15 . 05 . 16

that one formula one fan

[andcars]

──── fastestlap.exe . . . ³

i'm andi ! i write fanfics to feed my fantasies and also my wallet if people so wish to support me. all of my graphics i make for fanfics only so i don't appreciate any reposts. of course, i support (mostly) all drivers and i'm open to asks and dms talking abt them!

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do not engage in any content i post that you aren't comfortable with.

[andcars]

Hey, I don’t really want to bother you but I got really interested in your latest work about max and subscribed to your Patreon to read it but I still can’t access it. Do I need to upgrade my subscription or there just problem with Patreon?

hi sorry for the late response but i just changed the settings TT apparently it didn't save and show that it's available for everyone. it should be fixed now !! if not still , please feel free to send another ask

[andcars]

✶ GOOD COOK BAD COOK F1 TXT

grid. max verstappen , george russell , charles leclerc , carlos sainz , jack doohan

──── you wanted to make something for your boyfriend and ended up needing to confess about the crimes you've made

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" yeah ,,,., that's right. i added jack doohan in here. i've had a bit of a rush looking through his pics so now i'm obligated to write him in every now and then. my pinterest feed is now full of stupid pics cuz of these LMAO

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taglist. @Delululeclerc @coconut-dreamz @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144 @bulletlovedie @blablablablacar @rere10 @iloveotters11 @scrib-belle @bieberismysoulmate @eclecticbirdkingdom @yumm267449 @samriddhisingh @Tallrock35 @rapidlyvirtualsolitude @waitingatthegreenlight @blablabla2242 @fasterthanyous @annieisgoingmadmax

[andcars]

using a tracker now and idk how well i'm gonna acheive the target wc but at least i have fic ideas now

[andcars]

✶ SILVERSTAR18 MV FIC

﹙ oneshot ﹚ ─────── the step before first place

summary. max verstappen never made it to the high prestige of being a formula one driver, he races online instead. silverstar18 gives him advice on a race ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ...‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤpatreon early access fic

additional tags driver!reader, streamer!max, pre-relationship fic, gender neutral reader, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of j*s verstappen (ofc he's haunting the narrative), slight angst, what do you do when the guy who watches your streams is a formula 1 rookie

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" this fic lowk got away from me. i first imagined it would be like, oh ,,, like the driver is obsessed w them and then maybe some smut. but then i alr wrote that with how good are you. ended up with max verstappen yearning for a parasocial relationship with a fan who happens to have the job he always wanted. if i ever make a part two, no one be surprised

Max has always thought he’d become a Formula One driver; his dreams were crushed too early. It might not be ideal but sim-racing is just as fun. He gets to drive his favourite tracks and play almost anytime he wanted. If he had the space for it, he’d get a fully immersive sim. Rotating chair, a left-to-right view of his screens, and one that could throw him out of his seat for when he crashed. It sounds fun.

“Mate—” he laughs, the few in his Twitch chat laughing too—“I’m going to die in this Mercedes. How is it so shit?” He drives on Suzuka with his friends, doing a 24h stream for the fun of it. Sim-racing is fun but so is doing it for the hobby.

His chat talks too much for him to ever keep up with it. He almost crashed into one of his friends when he tried to read something. Max keeps his eyes on the road, by all means, and ignored it.

Then you donate, the TTS reading out a tip on the track. Max hears it all the time but this one is different than the rest. He glances at his stream replay, catching a glimpse of your username. He mutes himself on call before he asks, “You’ve tested that one before?” He glances at himself in P4. He doesn’t really try to win that much when he’s playing casual. Still, he’s curious.

On the next lap, he follows your advice. He’s sandwiched between two cars and he got away scot-free. Laughter comes from his headphones and utter disbelief. “Fuck,” he said, in disbelief in himself. He looks at chat but he doesn’t see your message again.

That was the first time you entered his stream. Every now and again, he keeps seeing your username pop-up. When he’s not racing, he’s doing random games. You keep watch and place a few messages in. You’re never watching or talking for too long. He remembers you just because of the tip you gave him. The only time you stayed throughout the stream was when he was racing.

He sees you again the day before his race. “You’re back?” He greets you out of all the Twitch comments. Only a few of them bother to comment, so it’s pretty quiet when you talk. “Thought you had plans for today.”

allthesilverstars18: timezone difference, verstappen

allthesilverstars18: i’m here to watch you race

────── FULL WORK HERE ! ($5 monthly or $3 per post)

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taglist. @Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144 @blablablablacar @iloveotters11 @scrib-belle @bieberismysoulmate @eclecticbirdkingdom @yumm267449 @samriddhisingh @Tallrock35 @Liljizzy69 @rapidlyvirtualsolitude @blablabla2242

[andcars]

the struggles of writing an mv fic is finding a good pic of max to edit ... i swear ive used all of them ...

[andcars]

✶ HOW GOOD ARE YOU CL FIC

﹙ oneshot ﹚ ─────── fuck me like a fanatic

summary. another win had dropped right to your lap. while your vision is blurred by flashing cameras, you just see the man you didn't think you'd see. ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ...‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤreleased earlier on patreon

additional tags more plot than porn, unprotected sex, slight role reversal, NASCAR!reader, fan!charles leclerc

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" i almost forgot abt this fic but i've always loved the idea of a driver/racer!reader sm ughh. also posting this to celebrate charles win in 3000 years BLBOBOBOBOBOBOBO

The checkered flag barely dropped when the crowd rose around you. Cheers, footsteps, the thunder of fans banging on the barricades. By the time you climbed out of the car—tugging your helmet free and trying to remember how to breathe air that wasn’t thick—the reporters had already closed in. Not a single room to breathe. Microphones. Cameras. Voices layered on top of each other.

“Incredible drive tonight. How did you manage that climb from the back of the grid?”

“Can you walk us through those final ten laps? The overtake with four cars—just how could you do it?”

“Some are already calling this one of the best comebacks of the season. Do you feel like you’ve sent a message to your rivals?”

Your chest was still heaving. Every muscle in your body trembles from the strain. Still, the words came anyways. They always did. “I knew I had the pace,” you say, forcing calm into your voice. “It was about patience, waiting for the right gaps. Starting at the back didn’t change my goal. The car was strong, and I trusted myself to make the moves when I needed to.”

Another question followed. Then another. And another.

“Did you expect to win from that position?”

“Who gave you the hardest fight out there?”

“What does this mean for the rest of the season?”

You answered in short bursts—honest enough, polished enough—but your focus slipped. Past the microphones shoved too close, past the blinding flashes, past the chaos pressing in. Nothing can beat the singular image of one man standing above all else.

Charles Leclerc.

He stands at the edge of the pit road crowd, baseball cap pulled low but not enough to disguise him. Ferrari’s golden prince, ever the martyr, watches you with a gaze so steady yet enamoured. You're so shocked that it feels like every question that flies towards you is only briefly air. The cameras were still on you. The interviewers were still waiting for more. But your decision was immediate.

“I think that’s enough for now,” you said firmly, lowering the mic that had been nudged against your chin. “Excuse me.”

You don't wait for permission. You slip through the wall of bodies and stride across the floor. When you reach him, he shifts, straightening as if he hadn’t expected you to approach.

“Leclerc, right?” Your voice softer now, quieter than the chaos behind you. You extend your hand, smiling so bright you may as well have won the entire season. “I’m sure you already know who I am.”

He blinks, caught off guard, before sliding his hand into yours. Inviting, excited, though not quite hiding the nerves that flickered across his expression. “Yes… I mean, yes, I know. I’ve been following your season. That drive—honestly, it was something else.”

The moment is split by flashing lights. You feel the burn of it, the press latching onto the image of you and him, hands linked, faces close enough as if they could spin it with you two as lovers.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “We don’t have to do this here. Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

His lips parted as though the question had startled him. Then he nodded, quick, almost relieved. “Yes. Please.”

That was all it really took.

You lead him through the noise. Away from the glare, into the narrow hallway that snaked under the stands—the two of you are somewhere private, somewhere the world couldn’t follow. The bar is quiet, dimly lit, tucked away from the noise of the main floor, where music and chatter spill like gasoline on a fire. You sit across from Charles in a corner booth, your drink sweating on the table between your fingers. He looks different like this. No red uniform, no cameras flashing. Just a man in a plain shirt with his hair a little messy, eyes green as if they’re hiding something he doesn’t want to name.

“So,” you say, swirling the ice in your glass, “you didn’t expect me to walk straight out of that mess on the track, did you?”

Charles leans back, shoulders loose. Still, you can tell by the way his fingers drum against the table that he’s restless. Anticipating for more, like most do. “I didn’t expect you to win from the back of the grid, no. That was…special.”

“Special?” You tilt your head. “That’s what you call it? I've seen other F1 drivers do the same in worse conditions”

His laughs, shaking his head. "That only makes you just as good as them though, right?" You hum, taking in his word as he looks at you with interest. “What would you prefer me to call you? Incredible? Dangerous? Brilliant? I haven’t decided which word fits best.”

You laugh under your breath, heat curling at the edges of your skin. “If I wasn't so sure, I'd think you're flirting with me to find a seat into NASCAR.”

“Maybe I am,” he says, meeting your gaze head-on now. “Or, maybe, I'm simply saying what I'm seeing. You don’t leave much room for simple words.”

The silence that follows is thick, but not uncomfortable. You let it stretch. Studying him in the same way you’d study a rival before a race—the line of his jaw, the calm way he holds himself even though his eyes give him away—he's something else. He’s not calm. Not at all. Yet, his excitement is contained as if he's waiting for a moment to strike.

“Alright,” you finally say, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “How good are you?”

He blinks once, slow, as if he’s not sure what you mean. “At racing?”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “No. Not racing.”

Something shifts in his expression. The kind of spark you only see in split seconds before a dangerous overtake. Something like he's going to do something that was unsaid the entire night. He leans closer, just enough that his words slide across the table and find you.

“I could tell you,” Charles mutters, “but I think it’s better if I show you.”

The door to your hotel room barely clicks shut before Charles is against you. His hands slide over your waist as though he’s been waiting years. Pressing your back to the door, he kisses you with the same intensity you’ve seen him drive with. Like he's rushing in a pace he knows that works. He knows when to push, when to swipe his tongue against your lips. He knows when to take his time and moan into your mouth like he's savouring the moment.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathes between kisses, his accent curling around every word. “I watched you go from the back of the grid to first—you don’t even know what that did to me.” His lips find your jaw, your neck, leaving heat everywhere he touches. “Mon dieu, you’re unbelievable.”

When the hell had racing turned you on this much? His praise makes your body hum. Every word sinking into you deeper than the kisses. His hands are reverent, running over your arms, your back, down to your hips as though he’s mapping out a track he never wants to forget. You tug at the hem of his shirt, and he chuckles softly against your lips, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.

“You want this?” His voice is low, gentle, even though his body is pressed tight against yours.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah. I do.”

That’s all it takes. He peels off his shirt, revealing lean muscle, and you can’t help but trace your fingers over the ridges of his chest. He sighs at the touch, eyes heavy with something that feels more than just desire. He kisses you again, slower this time, guiding you toward the bed.

When your back hits the mattress, he’s above you, gazing down like you’re something rare, something holy. “Tu es magnifique,” he whispers. “Not just on the track—here. Everywhere.”

You tug him down into another kiss, and soon clothes fall away piece by piece, like layers being shed until there’s nothing between you but skin and warmth. It's electirfying as he's the one who undresses you. The way he pulls your shirt over your head and unclasps your bra like a lover after the wedding. He's worshipping your every skirt as his lips make it way to every exposed line.

“Charles…” you breathe, and his name alone seems to unravel him.

“Say it again,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “Please. I want to hear you.”

You do, whispering his name like a prayer. Preparation barely takes a moment longer as you're so fucking wet. You're turned on by the way he's kissing your body. Every part of you trembles as his fingers tug at your panties. Nothing compares to the feeling of even just his thumb pressing against your clit.

"Shit, fuck," you gasp before he takes away your panties. Though he's still dressed, you're exposed to him like you're the only thing that matters. Charles is whispering your name to your body like it makes him worthy. "Fucking hell, Charles, just fucking fuck me."

He pulls his head up. "Are you sure?" he asks, eyes in pure desperation and yet considering you still. "I don't want to rush—"

Pushing his pants down is inevitable. Charles groans as you rudely cut him off with the way you unbuckle him. "Shit, amor." His clothes fall slowly as his other hand rubs your sex. He taps a finger inside your lips before pressing it inside. While you're so fucking impatient, he still thinks of how the stretch might hurt you.

You put your arms around his shoulders and pull him closer. "Leclerc," you practically spit out, "if you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to ride you so hard that I'll be the only one you're thinking of for days."

The growl from his throat is animalistic. Charles places his hands on your waist as he asks for lube, quietly. In which you respond with a groan and a nod to the nightstand. Of course, he's quick to lather himself with it as he distracts you with his lips. You can't hate him when, even when you insist otherwise, he acts like a gentleman.

Once he pushes his cock in, you moan. His cock is large enough to make you feel the light burn of it. You burn his name into his skin. Burying your head into his neck, you moan out as he fucks more into you. The little thrusts make you take more and more. Whining, you still beg for more.

"Perfect. So fucking perfect."

Charles starts to piston his hips into you. The sensation of being filled can barely contest with the way praise falls from his lips. First, English: "So good. So fucking p—perfect. You feel so good around me. Fucking pretty sounds"; then, French. You can't even guess what he's saying. The little drops of 'belle', 'parfaite', and curse words are the only things you understand.

"Shit, fuck, Charles, like that. Like that." You lock him between your legs as you feel your orgasm build. The sensation feels so tight and unfamiliar. Charles is making you whine and cry out, which differentiates him from anyone else. "Gonna come, Charles. Gonna fucking come—"

You shriek. Your orgasm washes over you like a sharp tide. Clasping around him, you tremble as you release around him. Charles stills as he lets you calm down. He pulls out of you as he breathes into your body. While you catch your breath, you just fucking notice how he's still hard. Fuck.

"Charles," you mumble, feeling him hum, "You haven't came?"

The man lets out an embarrassed noise. "Sorry, I, uh, we didn't have a..." Charles look down to his leaking dick, raw against your stomach.

You laugh with such sincerity at his ridiculousness. "Give me a second, and I'm going to make you come so hard that you'll never want anything else."

The glint in his eyes challenge you to think as if he can want anything more than this with you.

homepage masterlist request taglist patreon guide

taglist. @Delululeclerc @coconut-dreamz @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144 @bulletlovedie @rere10 @iloveotters11 @eclecticbirdkingdom @yumm267449 @samriddhisingh @Tallrock35 @rapidlyvirtualsolitude @waitingatthegreenlight

[andcars]

i kinda died off for a bit because of some family issues so i wasn't posting again TT but i'm gonna try and be back as soon as possible. with that being said , i'm going to be scheduling to post my exclusive posts to go up public !!!

[andcars]

✶ PLAYING HOUSE CL FIC

﹙ oneshot ﹚ ─────── healing the wound you never knew was bleeding

summary. you're a babysitter for the kids who are a little less than neglected in monaco. it's a nice surprise to see a single dad who cares and much more to his kid. ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ...‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤreleased earlier on patreon

additional tags fluff, slight angst, mentioned (but not undergone) abortion, charles leclerc is not a formula one driver, girldad!charles leclerc, open-ending

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" one of my fave charles fics i wrote ... i'm planning a socmed continuation or an au of this. god i love these two sm im drooling. such baby fever these days

Being an average salary worker in Monaco is an experience. For one, your average salary isn't actually average in places like America. All of the regular jobs also feel much more because—well, you're in Monaco.

Wanting to stay here and actually affording it is a tough battle that always tries to best one another. Recently, you've got a job that actually manages to pay the bills, your meals and some extra leisure.

Babysitting.

Something that would probably be cheap as hell in America, but you're in Monaco. That's a needed emphasis.

Your name has been referred to family to family, so it's nice that getting jobs is easier. Some families even have you stay over an entire week while they are out on vacation.

So it's safe to say that it's nice.

Sometimes you're sad that all these kids are out of touch with their parents. So, with all the love in your heart, you always do your best to be the parent they always wanted.

Gaining a reputation for half-neglectful parents, you know what to expect. When you're hired by Mr Leclerc, you thought it was going to be the same.

Knocking on the door to his apartment, there was chaos heard through the door. You stood there, hands on your bag, and not so subtly trying to listen in.

The door opens. A dishevelled man stands with his hands full of baby formula and a bottle.

“Hi, sorry, please come in!" Leclerc, you assume, guides you in as he's rushing back to the living room. “I’m sorry, I'm in a hurry right now—" 

“It's okay, I can handle that," you take the formula and the bottle off his hands. “You can leave it to me." 

“Okay…” he says, as if in doubt. 

He stands there for moments, watching as you approach the little girl in her crib. She's crying and thrashing around.

“Come on, bébé," you cool, preparing her bottle. “Are you hungry? Is that why you're so upset?" 

Leclerc is moving in the background. “Uh, I'm sorry to leave you here," he shouts, on the other side of the hallway. “I was called in late, and it’s just—I need to take the bus and everything—" 

The man was clearly rushing. You just hum as you feed his kid. The little girl already had a small bit of hair, and her bright blue-green eyes were so teary.

“Come here," you say as you pick her up. She sucks on the bottle happily as you have her over your shoulders.

“Papa has to go for a while, so you have me, okay?" You tell her, as if she can understand anything but the taste of milk on her tongue. "You have to say goodbye to papa.”

On cue, Leclerc comes out slightly better dressed. He's looking worriedly towards his kid, then to you. "There's uh, food in the fridge for you. It's just leftovers. And please just… just take care of her.”

Not like you're here to do anything else.

"Of course,” you smile. "Say bye-bye to Papa,” you turn her around to face her dad. She just moans around the bottle, which makes you giggle.

"Okay,” Leclerc rushes forward, a kiss on her forehead. "Goodbye, mon ange. Don't be mean to them, okay?” 

That leaves you two alone. Just the sounds of happy drinking and the cars from below the building.

It's only then that you realise the stacks of toys around the living room. When you place her back in the crib, you start to organise everything. You manage to find a toy box in one of the bedrooms, placing most of the items back except for a rattle and a stuffed horse.

On her bib reads, ’Julie’. You smile, “Such a pretty name. You're so pretty, Julie." 

She smiles like she knows she's being complimented. Clever girl.

You're more or less used to taking care of kids about 8-10 years old. When they're at that age, they're usually asking for the television or their iPad. 

Leclerc was very stern so as not to give Julie any sort of digital device or expose her to the television. So, you spent afternoons reading to her and playing with her toys while her father was—as you soon learned—in Italy.

You barely talk to him. He's one of your frequent clients because Leclerc is mostly out of the country. Apparently, he works at a factory in Italy after being promoted there. The promotion came just before Julie was born, and he wasn't able to figure out how to balance his work and personal life without needing to move.

On the rare occasion you get to see Leclerc, he’s home tired. 

You’re on the floor of the living room as you hear the door open. Enters Leclerc with a soft smile on his face, seeing Julie on the playmat with her favourite stuffed horse.

“Mon ange," he murmurs, going to kneel beside her right after taking off his shoes. “Did you miss me?" 

He mutters more in French, something you miss. You get the point, though, as he pulls her into his lap and pampers her face with kisses.

He looks at you, a tired look on his face. “Thank you. I'm really sorry I've been calling you more recently.”

"It's fine,” you shake your head. "I didn't know you were going to be home early. I was making dinner.”

"Dinner?” He looks to the kitchen, as if just noticing the faint smell of food.

He did say through text that the fridge was open for you to use. Now that you think about it, you weren't sure if you were allowed to cook.

“I hope it's okay," you blurt out, “I bought some ingredients with my own money and made some salmon and fruits. She's at the age, right? I guessed she's about a year old now.”

"Yeah,” he nods. "She’s fourteen months now. Practically a big girl.”

Leclerc brings her up by her armpits, blowing raspberries on her stomach as she laughs. "You're a big girl, aren't you? Such a big, growing girl.”

You laugh as you stand up. “Come on, I'm sure I made enough for the three of us." 

More or less because you're a big eater, but you can eat less when it comes to these scenarios.

Leclerc, surprisingly, takes the task of feeding Julie. It's endearing. She's sitting high on her chair as Leclerc feeds her with aeroplanes. She's absolutely joyful as her father feeds her.

You don't ask, but you can tell that Julie doesn't really have a mother to feed her like this.

Instead, you ask, “If I may—" you start off, “can I ask why you haven't moved to Italy if you're always travelling?" 

Charles looks at you, a soft smile on his face, before he sighs. “I love Monaco. It's where I grew up. My maman would be sad if I left as well,” he explains.

“Plus, I don't have the best of memories in Italy.” His face turns more solemn at that, but he keeps the smile for Julie as he feeds her. "Her mom lives there.”

Ah, well, that fills a quarter of your curiosity about her mom. 

"I'm trying my best, though,” he says, with conviction in his heart. “A babysitter is also cheaper than a residence in Italy." 

You laugh. “What do you do there? For work, I mean.” 

“I'm a sales manager,” he says. "I can do most things at home, but I have a deal to close in, and the team is just…” he sighs, shaking his head. "Well, it's all difficult. So I had to be there in person.”

"You're home now, at least,” you try to comfort. "Julie definitely misses you.”

Julie just has her mouth open, just wanting to be fed again. Leclerc laughs and gives her another spoonful.

His own plate is untouched. "Take a bite,” you tell him, "you're probably drained from the trip home.”

He looks down at his food, as if forgetting it was there to begin with. "Yeah, it was awful.”

Taking the first bite, his eyes widened a little. He takes a while to eat it, chewing on it as if he can't believe it. You're not sure if he's in awe or if you just put too much pepper in it.

After he swallows, he just looks at you, "You—wow,” he puts a hand over his mouth. "That's…that's amazing." 

“Come on," you shake your head, “you can just say ‘A for Effort'. You don't need to make me feel better." 

“No, no!" He shakes his head. “It's really good! I guess I'm just…" he smiles, almost laughing. “God, maybe I do miss homemade food." 

“Too much takeout?" 

Leclerc takes another bite, “Too much takeout pasta." 

Both of you let out a laugh at that. Julie just whines for more of her share. Leclerc gives it to her as he takes a bite of his own.

It's two days before you get another call from the Leclercs. Just finishing another week trying to handle another spoiled brat, you get a call from a familiar number.

“Hello?" You ask, kicking your shoes off at the entry of your apartment.

There's crying in the background. “Hi," Leclerc’s exasperated voice comes through. “I’m sorry for calling this late. But Julie’s having an episode and—mon ange, désolé,” rapid French goes to your ear, and you know it's really bad.

"She won't stop crying. I don't know what to do!”

"Okay, um,” you wipe your hands on yourself, unsure if you should come or not. "I'm guessing you tried to feed her or check her diaper?”

"Yes, yes, of course,” there's panic in his voice. "She won't eat anything, though. She just cries harder if I come close to food." 

“Okay, is it okay if I come to try and help?" 

There's a sharp inhale, “Yes," before he sighs.

Arriving at Leclerc’s apartment at ten pm isn't how you thought the day would end. As Leclerc opens the door, you're greeted by the guttural screams Julie was letting out in his arms.

“I—I tried everything!" Charles says, worried as he pats her back softly, “She just cries and cries, and I'm so worried that I'm…" 

“Shh, it's okay," you open your arms, Leclerc just giving you to her. She's still sobbing as she buries her head in your shirt. “Julie, it's okay, bébé." 

Both of you go to the living room. Leclerc watches carefully as you sit on the couch, wrapping her in your arms as you let her sob it out.

Neither of you speaks as Julie slowly calms down. The cries start to tire her out, and she soon just sniffles. Then, sniffles turn into sleepiness. It takes maybe ten minutes for the apartment to go quiet.

Leclerc sighs, sitting next to you with his hands on his head. You slowly put her in her crib, not wanting to disturb her.

When Leclerc still hasn't uttered a word, you look at him in worry. To your surprise, he was crying.

“Am I…am I a bad father?"

Your heart breaks.

Leclerc looks at you, leaning against the couch as he runs a hand through his hair. “I'm really—putain. I am really trying my best. But I don't know…I don't know what to do.

"Sometimes I just wish that I could make everything easy for her. But I have so much—I have so much to do. I need to work hard for so many fucking things. The rent, the work, and my mom… I have so much shit everyday and Julie doesn't deserve only half of my attention. She deserves all of it.”

Leclerc looks away, tears staining his cheeks. "She deserves stable parents. She doesn't deserve this.”

Your heart breaks not just because you're seeing a father struggle with his life, but you're seeing your own father, who gave everything to raise you.

Sitting next to Leclerc, you quietly open your hands. Like father, like daughter, he breaks into tears as he takes your embrace.

Something you learned with kids is that they usually solve everything on their own. They can solve their tantrums and emotional breakdowns if you just let them cry.

Charles Leclerc just needs a cry, too.

When he pulls away, he's sniffling and wiping his tears. "I’m… I'm really sorry to dump that all on you.”

"No, it's okay,” you smile at him, teary yourself. "I get that, in a way. You just want what's best for her, and you're overwhelmed with your own life.”

He nods. "I love her, and I'll do anything for her. But as much as I hate to say it… Maybe she's better off with another family.”

"Maybe,” you say, "but that doesn't mean she’ll be happier there.”

You look at Julie, and all the kids you've taken care of flash through your mind. "Every kid I take care of, their parents barely give two shits about them, you know?

“They can provide them with everything in the world. Everything they ask for, except for attention.”

You look at him, watching as the same ocean-like eyes stare back at you. "Julie doesn't deserve parents who will buy her the world. Julie deserves a father who is there every day, good or bad. Half attention or full. Julie deserves a father who loves her.”

Silence creeps into the conversation. It keeps the apartment dead to the world for a while. Julie is sleeping peacefully, and Leclerc stares at her crib like she's about to walk any second now.

After a while, he picks her up gently. He looks at you with a soft look in his puffy eyes. "Thank you—” he calls your name with the sweetest accent—”I hope you get home safe.”

You do.

You call your dad that night. It goes to voicemail. It's been going to voicemail for about six years now, but it's a joy to hear his voice again. 

He was always there for you, working for days and days just to give you food on the table; he worked until it killed him. 

He would've been proud to see Leclerc. He just probably wished Leclerc would get to see his kid’s 18th birthday, unlike him.

"Do you want to stay over for dinner?”

You look up from the doorway. Charles was standing there, his arms full of Julie. In his eyes were almost swirls of a pitiful and pleading blue-green.

After taking care of Julie for three days straight, Charles came home with five new outfits for her and bags of groceries. 

He's looking at you with hope in his eyes, so he looks away as he adds—"It’s okay if you're busy. I… I just wanted to ask.”

“Yeah," you nod, “Like, I mean that I’d love to stay for dinner." 

Leclerc, as you learn, is a decent cook. He made homemade pizza and pasta—something he apparently learned from his Italian colleagues—and he’s good at it. Real good at it.

Julie sits in her chair as you two chat about nothing. Nothing; the prices of rent, previous jobs, and raising a kid.

You’ve always wanted your own. Still, you’ve been single for a few years and haven’t found anyone to settle down with.

“It’s difficult, I guess,” you shrug. “Sometimes its hard to find someone that you’d love for the rest of your life. My exes were just… I guess they knew they were only good temporarily.”

“Harsh,” he laughs.

“Like—” you shake your head—”I could just tell they never wanted something so serious.”

Leclerc hums, looking at Julie. “Her mom… She was like that, too, I guess,” he shares. “But she didn’t want to… you know, not give birth. Said that scared her. So, she just shoved Julie to me after she hid her pregnancy when we were still dating.”

“What, so like she was pregnant while you were dating..?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “but then we broke up. Months later, she gave me Julie.”

“She never told you about her pregnancy!?”

Leclerc laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Hiding your pregnancy from your ex-boyfriend feels insane. You don’t really know what you’d do if you saw his ex. 

“I won’t change anything, though,” he says. “Julie is… Julie was tough at first. I don’t know how to raise a kid. But I would never do anything to change that she is my kid.”

Julie laughs with a mouthful of pasta, like she understands her father’s unconditional love for her. Leclerc just laughs as he cooes, telling her to swallow.

When the night ends, you’re at the door with a heart as full as your stomach.

“Thank you,” you say. “I… I really appreciated that, Mr Leclerc.”

He makes a face, as if he’s surprised. “Please, Mr Leclerc was my dad,” he says, a line he probably got from a movie. “Just call me Charles.”

“Charles,” the name rolls off your tongue easily. “Thank you.”

Charles smiles, “You’re welcome.”

You don’t really know when you started visiting, not out of duty, but just out of want. It started with Charles sending videos of Julie—her first walk, her first word, and her insatiable need to cry for you. You’ve spent your days off with the Leclercs, and it was enjoyable.

Money isn’t on your mind when Julie is on your lap, reading her fairytales in god-awful French as Charles cooks breakfast. He has an online meeting at the kitchen counter, so you get to play with Julie on the playmat.

The first few times, Charles wanted to pay you. When you said you weren’t here for official business, he still insisted. On the terms of eating his food, he lets you take care of Julie for free.

She’s your best friend now, anyway. No girl has listened to you better than Julie has.

“Papa is using so many big words,” you mumble quietly as Charles rants off in Italian. She’s kneeling on the floor, holding her toy kitchen utensils as she feeds you air. “I’m surprised your first words aren’t in Italian.”

“Papa,” she mimics, the only word she knows how to say. “Papa.”

You giggle and take the toy pan and start making more of her eggs. “Yes, Papa. He is both your Papa and your Mama when you think of it. He’s a very good cook.”

Well, decent is more of a term. You’ve tasted how he makes his chicken, and it definitely needs some work. 

“Papa,” Julie repeats again, standing to put her spoon near your mouth. “Papa… Mama.”

You let out a little laugh. “Yeah, he’s Mama too, isn’t he?”

“Mama.”

“Mhm.”

“Mama…”

“Yes, he is.”

“Mama!”

You laugh, shushing her as she’s on your lap with her little arms on your neck collar. “Okay, no, he’s Papa. Come on, now.”

Still, she insists, “Mama!” as she looks at you.

“Julie,” Charles starts, standing next to you—when did the meeting end?—with a worried look on his face, “don’t say that.”

“Ma~...ma,” she drags out, as if teasing her more.

Charles look embarassed. “I’m… I’m sorry, I accidentally… she must’ve, uhm,” he looks around, kneeling down to take Julie, “I didn’t mean for her to… I think she heard me talking—uh…”

“Charles,” you cut him off, “I was just joking with her. I called you her Mama, and I think she must have just fixated on that word.”

Surprisingly, Charles looks surprised. Which is surprising. He looks embarrassed, looking at Julie as if he doesn’t understand your explanation.

“Oh,” he says, as Julie mumbles to herself. “Okay…”

“But like, what did you mean?”

“Huh?”

You lean forward, can’t help the beating of your heart. “What did you mean by she heard you talking?”

Could he have gotten back with his ex?

That’d be stupid. Charles can’t be that stupid.

He doesn’t look at you. You can almost see the red in his face as Julie just giggles excitedly. “I… Whenever I try to talk to her about you, she just says… Well, I may have called you Maman to her once before—like, just as… Er, like it was a joke, I guess.

“And I think—I thought she was… I thought she actually thinks you’re her mom.” Charles looks adorable when he’s shy, you think. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird—”

“Would it be?” you ask, trying your chances on the most handsome single father in this world. “Would it be weird?”

Charles contemplates it. His face softens, eyes looking as if it’s seeing the world where you were raising Julie next to him.

He says, so quiet as if not to break the moment, “It wouldn’t be… if you wanted to.”

Maybe it was a bad idea. But then, maybe it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be weird, though, you two decided. Both of you adore Julie, and Charles makes some good pasta. It wasn’t a proposal, but co-parenting sounds nice.

“Mama,” Julie raised her fist, as if getting both of your attention. “Mama… Papa.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss on her head. “Yes, yes, we get it, Julie.”

“I think she also doesn’t find it weird,” Charles adds, carrying her up and blowing raspberries on her stomach. It makes her giggle, always. “What were you doing with Mama, hm, mon ange?”

The way he tried the name out sounded nice. Sounded so fucking nice.

“We were making Julie’s world-famous eggs. Does Papa want a taste?”

Charles smiles with his entire face—eyes scrunched and grinning ear-to-ear. “Please, I would love to try my two sweethearts’ cooking.”

When you were a kid, you always played all the roles when it came to play pretend. The mom, the daughter, the father, and the dog. It’s nice to just play mom for once. 

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taglist. @Delululeclerc @coconut-dreamz @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144 @bulletlovedie @rere10 @iloveotters11 @eclecticbirdkingdom @yumm267449 @samriddhisingh @Tallrock35 @rapidlyvirtualsolitude @waitingatthegreenlight

[andcars]

✶ THE BAT CL FIC

﹙ oneshot ﹚ ─────── but you are not grief itself

summary. you don't remember when charles last came up to the surface. for the time being, you've ran with the name "catwoman" ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ...‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤpatreon early access fic

additional tags alternate universe — the batman (2022), loosely based on the movie, angst, minor character death, violence, established relationship, identity porn, open-ish ending

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" anyways im out with another plotty charles fic because I WILL put this man in situations. this was more angst heavy with minimal comfort ??? it's just my take on an identity porn fic that i may or may not have a smuttier version next hehe

It could’ve gone better; you could have been stuck in jail with the rest of Joker’s goons. Anything is better than being grappled upside down by Batman’s grappling hook. 

You assume it has a name, but you can’t think of anything stupider than Bat-hook. It may be a mystery for you for the rest of your life. Not like you’re getting out of this situation now.

“Hey, big stuff,” you grin, blood running down your head as you look at his charcoal eyes. “I never thought I’d see the Batman.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. You’re almost sure that he is going to destroy your legs. That or leave you stranded here for nights.

Batman never kills. That’s why he’s worse than everyone else.

“I heard you don’t do partners,” he starts, his voice practically robotic, “so what changed?”

What changed? Charles has been holing himself up ever since Alfred’s hospitalization and you haven’t seen him in weeks. You’re trying to bury the hurt of being left alone by the one person you truly love in this fucked up city.

You tell him, “I got bored.”

The smile you put on is nice enough. When the hook loosens, you almost fall straight onto the concrete. Your eyes meet, and you can now see the swirls of blue that are hidden and dulled by the smoke around his eyes. 

With fear, you whisper, “Are ya gonna hurt me, darling?” You don’t suppose a lack of fear in your voice would make him hurt you less.

Instead of hurting you, he bends down. The black duffel bag that fell to the roof’s floor is swung over his shoulder. “Your boredom won’t be cured by setting the stakes higher.”

The feeling of getting your stolen goods taken away used to be a sure thing. Now, it feels hollow. “It’s better than dying alone, I guess.” 

────── FULL WORK HERE ! ($5 monthly or $3 per post)

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taglist. @Delululeclerc @coconut-dreamz @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144 @bulletlovedie @rere10 @iloveotters11 @eclecticbirdkingdom @yumm267449 @samriddhisingh @Tallrock35 @rapidlyvirtualsolitude @waitingatthegreenlight

[andcars]

✶ HIGH TRAIL MV FIC

﹙ oneshot ﹚ ─────── coping in new ways could be good

summary. you’re not the type to get high. still, there’s a big fucking chance that you’re not going to pass three of your classes, so. ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ...‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤreleased earlier on patreon

additional tags ricciardo!reader, suggestive content, plot without porn, substance use, very light dubious consent (both took weed but not "high enough", as author who never used drugs says)

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" putting another max fic up back on the public to calm my writers block ......... dies horribly

When your friend pressed the joint into your hand and told you to “live a little,” it was automatic. You’ve never smoked a joint before. It’s almost like the movies. Except, of course, you coughed all over yourself, and people laughed at you. As if they were breaking in a weed virgin.

The party was already loud when you got there. Bass shaking the floor, everyone’s sweaty body everywhere. Someone had spilt beer on the stairs, and nobody cared enough to clean it. The air smelled like cheap vodka and something burnt.

By the third smoke, the tight knot that had been living between your shoulders all semester finally started to loosen. It’s not over, not technically. But for now, you get to take a break. That’s just what you needed.

Your peace was disturbed when your eyes caught his.

Max didn’t belong in places like this. Not really—while he blended in fine in dark jeans and a plain black tee, you only saw him focused on his studies. You don’t think he even had a hobby.

You knew Max because your older brother was mentoring him years ago. He’d been over to your house a couple of times when Daniel never bothered to go to Verstappen’s. He said, you quote, “The air was suffocating.”

So, Max was as good as you saw him. Until tonight, when he was red-faced and laughing, most likely high as a balloon too. He’s stumbling through the crowd before he bumps into you—his hands on your shoulders to try and balance himself.

“Careful,” you laugh, watching as his dazed eyes try to focus on you

“Ah, hello,” he greets, throat dry.

His hand stays there a second longer than necessary. Warm. Almost desperately grounds himself. “I’m surprised you’re here,” you say, not adding that you’re surprised to see him at all..

“End of the semester,” he excuses. His eyes skimmed your face like he was trying to place you somewhere in his memory. Then it clicked. “You’re Daniel’s sister.”

You’re almost offended it took him this long to remember, “I’m also in your GE6 class.”

He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, sorry. Too many people there to uhm, remember.”

As if regaining the sensations in his hands, he moves them away. You’re being pushed to the side as everyone gets rowdy, moving around. 

“You look sober,” you say, sarcastically, as you take another joint that was left to you.

“I do?” he asks, not really hearing the sarcasm over the screaming.

You just laugh and pass him your joint. He takes a hit just before you do. You try not to think about the indirect kiss—you’re not a teenager.

The night blurred at the edges after that. Laughter came easier. Max talked a lot about engineering. You didn’t really understand much of it. Still, he looked passionate, and you knew when to complain with him. 

Every so often, your knees bumped. Neither of you moved them away.

By the time you decided to leave, the house had crossed from fun into suffocating. Max, drinking away the last drip from his cup, was groaning as he looked around. “Want to get out of here?” he asked.

There’s nothing suggestive about it. Your thoughts still went there. 

Fresh air hits your face the second you step outside. It’s cold enough to sober you a little, not enough to fix the yearning in between your legs. Still, you two walked until you hit the dorms. Both of you were staying in next to each other’s building, conveniently enough.

Your hand brushed his.

Once.

Twice.

You blame it on the alcohol and the drugs in your body. But by the third time, you can’t excuse how he holds onto your hand. 

You looked at him. He doesn’t look back, but he tells you, “You’re going to fall.”

“I am not.”

“Right,” he smiles.

You don’t let go of his hand.

By the time the dorms come into view, the quiet feels heavier than it did on the walk over. You slip your hand from his without making a thing of it. “Bye,” you mutter as you walk out to your building. 

In your head, you repeat “Don’t look at him” like a mantra. Each word only makes you want to look. You ignore it as you shove into the door. Nothing. Try again, harder this time, your shoulder bumping the door with a dull thud. Still locked. 

A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, soft at first, then louder when you realise how ridiculous you must look.

“Fuck,” Max says, just loud enough that you catch it. He’s pulling on his door and pushing it back as if it’d open too. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Instead of being annoyed, the whole thing hits you as unbearably funny. You lean your forehead against the cool glass and laugh harder, shoulders shaking. Max looks at you, stumbling his way forward.

“You think the guard would let us in?” he asks, and you’re shaking your head no.

“It’s gonna be on our record,” you shrug, trying to calm yourself, “probably. I don’t want it to be.”

You’re trying to get rid of the weariness that weed gave you. Slumping down, you put your head in your hands. There’s this warm feeling bubbling in your stomach. Your heart is racing, but you don’t even know if it’s the weed or the need to kiss Max’s lips.

Which feels illegal, because Max has always been so nice in your eyes. Too nice to kiss.

“Here,” he says, draping his jacket over your shoulders before you could protest. It feels warm. “You’ll die in this cold before we get back in.”

“Mhm,” you just nod, appreciating it. “What are we gonna do?”

“Stay here, maybe.”

You snort. “Wait until someone helps us?”

Max hums, as if seriously considering that anybody would. “Hotel?”

Thoughts immediately ran to a one-bed hotel, cheap enough for both of your wallets. “I think we smell high as fuck.”

“Are you?”

Your eyes turn to him as he slides down with you on the pavement. You don’t like the way that he’s looking at you with this intensity in his eyes. A hardened gaze softened with the way it trailed down to your—fuck, was he really looking at your lips?

“No,” you confess, “I’m still pretty sober.”

Couldn’t get much more sober than this. 

“You smell like smoke,” he argues

“So do you.” You don’t remember your faces being so close to each other. “Are you sober?”

“Yeah,” he admits, then after a beat, quieter, “But you smell like something sweet too.”

Somewhere down the street, a car door slams. The sound echoes and disappears as both of your lips meet. It’s almost a dream-like feeling; kissing the guy you knew for years yet not even knowing he smelled like rubber tyres and day-old perfume. Maybe it should be illegal. You’re definitely not talking to Daniel about this.

Heat pools low in your stomach. Sharp and unfamiliar. His other hand finds your waist through the jacket, not gripping, just holding you. There’s this slight taste of mint on his tongue that you keep chasing. It’s a grounding taste as you’re tugging on his shirt. He feels so warm underneath it that you wanna bury yourself in his arms.

You can feel his breath when you part for half a second, feel the ghost of his mouth chasing yours again. A small, disbelieving laugh escapes you against his lips. It breaks the spell. You pull back, pressing your mouth together like you can hide the smile threatening to take over your whole face. Max doesn’t move far, just staring at you as if he’s going to fall asleep.

“Danny is so gonna be mad for this,” you whisper, half laughing.

Max blinks once, processing, then a quiet grin spreads across his mouth. Not sheepish. Not apologetic. Dangerous, if anything.

“Wanna make him madder?”

You think of a hotel room and staying there until you have to leave early in the morning for an 8 AM class. You think about telling Daniel that you fucked the “kid” he was tutoring. You also think that you're too high to be thinking about a one-night stand.

Grinning, you grab his hand as you both call a taxi out of there.

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[andcars]

chat ive been gone for a long while but i highk thing im getting burn out from writing TT i cant write rn even if its not f1 related ... im so cooked

[andcars]

ok i promise a patreon fic is coming soon im just busy for midterms TT

[andcars]

✶ TWITTER BREAKDOWN CL SMAU

summary. charles' vogue photoshoot couldn't have a worse timing. you're literally ovulating and an ocean away from him

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" before you ask, of course this is my perspective. do you know how hard it is ??? no ! this is super self indulgent and nothing here makes sense. yes they do have established relationship in this (like me n charles irl (real)) ps: yn/you are literally so unserious here. it's just a short jokey smau after 300 years of not posting. it's practically a crack fic because you're definitely on it

jude @ lecleccism · 26 March

HELP ME ?!? !?!?!!! !!

14 replies 924 reposts 6.51k likes

neon! @ N8ONCI7Y · 26 March — Replying to @ lecleccism me in this perspective NOW 1 replies 13 likes

mimi @ earlyseptember · 26 March — Replying to @ lecleccism WHO THE HELL ATE IN THE MARKETING TEAM 4 replies 6 likes

gently devoured @ 16shots33 · 26 March — Replying to @ lecleccism because if i open my mouth now it is NOT CLOSING 8 replies 27 likes

yn 🌹 @ yn_notleclerc · 26 March — Replying to @ lecleccism Oh!!!!!!!!!!!!! 8 replies 142 retweets 741 likes

dumb blonde moment @ mikmikhalo18 · 26 March — Replying to @ yn_notleclerc MOTHER PLEASE DO NOT EMBARASS YOURSELF 3 likes

yn 🌹 @ yn_notleclerc · 26 March

so you literally hate me

12 replies 341 reposts 1.42k likes

yn 🌹 @ yn_notleclerc · 26 March

IM A MINORITY !!!!!!!!!! I AM LITERALLY YOUR GIRLFRIEND

8 replies 442 reposts 1.19k likes

yn 🌹 @ yn_notleclerc · 26 March

im literally ovulating bro dont do this to me

13 replies 201 reposts 1.05k likes

yn 🌹 @ yn_notleclerc · 26 March

oughhhahg unemployment is so good rn

9 replies 119 reposts 1.28k likes

yn 🌹 @ yn_notleclerc · 26 March — Replying to @ lecleccism have a CAREER they said. you'll be HAPPY they said. I COULD BE BOUNCING ON IT BROOO 24 replies 911 retweets 2.04k likes

yn 🌹 @ yn_notleclerc · 26 March

and if i kms then what

22 replies 831 reposts 5.29k likes

mia 🕸 @ webberstrr · 26 March — Replying to @ ynofficialarchived i'd say it's not that serious but if i was dating charles leclerc, i'd be acting like that too 1 replies 9 likes

yn 🌹 @ yn_notleclerc · 26 March — Replying to @ lecleccism IF I KEE MA SEEHH THEN WHAATTT 12 replies 291 retweets 914 likes

novemberyn

novemberyn YN spotted in NYC during Suzuka race week!

◯◯ Liked by goldenoirr , leclercfam18 , bakerybunn

summr7 oh i'd be upset too

fiftytwoin girl LEAVE america

plaaui because if i was charles' girl i would stick by his side everyday FUCKK

mase__ can we allow a wag to have a job ????

saltseven the fact that she missed the chinese gp and suzuka too due to work is so 😭😭😭

beelth09 AND SUZUKA IS HER FAVOURITE TRACK TOO

CHIH1R0 she could be living my dream but she's just like me

lovemealetter i just know she's pouncing on him when they meet

navyblue BANNED!!!!

andyn

giving up after this week btw (NO I AM NOT QUITTING MY JOB I LOVE MY JOB (sometimes))

◯◯ Liked by charles_leclerc , dumbblondemoment , ehllsee

gr33dy i wish i had this problem

andiscar me too

lecleccism you have my support queen

noirblanche sis is dying but she is eating these posts up

andyn i have to cope

noirblanche they look amazing !!!!

geta__bella what's your plan for next week

andyn never leaving the bed

buttered WOAHWOAHWOAH YOURE ON MAINNN

charles_leclerc 😚😚

andyn are u srs

andyn are u being fr rn

charles_leclerc 💘💘

andyn stare at me if ur being silenced

charles_leclerc 👁👁

andyn dms

notfearrari wtf did i just witness

charles_leclerc ✔

charles_leclerc ✔ Home 💞

◯◯ Liked by scuderiaferrari , andyn , f1

scuderiaferrari Enjoy your break!

f1 our favourite couple is back 🤩

leclerccism surpirsed leo isn't in the third pic but her cat instead

delighteddeli he's down bad now

andyn smashed btw

yaoitevv GIRL PLEASE

bakerybunn he doesn't need a pr team, she does

andyn i'm no longer ovulating dw guys it's just me

andyn credits to louis btw for taking pics of us 3hrs before we

navyblue nono finish the sentence. we dare you

andyn his pr would probably sue me

andyn inside btw

andyn lowk too tired now

andyn until 3am btw

andyn yellow font

charles_leclerc what are you saying 😂

alina._x THATS the one you reply to??

andyn god i missed u. yellow font btw

charles_leclerc 💓👁👁

andyn get back to bed baby

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taglist. @Delululeclerc @coconut-dreamz @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144 @bulletlovedie @rere10 @iloveotters11 @eclecticbirdkingdom @yumm267449 @samriddhisingh @Tallrock35 @Liljizzy69 @rapidlyvirtualsolitude

[andcars]

brother dont do this im literally ovulating

[andcars]

im getting nostalgia from watching colapinto. its like him in 2024 again

[andcars]

I so jinxed it

[andcars]

im getting nostalgia from watching colapinto. its like him in 2024 again