had taught her it was worth fighting for your dreams and that hard work was always rewarded. This was the first time he had spoken to her and she was thinking out loud in front of him.

Idiote.

“You were great earlier. I saw a couple of clips after the race. Your overtaking of Norris was impressive. Well done, not many people would have risked that in the Tosa, especially on their first race.”

Stay calm. Look normal.

“I can't afford to make mistakes; I have to try risky things.”

“I get it. By the way, I'm Lewis,” he held out a tattooed hand, which she shook, secretly hoping hers wasn't sweaty. His eyes were crinkled. He was smiling. Even with the mask on, she could picture his teeth gap.

Her whole face felt warm. Once again, she thanked the pandemic and its masks.

“Astrée. It is truly an honour to meet you, and to be able to drive on the same track? Incredible.”

The woman left it at that, knowing full well that if she continued, she would end up saying something embarrassing. Fortunately, they were soon asked to go on the podium, Astrée first, to the sound of the teams’ applause only – no audience was allowed – but especially that of Williams employees, unused to seeing their drivers up there.

Once the Dutch anthem finished playing and the trophies were distributed, the champagne flowed freely. Astrée was happy to pour the gold sparkling liquid over the other two and to be sprayed, sometimes running her tongue over her lips to catch a few drops.

The taste of victory was delicious.

No one paid any attention to it, but Astrée was not blind to the subtle shift in Max's attitude. Silent, avoiding her gaze, spraying Lewis more than her, he was far different from the one ready to give her advice the day before to help her in qualifying.

The woman always found it funny how people's behaviour could change dramatically when they felt in danger, when they realized that she wasn't just a political statement. Even if he had been 20 seconds ahead of her today, he knew for sure that she could easily decrease the gap with a better starting position tomorrow.

Astrée smirked.

She had won a fucking podium on her first ever race. Damn right, he should be afraid of her.

✩ taglist !

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