"The Helicopter's got no balls?" -LN4

🔴ACCOUNT CLOSED PERMANENTLY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE🔴(I mostly come here now for AO3 updates lmao)

[dying-inside-but-its-classy]

✨𝔽𝟙 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥✨

Little intro: Hi! My name's Jules. You can call me Jules or Julie. I've been an F1 fan since around 2016 and I've just recently gotten into writing for f1 and I hope you love my stories, Thank you for checking it out!!

Requests are Closed

PERMANENT TAGLIST IS CLOSED

(No Smau or mature requests please)

Series'

One shots:

Drivers I write for:

Charles Leclerc

Carlos Sainz Jr

Max Verstappen

Lando Norris

Oscar Piastri

Lewis Hamilton

Franco Colapinto

Logan Sargeant

_________________________________________

Tagging:

Comment username on this post and be added to my permanent taglist for f1 stories CLOSED

You will find all of my posts on the tag:

#Julie's F1 rambles

(You can follow this tag, it will only be the stories there)

_________________________________________

[ohangeleyes]

alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:

1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..

2. x reader consumers getting WAY to entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.

at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.

i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️

and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.

[landomain]

NUMBER ONE (IS YOUR BIGGEST) FAN ✦ lando norris

in which you make lando's main character fantasy come to life.

𓃴 · requested · fem ! reader ꨄ lando norris ⌞ ୨୧ ⌝ smau , developing relationship , fluff + humor ⌞🎤⌝ popstar reader , light faceclaim: jae stephens , your stage name is stargirl , lando living the 'y/n' dream , strangers to lovers ⌞🌟⌝ warnings. online fandom culture , suggestive jokes , timeline is a mess as uzsh ~ 2026 ⌞💃🏽⌝ bleats. sorry i took so long to post, i was a bit preoccupied with graduating :) officially an engineer!!! obv the mcl 2-3 finish & lando winning the sprint from pole was to celebrate me /jk, i am not that delusional fan regardless of what my user implies — xoxo, doe.

ılıılı star power · stargirl

liked by lando, pinkpantheress, meretmanon, and 3,909,723 others stargirlyn SO EXCITED TO ANNOUNCE THE METEOR SHOWER TOUR!!! going worldwide with @/chxrry @/amaarae & @/sailorr my 3rd world tour will be kicking off in europe! cities and dates for the euro leg will be announced at 8 am gmt this friday! can't wait to sing with all you shining stars again :) 𖤘 shootingstarrecords view comments

username1 SCREAMING 😱😱😱

username2 ALL OF THE POP GIRLIES ARE TOURING BACK TO BACK I'M GOING TO BE SO BROKE 😭🥀

lando omfg i've been waiting for this 😭 i'm retiring in 2026 i guess 🫣

username3 dude...you just won the wdc? lando so i'm allowed to quit my day job for stargirl thx username3 yk what? real 🙂‍↕️

username4 🇳🇬🇳🇬🇳🇬🇳🇬🇳🇬

username6 NOOOO COME TO POLAND 🇵🇱🇵🇱🇵🇱

username7 LOVE FROM BRAZIL 💚💛💚💛

username8 SELLING MY LITTLE BROTHER FOR THIS🧎🏼‍♀️‍➡️

username9 days since lando's threatened to quit f1 for our star: 0

lando *my star lando and i'll never miss out on a chance to see her live 😤 username10 yeah wtv but please stop spamming drooling emojis in the discord channel maybe??? username9 you must be new here cus this is just another monday of lando being yn's #1 fan 🥱

username11 forget pitbull; meet mrs. worldwide !!! can't wait to see you in the usa 🥰🥰🥰

lando MISS worldwide 🫵🏼 lando she's single if you didn't know lando lol username11 the "lol" did not do any heavy lifting there buddy…but how is SHE possibly single 😳🤔 lando i've been working on that for nearly 10 years tbh 😞 username11 what.

username12 MOMMY I WILL BE SEEING YOU IN PORTUGALLL

view story repiles:

to stargirlyn:

username12 already saving up to see you in spain 💓💓💓

username13 we're totally getting a recorded show aren't we 😌

lando it prob wasn't done on purpose, but thank you for scheduling london during the off week after silverstone! lando can't wait to see you shine again 😊

to lando:

maxfewtrell who's phones are those??? lando rich and jon maxfewtrell dear god bob 🫩 lando jon knows what it is lando rich is finally getting to see how serious i take being a starstan maxfewtrell poor lad 😕 lando 🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼

lilymhe you're booking platinum vip right?? lando when this generations greatest popstar sells out wembley, where should i, as her og biggest fan, view her excellence from? lilymhe just lmk what seats you're going to get so carmen and i can sit with you 🤣🤣🤣 lando i'll make a gc bc some of the other ladies were asking me for deets too!

ılıılı distraction · stargirl

liked by username, username, username, and 69,238 others mclarenf1 countdown to race week? ❌ countdown to stargirl? ✅ 𖤘 stargirlyn view comments

username13 something tells me the post was both lando + admin's idea...

mclaren shh 🤫

username14 admin not missing out on a chance to use a stargirl song 💀

username15 PLEASE GIVE OUR BOYS A FAST CAR 🙏🙏🙏

username16 miami babyyyyy ☀️🌴

username17 you know if we're shit this season it'll be better for my heart 🤐

username18 FR the stress of last year nearly turned me gray username17 but i also really want to see oscar get his 1st or lando get his 2nd!

liked by lando, username, username, and 32,456 others everythingstarynrelated yourname 'stargirl' chatting about her #1 fan, mclaren formula 1 driver and 2025 world champion, lando norris, on bbc radio 1 with greg james earlier today! 𖤘 stargirlyn lando

transcript:

GREG: "...So, you know it wouldn't be right to talk details about Meteor Shower if we don't talk about the man that’s stuck in your gravitational pull." YN: "Oh dear." GREG: (He laughs.) "Oh, come off it! You know I have to ask! I've only been trying to solve your dating problems ever since our first interview years ago!" YN: "Greg, forgive me for not trusting your matchmaker skills. And, I'm still not looking to date." GREG: "Oh, that's cold. C'mon, then. Do I have to pitch the lad to you again?" YN: (She laughs, rubbing her forehead.) "It sounds like I can't stop you from doing so." GREG: "Spot on. So, Lando Norris. A handsome man. Beautiful eyes. Nice curly hair. Ambitious, in touch with his emotions, employed, funny, charming, a family man, respectful and well-mannered, and driven—pun intended. He's in the market for the woman of his dreams, the ‘star’ in his sky, one could say. He's 26 now, and a newly crowned champion of the world." YN: (She smiles softly.) "Wow. Good for him." GREG: (He gasps.) "Good for him? Good for you! You know what? I've had it with you. I'm calling him!" YN: (Her eyes go wide. She laughs in shock.) "Greg, please don't!" GREG: (Phone in hand.) "It's already ringing." YN: (She hides her face in her hands.) "You are so embarrassing! He's probably driving or working, or something. I thought the F1 teams were upgrading their cars?" GREG: (His phone is still ringing. He raises an eyebrow with a smirk.) "Oh? Now, you watch F1 and follow the schedule that closely? Last time we spoke about three years ago, you told me you weren't a fan of Formula One?" YN: (She rolls her eyes.) "I started watching during the 2023 season. Figured I'd at least learn what my #1 fan does for living. And, motorsport is a lot more interesting than I thought." GREG: (He points at her.) "—Or, you just conveniently started watching as your man got closer to winning. (The phone clicks to voicemail. Greg winces.) "You were right; He must be working. He's going to be livid when he learns he missed out on the chance to rizz you up." YN: (She pulls a face.) "Firstly, never say the word 'rizz' again. Secondly, not my man. With that being said, I really appreciate the support Lando has shown me from the very beginning, and it is really great to see him prosper and succeed, and witness him winning his 1st championship. I hope he wins many more races and championships."

view comments

username19 somebody tag me when lando sees this post, i don't want to miss his reaction 🍿

username20 lando's really gonna quit once he sees he missed out on a chance to finally talk to her 💀

username21 did you see the way she smiled after hearing greg's decription of lando???

username22 i'm telling you the idea is growing on her!!!! username23 i think she's just being stubborn about giving lando a chance bc she doesn’t want to be wrong about him lol

lando FUCKING HELL 😡

lando the car could've been shit for another race weekend if it meant i got to talk to her ☹️😩😪

lando ...she watched me win and she hopes i win more ☺️☺️☺️

username24 STAND UP LANDO username25 bro switched from mourning and immediately began kicking his feet 😐 username26 this is a big day for lando; she actually said his name on live radio 💀

username27 i still find it funny that lando follows several stargirl fan accts including this one lmao

liked by username, username, username, and 679,822 others f1 a few of the stargirl(s) attending sprint saturday at the miami grand prix 🤩 𖤘 kendall jenner stargirlyn alexandramalenaleclerc view comments

username28 this is a crazy post from the main f1 account 😂😂😂

username29 nahhh admin knew what they were doing by putting a jenner/kardashian in this post lol

username30 a sister of an unnoficial wag, a future wag if lando has a say, and an actual wag...f1 admin i apologize for doubting your game

username31 elite ball knowledge from f1 admin

username32 my dream foursome 🤤

username33 weirdo ??? alex is married, kendall is rumored to be dating jacob elordi, and yn hates men... username34 u so real for that @/username32

username35 one of these is not like the other and it's not the one you think 🤔

username36 admin wrong kardashian!!!

ılıılı nice to meet you · stargirl

liked by mclarenf1, stargirlyn, carlossainz55, and 355,992 others lando happy to be back in the mix but gutted we missed out on the big bit of silver. but, i finally got to meet the incredibly talented stargirl on saturday! pissed that i forgot to get a photo with her 😔 view comments

danielricciardo how did you forget to take a photo with your literal celebrity crush 🤣🤣🤣

lando i could barely remember how to speak let alone manage to ask for a pic danielricciardo god, i wish i was there to laugh at you in person lando stop bullying me mate 😠 she was even more beautiful and intelligent face to face i was awestruck username37 awestruck? oh he's fallen for yn ln now, and not just stargirl 🙂‍↕️

username38 it was your race to win lando! sorry your team screwed you with the strat again 😒 at least she got to see you win on saturday!!! (❤︎ by author)

username39 an official lando x stargirl meeting ??!! my worlds have collided 🤯

username40 OH MY GOD THEY MET!!!

oscarpiastri lol i got a picture with her 😅

lando swear i'm crashing into you in canada again mclarenf1 lando...c'mon man 😟 lando ...on the sim 🙄 oscarpiastri 😂😂😂😂😂

username41 so...when's the wedding??? (❤︎ by author)

stargirlyn aw man! we'll have to take a picture at wembley! congrats on your first win of the season, even if it was just a sprint 🥂

lando thank you so much, and see you at wembley :))))) username42 lando's most nonchalant response ever 💀 username43 five smileys was a little much, but we'll take it 🫡 username44 I LOVE YOU MORE THAN LANDO YN!!! username45 oh my god, lando blocked that account quick as shit LMAOOO

view story replies:

to lando:

username46 see you at wembley landoooo

danielricciardo you're going to remember to get your photo this time right ☠️ lando enjoy being blocked 🤗

martingarrix you have never been this excited about any of my concerts 😢 lando martin...i'm so sorry to tell you that you're not the brightest star in my sky 🤷‍♂️ martingarrix 😫😫😫

stargirlyn should you not be more excited about silverstone in a few hours? you could win your home gp again? lando i love the thought of winning it again, but the thought of seeing you makes my heart race a little more ngl stargirlyn mhm. i'm sure it does 🥴 stargirlyn it sucks that i'm in paris rn. i would've liked to see you win an actual race in person lando i'll win it and give you something interesting to watch on the telly while you're getting your hair done 😌 stargirlyn how do you remember i'm getting my hair done? lando you told me two nights ago on the phone? and, you've mentioned you get your hair done on sundays after the fri + sat shows. i listen when you speak you know. stargirlyn i guess you do 🤔

to landopriv:

emilianlovesgeography: are you sure you do not have a brain injury from all the times we made contact on track?

brucethewombat: i could report you to the team for sabotage after making me read this

thebettermaxmf_er: i think you're not going to be allowed entry into the stadium and handed a restraining order tbh

lilymoney$he: you know this is practically how alex and i got together. minus the delusion and hallucination parts.

peepee_pilao: i think if you don't ever say that to yn's face, you have a fighting chance with her :) landopriv: you're my favorite person ever p. can i be your maid of honor instead of max's best man?

ılıılı slide · stargirl

liked by stargirlyn, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, and 1,365,094 others lando the best night of my life. and now you all (daniel) can stop reminding me to get that picture 🤩🤩🤩 𖤘 stargirlyn view comments

username47 how does it feel to live our dream lando 😭😭😭

oscarpiastri as much as i love stargirl's music, now that you've been to this concert will you stop blasting the meteor shower album on full blast in the motorhome?

lando no 💘 carlossainz55 he did that as a rookie sadly danierricciardo nothing you can do about it mate 🙂‍↔️ oscarpiastri i knew what the answer would be when i asked 😕

username48 my favorite f1 driver living the y/n experience with his celebrity crush while i was hoping to have the same with him 🫠

mclarenf1 best concert ever 🤩🤩🤩

username49 even the mclaren admin went to the show? pls i have fomo 😩😩😩 username50 dude even josh hutcherson went to the show...ur srsly missing out LOL

alexandramalenaleclerc one of the best live shows ever 🤩

lilymhe my favorite part was when lando nearly fainted!!! carmenmmundt 10/10 experience! would've been a 12 if not for lando's screaming 😅 pietra.pilao i'm sending the pictures of him crying to the gc!

stargirlyn you're not too bad with that camera...might have to add you to my media team 🤔

lando i'm already part of your team in the position titled #1 fan lando but i will quit my car gig rn if you say so 😁 stargirlyn you concern me a little bit 😳 lando thanks for the compliment ☺️ username51 "car gig" says last year's f1 wdc smh

username52 so we're not even going to discuss the whole pausing the show to bring you backstage thing? okay, sure.

username53 GROUPIE (❤︎ by author)

username54 LMAOOOO WHY DID LANDO LIKE THIS COMMENT 😭😭😭 username55 wait do y'all think they might be together??? username56 nah only in lando's fantasies + being a stargirl groupie definitely is one of them 💀

username57 seeing all 32 of lando's teeth in that picture is insane 🥴

username58 no bc he looks like he just won another wdc 🫣

© landomain 2026

[ohnoitsghost]

[dying-inside-but-its-classy]

The Assassin King | CL16

Charles Leclerc x Assasssin! Reader

Summary: Y/N was supposed to complete the mission and move on, but, of course, nothing in life is ever that simple—especially when a certain Monegasque Ferrari driver gets involved.

Warning(s): Mild Language, fighting, just an assassin doing assassin things—like murder and assassination, fluff, falling in love in the most inopportune of times, Charles having midlife crisis while in a fight, They aren't taking this fight as seriously as they should. Y/N is a certified badass, snake, Charles is scared of snakes, what's new, oh yes, Charles stabs someone in the balls, and becomes an accomplice in murder, lol. Oh and they have a make out session which mildly implies they're gonna have sex. This is the last part btw.

Part 1 < | > Part 2 < | > Part 3

"My lover’s got humor, she’s the giggle at a funeral."

"Showtime, baby."

And with that, Y/N moved.

It was instantaneous—one moment she was beside him, the next she was spinning, body twisting mid-air as she aimed a sharp kick into the nearest guard’s ribs.

The sound of impact was loud in the balcony, the guard barely getting a grunt out before he crashed into the wall, not even being able to get up before a knife went straight to his forehead.

Charles stared at the dead man with a dazed expression.

He flinched as the first gunshot ripped through the air, so close that he felt the pressure shift.

A huge vase fucking exploded beside him, shards flying everywhere.

Holy fucking shit.

"Fucking hell!" he swore as he came to his senses, scrambling to duck behind the table that held the vase. "Y/N, I don’t have a fucking gun!"

Y/N landed, effortlessly, rolling back onto her feet like she was born in motion.

She tossed him a quick glance, somewhere between amusement and mild exasperation as she inched slowly towards him, while engaging in hand-to-hand combat.

"Then fight!"

"Fight who?!" Charles yelped, hands flailing. "They have fucking guns!"

"Then don’t get shot!"

"THAT’S NOT FUCKING HELPFU—"

Before he could even finish the sentence, she grabbed his wrist and yanked.

"Wait—WHAT THE FU—"

His world tilted violently.

Oh my God, I’m flying—

No. He wasn’t flying.

Y/N was using him as a weapon.

She spun him, leveraging his own momentum and Charles suddenly crashed into the nearest guard, his flying feet slamming into the man’s chest with full force.

The guy flew backward, spine colliding with the railing before crumpling to the floor.

Charles hit the ground hard, rolling onto his side. His brain had fully short-circuited, but he barely had time to process because—

"Up, up, up!" Y/N barked, grabbing him again as she shot the guy that went down.

"Jesus fuck—"

Before he could even get his bearings, she shoved him forward.

"Hit him!"

"WHAT?!"

"HIT. HIM."

Charles barely registered the next guard charging at them before his own body reacted.

He threw his fist forward, landing a messy but effective right hook into the guy’s jaw.

A sharp crack.

The man staggered.

Charles yelled in pain, immediately shaking his hand. "OW! MOTHERFUCKER!"

Y/N snorted as she smoothly ducked a swing from another guard. "Your form is terrible."

"MY FORM?! I’M NOT A FUCKING ASSASSIN, Y/N!"

"You need to start acting like one!"

"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"

"DUCK!"

Charles yelped and dropped, just in time for Y/N to fucking vault over him.

She twisted mid-air, catching the nearest guard’s extended arm and wrenching it back.

A sickening pop.

The man screamed, gun clattering to the floor.

Charles gawked. "Mon Dieu, you just broke his fucking arm!"

Y/N just grinned, grabbing the guy by the collar and shoving him face-first into the nearest wall, taking a knife and violently shoving it into his neck. "You’re welcome, darling!"

Before Charles could even respond, another guard lunged at him.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake—"

Charles swung wildly—but his aim was wrong.

The guard ducked, slammed an elbow into Charles’ ribs, and grabbed him in a tight headlock.

"FUCK—"

Y/N reacted instantly, grabbing the nearest and biggest piece of broken vase and swinging it straight into the guy’s back.

Wood splintered, and the force was enough to send the man toppling forward, releasing Charles in the process.

Charles stumbled back, gasping. "You saved me."

Y/N barely spared him a glance as she whipped a knife from her back and threw it at the fallen man's head with scarily accurate aim. "Obviously."

Charles clutched his chest, staring at her with wide, reverent eyes. "Oh my God."

His girl was so fucking cool. So murderously cool.

And then—

"Charles!"

Before he could react, arms locked around his throat.

His breath vanished.

"Fucking—Y/N!"

The last remaining guard had grabbed him from behind, pressing the cold barrel of a gun to his temple.

"Both of you—shut up!" the man growled.

Charles froze.

Y/N, across the large balcony, immediately raised her gun—

Click. Click. Empty. Fuck, she hadn't loaded the gun before hand.

It was fucking empty. Her hands flew to her shoes and her back for the knives, but—nothing.

"Shit," Y/N muttered.

"Shit," Charles echoed, he really wasn’t cut out for this, "Oh, we are so so fucked," Charles wheezed.

"I know," Y/N muttered.

"Your fault."

"My fault?! You wanted to help!"

"I was thinking more emotional support! "

"Next time, just bring fucking pom-poms!"

"Next time?! You think there’s gonna be a fucking next time?! " Charles shouted in a mix of indignation and utter terror.

"Shut. Up!" The guard shouted at them.

They both shut up.

For a second.

Then—Y/N’s eyes widened.

"Charles."

"What Y/N, I'm trying to not die over here?!"

"Oh my God, shut up Charles, the fucking knife."

Charles blinked. What the hell was she on about?

And then—

Oh. Oh fuck. Fuck yes.

"Oh, fuck, the knife!"

The literal fucking knife up his sleeve.

With the last remaining air in his lungs, he flicked his wrist.

The blade dropped into his palm.

"Oh, that was so fucking cool," he wheezed, staring at it in awe, "how it just dropped like that, that was—"

"FUCKING STAB HIM, CHARLES!"

"RIGHT, RIGHT—"

Charles jerked his arm backward and plunged the knife down with every ounce of panic-fueled strength in his body before the man could pull the trigger on him.

A bloodcurdling scream. And the grip on his throat vanished.

Charles stumbled forward, gasping for air.

He spun around—

And froze.

The guard was on the ground, writhing.

Hands clutching his...fucking crotch.

Charles’ eyes widened. Fuck no.

The knife. The placement.

The screaming.

Oh fucking hell no.

"Oh my God," he whispered in horror. "No No No No No No, Oh please No"

Silence.

Then—Y/N howled.

"OH MY GOD, YOU STABBED HIM IN THE BALLS!"

"I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO THAT!"

"That was the funniest thing I’ve ever fucking seen—"

The guard was still screaming.

Charles just stood there, completely fucking stunned.

Mon Dieu, How do I get into this shit situations? Why me?

Y/N wiped a tear from her eye, still grinning.

She stepped closer, tilted his chin up, brushed a bit of dirt on his cheek, and then she winked.

Charles’ heart pounded.

His brain was screaming.

He stared at her—at the wicked smirk, the blood on her hands, the confidence in her eyes.

Oh, fuck.

He was so in love.

A gunshot shattered the air.

Charles and Y/N froze.

Slowly, they turned.

Volkov stood there, swaying slightly, blood soaking through his shoulder. Despite that, his smirk was smug, like he was the one holding all the cards.

They were defenseless. Unarmed.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice thick with his Russian accent. "So, this is King Cobra. The assassin child of The Duet."

Charles turned to Y/N, brows raised. "The Duet? Really?"

She shot him a side glance, unimpressed. "My parents. They always worked together. Like, a duo. Hence, the name."

"Worked together—?" Charles exhaled. "As in, assassins together?"

"Wouldn’t be much of a duet otherwise."

"I need to rethink my entire life," Charles muttered.

"Oh, you won’t have to," Volkov sneered. "You will not have a life much longer."

Y/N sighed dramatically. "And here I thought you were going to say something interesting."

Volkov’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on the gun. "You lady killers always talk too much, little girl. That is the problem with your kind of woman. You are weak, so you compensate with big words and bigger lies."

Charles thinks the only reason Volkov had a problem with big words was that he was too dumb to understand them—but what did he know about assassins?

Other than the fact that his one was absolutely insane, murderous and amazing.

Volkov took a step forward. "King Cobra," he spat. "What kind of joke is that? A woman calling herself a king? You might as well have named yourself Princess Cobra, at least then you wouldn’t be pretending to be something you’re not."

Charles scoffed. "Did you not just see my girl put a knife into one of your men’s throats?"

Y/N blinked. "Your girl?"

Charles turned to her with a smirk. "We’ve shared trauma. That makes it official."

Her brows shot up. "That’s how that works?"

"I don’t make the rules," Charles said, barely biting back a grin. "But if I did, I’d say I’m very into you breaking them."

Volkov’s eye twitched. "You are joking—"

Charles, for a brief moment, wondered why he wasn’t terrified. Maybe it was the adrenaline.

Maybe it was the fact that Y/N seemed completely at ease in a life-or-death situation, moving through it with a coolness that almost made her the dangerous one, not the man pointing the gun at them.

It didn’t make sense, and he knew it was a bad idea to feel this calm. But for some reason, he wasn’t scared. At all.

"Oh, I’m dead serious," Charles replied smoothly, then glanced at Y/N again. "Wait, are we? Or are we doing a slow burn? Do I have to pine first?"

Y/N hummed, tapping her chin. "I’d hate to deprive you and I of the full experience."

"Just checking, ma belle"

Volkov snapped. "I AM ABOUT TO KILL YOU BOTH, AND YOU ARE FLIRTING?!"

"Multitasking," Y/N said, deadpan.

"I don’t know, maybe it became official around the time you threw me at a man’s chest as a combat strategy." Charles continued the conversation as if Volkov had not interrupted them, giving her a wink.

"Ah, so the moment you became a human weapon." Y/N hummed.

"Exactly."

"Romantic."

"Thank you." Charles did a half bow towards her, his body aching with all the action it had gone through minutes prior.

"ARE YOU TWO SERIOUS?!" Volkov roared, face turning red. "I am threatening you!"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Charles said absently, standing straight and still looking at Y/N. " Just making sure I'm on the same page with my girl, you know. Don't want to rush into labels."

"You are mocking me!" Volkov seethed, gun shaking slightly in his hand. "You think yourself venomous, King cobra, but in the end, you are just a little girl playing pretend. A real king would crush you beneath his boot—"

Charles wasn’t listening anymore.

His gaze flickered upward.

And his breath hitched.

The balcony rooftop.

Coiled in the shadows, was a glistening, sinuous black serpent.

Bella.

Charles immediately regretted every life decision that had led him here. Or maybe he didn't, Bella was surely not here to kill him.

Y/N rolled her eyes. "You done?"

Volkov sneered. "Excuse me?"

"I don’t like lengthy speeches," Y/N said lightly, tilting her head. "Neither does my snake." She clicked her tongue.

And in an instant—Bella struck.

The impact was swift, brutal—fangs sinking into Volkov’s neck.

His entire body seized.

The gun dropped from his fingers as his legs buckled, a garbled, choking sound escaping his throat.

His hands clutched at his neck, fingers trembling as his body convulsed. Blood gushed from his shoulder wound, mixing with the venom rapidly spreading through his veins.

Y/N crouched beside him, watching as his body spasmed. Bella slithered up her arm, golden eyes gleaming as she coiled lazily around Y/N’s wrist.

"King Cobra," Y/N murmured. "Fitting, no?"

Volkov let out one last, strangled gasp before his body finally collapsed. Dead.

Charles exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Y/N smirked, idly stroking Bella’s scales. "Something to say, my darling?"

Charles stared at the snake like it had personally wronged him. "Just that I think I’m in love with you."

Y/N blinked.

Charles pointed at Bella, dead serious. "And also that thing is proof that God has abandoned us."

Y/N let out a loud barking laugh.

______________________

Charles couldn’t believe his eyes.

He stood frozen, watching as the cleaners—the assassin’s version of fucking cleaners—worked with chilling efficiency.

They moved like ghosts, silent and precise, each step calculated, each movement smooth. Bloodstains vanished beneath their practiced hands, wiped away with industrial-grade chemicals like they had never been there in the first place.

One of them yanked a knife out of the dying man’s groin that Charles had stabbed.

Charles winced. Hard.

The guard he stabbed was still barely alive, his breaths coming out in pained, ragged gasps. His fingers twitched weakly, his lips moving as if trying to form words.

Charles almost—almost—felt bad for the guy.

And then, without a second’s hesitation, one of the cleaners casually pulled a plastic bag from his kit, slipped it over the guard’s head, and suffocated him on the spot.

Charles gawked. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Absolute fucking disbelief in every fiber of his being.

“Did you—did he—” His voice cracked mid-sentence. “That was—that was—he just—”

A soft hiss from beside him made him shut up. He turned, finding Y/N standing there, watching the entire operation with the kind of critical eye someone might use when inspecting a freshly painted wall. Bella was draped around her shoulders, curled around her neck like a living scarf, her golden eyes tracking every movement with quiet interest.

And Y/N?

She wasn’t even fazed.

What the fuck. What the fucking fuck.

Charles turned back to the cleaners, his brain trying—and failing—to process what was happening. He watched as they wrapped up the now very-dead guard in a sleek black bag, zipping it up with a clinical detachment that made his stomach churn.

Then, still in a mild state of what the actual hell, he wandered over to the edge of the balcony, peering down.

A white van was parked directly below, the name of a completely normal cleaning company printed on its side.

Innocent. Unassuming.

The kind of van you’d see parked outside office buildings or fancy hotels, called in to handle minor maintenance work.

Except the guys who had climbed out of it had scaled the building using ropes and fucking harnesses, moving with a quietness that had made Charles’s hair stand on end. They had climbed like trained operatives—no wasted motion, no hesitation, nothing but smooth, practiced ease.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

He turned back to Y/N, who was still watching the cleaners do their work. And in that moment, as he took in the sight of her standing there—relaxed, completely at ease, looking like she belonged in this world of shadowy contracts and silent executions—he had a thought.

A very, very stupid thought.

Charles leaned in, carefully avoiding Bella’s head because nope, not today, and murmured, “This feels like a scene from a John Wick movie.”

Y/N turned to him, the corner of her lips curling. “Where do you think they got the idea from?”

Charles stared at her.

His brain? Empty.

His capacity to breath? Gone.

His entire understanding of the world? Shattered.

Y/N just smirked, watching him flounder like a fish on dry land.

“What,” he choked out. “What do you mean where do you think they got the idea from?”

She hummed. “You think Hollywood just made up the concept of an underworld cleaning service?”

Charles blinked aggressively. “I mean—YES?!?”

Y/N grinned, clearly enjoying his internal meltdown. “That’s cute.”

That’s cute? THAT’S CUTE?

Charles sucked in a deep breath, his hands moving wildly as he tried to get his words out. “So—so what, you’re telling me the John Wick writers were just documenting real life?”

“Mostly—No. Though sometimes we give them enough information so that the movies are fun to watch for us, you know— like an inside joke,” Y/N said breezily.

His brain physically short-circuited.

He gestured wildly toward the cleaners, his voice an octave higher than normal. “So what, this is just—just a casual thing for you?”

Y/N shrugged. “I mean, I don’t personally call them that often, but yeah. They’re efficient.”

“Efficient? Efficient?” Charles ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting between the masked men doing their job like it was a normal weekend afternoon and Y/N, who was looking entirely too entertained. “How often is not often?”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. “Mmm… probably, like, once every few months?”

Charles let out a choked sound. “You say that like it’s normal.”

“For me, it is, my darling.” she winked at him.

No. No. This is insane. She can't wink at me, I need to focus on this insanity, not her being a temptress, mon dieu.

Charles groaned, dragging his hands down his face. Then, another thought slammed into him, making him turn back to her sharply. “Wait. Wait. How the hell do you even pay them?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she lifted her wrist, shaking her pearl bracelet at him.

Charles gaped. “You—wait—you pay them in jewelry?”

“Diamonds, pearls, gold, rubies.” Y/N listed them off like it was a grocery receipt. “It depends on what I have at the moment.”

Charles threw his hands up. “What happened to money?”

“They don’t take cash.”

They don't take—What the fuck.

“Of course they don’t,” he muttered.

He stared at her. She stared back.

A slow, dawning realization crept up his spine. A very unsettling realization.

His girlfriend—because yes, they had definitely trauma-bonded enough to make it official—was… well…

“Are you—” Charles paused, running a hand through his hair. Then, cautiously, “Are you, like… famous in this world?”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “My parents run one of the biggest blood empires in the underworld. I’m the heir to it.”

Silence.

A breeze rustled through the balcony.

Charles didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

He had known she was dangerous. Had known she was an assassin. Had known she could snap a man’s neck without breaking a sweat.

But hearing that? That she was literally the heir to some massive blood empire? That she wasn’t just a player in this game but practically royalty?

His jaw moved, but no sound came out.

Then—very slowly, very carefully—he sucked in a breath and let out a single, choked, very undignified gasp.

Y/N laughed.

Actually laughed. A full, delighted, entertained laugh, one that somehow managed to tug at his heart even while he was having the biggest existential crisis of his life.

And then, just to top it all off, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, her lips warm and infuriatingly soft.

Charles stood there, stunned, as she walked past him toward the cleaners.

She pulled the bracelet off and handed it to the man who seemed to be leading the team. He nodded in silent acknowledgment, slipping the jewellery into his pocket before turning to help his men finish their job.

Charles stared.

Then, finally—after what felt like a solid ten minutes of brain malfunction—he exhaled sharply and muttered, “I have to race tomorrow.”

Y/N turned back to him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “And?”

Charles groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And I think my soul just left my body.”

Y/N laughed again, reaching for his hand. “Come on, mon cœur, let’s get back to the gala before anyone notices we’re missing.”

Charles let her pull him along, his head still spinning, his heart still stupidly fond.

Because somehow—against all logic, all common sense—he still really fucking loved her.

_________________________

Charles should be over the moon. He is, in some ways. The tifosi screamed his name, his team cheered, and his mechanics nearly squeezed the life out of him in their celebratory hugs.

He stood on the Monza podium, Ferrari red draped over him like a royal cloak, champagne soaking through his suit. He’d won in front of their home crowd.

His home race might be Monaco, but Monza was Ferrari’s.

And he had conquered it. It should be one of the happiest days of his life.

But his mind won’t let him forget last night. Last night, where he became an accomplice to murder.

Well. Technically, he was just there. Y/N did the actual murdering.

But he held a knife. He’d stabbed someone. He punched someone. In self-defense. (Kind of. Mostly.)

It doesn’t matter now, because the bodies are gone, the blood has been scrubbed from the expensive balcony carpets, and the world outside is blissfully unaware.

And now, after the press conferences, the endless media duties, and the deafening roar of the tifosa, Charles is walking through the hallway of his hotel, hands in his pockets, coming down from the high of the day.

The celebrations are over. Now, he just has to go back to his room. Back to Y/N.

Back to his Y/N.

His girlfriend. The assassin.

He really shouldn't feel so giddy at the though of her, Charles cannot remember feeling like this for any of his other girl friends— but to be fair, none of them were assassins either.

He last thought is that it's justified to be obsessed over his badass girlfriend as he moves to open the door to his hotel room.

The door clicked open, and he stepped inside, his gaze immediately finding her.

She was sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard, one leg bent while the other stretched out effortlessly. His Ferrari shirt hung off her frame, the fabric oversized, teasing, and entirely unfair. Her phone rested in her hand, her fingers tapping idly against the screen, but she looked up the second he entered.

A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips.

Charles leaned against the closed door, his arms crossing as his eyes shamelessly dragged down her bare legs. His brain, already exhausted, supplied far too many thoughts about how they would feel wrapped around his waist.

Y/N wiggled her eyebrows at him, her smirk deepening.

Oh she knows what's going on his mind, Charles wishes they both weren't so tired last night— so he could've seen what was under that shirt last night— but gods they were exhausted. And he was sure they both were still tired now.

Y/N shifts just a little, enough for him to see the underside of her thighs, and he groans.

God, I am not your strongest soldier.

Y/N winks at him.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. He was so fucking doomed.

“Hi, winner.”

He smiled despite himself. Monza was his. Again.

“Hi, girlfriend,” he countered, the words rolling off his tongue in a way that felt natural. Right.

Y/N’s smirk faltered just slightly, and Charles noticed the shift immediately. The hesitation in her eyes. The way her fingers stilled against her phone.

He straightened, tilting his head. “What’s wrong?”

She inhaled, setting her phone aside. “We should talk about this, Charles.”

There it was. The thing lingering between them since last night.

Charles licked his lips, exhaling as he took a step forward. “Yeah,” he agreed easily. “First, you’re an assassin.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And you’re a Formula 1 driver.”

Charles smirked, taking another step toward the bed. “You kill people for a living.”

Y/N matched his energy, shifting slightly but remaining seated. “You try not to die in a death trap for a living .”

His grin widened. “You have a killer snake.”

Her lips twitched. “Your team will lead you to an early grave.”

Charles barked out a laugh at that, shaking his head as he reached the foot of the bed. Y/N moved now, slipping off the mattress, standing in front of him. Only a short distance remained between them.

“You are apparently royalty in the underworld.”

Y/N smirked. “You are the famous Prince of Monaco. Il Predestinato.”

“I will be under heavy scrutiny if someone finds out who I’m with.”

“I live in secrets.” Her voice was softer now, but her smirk remained. “And association with me could get you..killed.”

Now, they were barely a breath apart, their smiles wide, their eyes burning with something neither of them were willing to name.

“Okay,” Y/N murmured, tilting her head. “So there’s really no safe way for us…”

Charles watched the way her gaze flickered to his lips, mirroring his own hunger.

“Not really, no.”

The air grew thick. Heavy. His pulse quickened.

“So it’s decided then.” Y/N stepped closer, her voice softer, a whisper between them. “We can’t risk everything just for our own selfish…”

She trailed off, so close now that if Charles breathed, their bodies would touch.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

He took the final step, their bodies brushing. “No,” he murmured, his voice hushed. “It would be at the least foolish, if not outright dangerous.”

Y/N didn’t blink. “Then that’s all there is to say on the matter?”

Neither of them moved.

Their breaths were heavy, synchronized. The tension snapped taut, the pull between them unbearable.

And then—

They crashed together.

Charles cupped the back of her head, pulling her in, his lips slanting over hers with a hunger that swallowed them both whole. Y/N let out a quiet, breathy sound against his mouth, and it made his mind short-circuit. His free arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her closer, pressing her flush against him.

She responded with equal fervor, her fingers curling into his shirt as she kissed him back, fierce and unapologetic. Charles deepened the kiss, tilting his head, his hands gripping her tighter like he was afraid to let go.

He walked her backward, not breaking their lips, until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. Then, with one firm push, she fell onto the bed, and Charles followed, his body covering hers as he devoured her mouth.

His lips trailed lower, pressing against her jaw, her pulse, her collarbone. He dipped lower, his mouth finding the curve of her shoulder, nipping at the skin.

“You’re so fucking dangerous,” he murmured, his voice husky against her skin. “And I still want you.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“Charles.”

Her voice was breathy, almost a plea.

It sent a thrill through him.

He continued his assault on her neck, trailing kisses and soft bites, his hands roaming down her waist, gripping her hips.

And then, in a swift movement, Y/N flipped them over.

Charles barely had time to register the shift before she was straddling him, her weight pressing him into the mattress.

Fuck.

The Ferrari shirt draped off her like something unholy, her thighs caging him in, her smirk nothing short of sinful.

Charles stared, utterly wrecked, utterly enthralled.

She was a vision. A lethal, dangerous, breathtaking vision.

His hands reached for her hips, pulling her against him, grinding up into her, his fingers digging into the fabric of his own shirt as he gazed up at her, his pupils blown wide.

The sound that left her lips was a quiet moan, and it made him want to lose control. She pushed back, rotating her hips slowly, drawing out every moment. The tension between them thickened, crackling with heat.

Charles could feel his restraint snap. He growled, his hands moving to her shirt's hem, ready to rip it off, desperate to feel more of her.

But before he could touch it, Y/N stopped him, pinning his wrists above his head effortlessly.

"Not yet," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "Let me have my fun first."

Her lips grazed his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. She leaned closer, her voice low and sultry. "You've earned something special tonight, Charles. I want to see how much you can take."

His heart raced, his body aching for her, but she was in control now, teasing him with every word. "You think I’m going to let you tease me all night?" His voice was hoarse, barely restrained.

She chuckled softly, the sound intoxicating. "Why not? You’ve always been a good boy, following orders." She slid her hips against him again, the pressure making him groan.

She lowered her lips to his ear, her voice a seductive whisper that sent fire through his veins. "Let me reward my race winner."

Fucking hell.

“I— I thought we were both tired,” he managed, his voice rough.

Y/N smirked, leaning down, her lips ghosting over his. “Oh, Charles, tired or not...”

She pulled back just enough to catch his gaze, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“...We were always going to end up here.”

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

Charles stopped breathing.

Holy fuck.

_________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this story please leave a like a comment and a reblog!

This was it, thank you to everyone who supported this story. You all had a huge hand in encouraging me to finish this. Ngl, I'm actually really proud of this story. And I hope you all loved it as well. This is for the comeback after last race, I'm proud of the team.

I think I really like these tense and action plus comedy things, I like figuring out humorous lines to write. If you like this type of writing from me, don't hesitate to send a request!

Jules♡

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[dying-inside-but-its-classy]

The Assassin King | CL16

Charles Leclerc x Assasssin! Reader

Summary: Y/N was supposed to complete the mission and move on, but, of course, nothing in life is ever that simple—especially when a certain Monegasque Ferrari driver gets involved.

Warning(s): Mild Language, liberties taken with race weekend of monza, cobra snake, Charles is scared of snakes, time skips, Charles Leclerc is incredibly stubborn, comedy, Y/N is a badass and Charles is obsessed. As he should be. Fluff, dancing, masqs, romantic comedy.

Part 1 < | > Part 2 < | > Part 3

"You should see me in a crown"

The room felt smaller now.

Not because it actually was—his driver’s room was the same cramped, barely-lived-in space it always had been, oh and also fucking bugged—but because of her. Because of her and the snake that coiled around her body like it belonged there.

Charles’ fingers twitched against his phone as Andrea’s message popped up.

Where are you?

His eyes flickered toward Y/N, who leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, her expression unreadable.

The snake rested lazily across her shoulder, its scaled head raised just enough to look at him. Look at him, like it was waiting for him to make the wrong move.

Like it knew fear when it saw it.

Charles swallowed thickly and typed out a response.

I'm okay, wanna be alone till Qualifying. Don’t disturb me.

The second he hit send, he felt it—that unmistakable shift in the air. Y/N had been watching him, but now, as if sensing his focus was entirely on her, she tilted her head ever so slightly, a ghost of a smirk teasing her lips.

“You’re scared of her,” she observed, tone light, teasing.

“No,” he lied immediately. Then, when her eyebrow lifted in pure disbelief, he groaned, running a hand down his face. “Okay, yes. But can you blame me? That thing—”

“Bella.”

“That thing is looking at me like she’s hungry!” His voice pitched slightly, and Y/N bit her lip, actually trying not to laugh at him.

Bella flicked her tongue out, and Charles swore on his life that she grinned.

“I promise,” Y/N murmured, dragging a slow, reassuring hand along Bella’s smooth scales, “she’s already eaten today.”

“Fantastic,” he deadpanned. “So I’ll die tomorrow.”

Her soft chuckle sent something curling in his chest, something dangerous, because no one should look that amused while talking about murder.

But the way she looked right now—half-shadowed in the dim lighting, a deadly serpent wrapped around her like a crown, eyes gleaming with something between mischief and calculation—she was dangerous.

And still, he stayed.

Stayed even as the air crackled between them, as the walls seemed to close in further, as the weight of all the unspoken things threatened to suffocate him.

Y/N studied him for a moment, then let out a slow breath, her amusement fading into something deeper, something real.

“I wasn’t always like this,” she murmured.

Charles didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as she leaned her head back against the wall, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling.

“I was born into this world. Not by choice. Not because I wanted to be. It was just—what it was. My family had been in the business for generations. Trained me before I could even understand what it meant. While other kids were playing outside, I was learning how to fight, how to disappear, how to read people before they even opened their mouths. I was their little prodigy.”

There was no pride in her voice. Just fact.

Charles exhaled slowly, unsure if he was breathing through the weight of her words or just trying to keep himself from looking at Bella again.

“But it didn’t take me long to figure out that power attracts monsters,” Y/N continued, voice softer now. “That the world is full of them. And they all wanted me.”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t like the way that sounded. Didn’t like the idea of her, young and brilliant, being..hunted like..prey.

“I learned the difference between good and bad, at a young age” she said. “Made my choice. And I’ve never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it since.” Her eyes flickered toward him then, sharp, assessing. “Anyone who hadn’t already done something unforgivable.”

Something in his chest twisted, tight.

Charles didn’t know what to say to that.

She had killed people. She had ended lives.

And yet…

He wasn’t afraid of her.

The snake? Absolutely. He’d rather throw himself into Eau Rouge in the rain than deal with that thing.

But her?

She wasn’t a monster. He could see it, even if she didn’t.

Y/N watched him carefully, searching for something, but whatever she found must have satisfied her because she exhaled and lifted a hand toward Bella.

Charles tensed.

“Relax,” she drawled, stroking the serpent’s head with practiced ease. “You want to know about her, don’t you?”

No. He absolutely did not.

But his damn curiosity had already cost him enough today. What was one more thing? So he nodded.

“She’s one of a kind,” she said simply at first.

Charles stared at her, waiting. “That’s not an explanation.”

Y/N hummed. “No, it’s not.”

He huffed, exasperated, and she laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. She was part of a lab experiment. A hybrid.”

Charles frowned. “Hybrid?”

“A cross between a python and a king cobra,” Y/N explained. “Genetically engineered to be stronger, smarter, and completely loyal to its handler.”

His mouth went dry.

“You’re telling me,” he started slowly, eyes flicking between her and Bella, “that you have a government-made super snake wrapped around your arm right now?”

Y/N grinned. “Pretty much.”

He swore under his breath, running a hand down his face. “Of course. Of course you do.”

Y/N let out a soft chuckle. “I was sent to retrieve intel on the project. A government agency hired me through Kiwi—my handler. They wanted information, proof of what the scientists were doing. I got in, took care of things, made sure their research couldn’t continue. Subdued the scientists, and handed the intel over.”

She paused, glancing at Bella. “The eggs were supposed to be part of the deal. The government...wanted them.”

Charles raised a brow. “And?”

She tilted her head slightly, something mischievous in her gaze. “I told them the process was incomplete. That the eggs were useless.”

Charles blinked. “They believed you?”

Y/N smirked. “They wanted to. That was enough.”

His brows furrowed as he watched her, taking in the way her fingers trailed idly over Bella’s smooth scales.

“And the eggs?” he asked slowly.

“I made sure no one could touch them.”

His stomach twisted. “What did you do?”

She shrugged. “Relocated them. Released them into the Amazon.”

Charles’ brain stuttered.

“You... what?”

“I left them somewhere safe,” she said simply. “A normal place, where they could hatch naturally, away from governments, scientists, and people who wanted to use them.”

Charles’ mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “You set loose..genetically engineered super snakes...into the fucking Amazon Rainforest.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.” He buried his face in his hands. “You’re fucking insane.”

Y/N laughed, amused by his distress. “They were just eggs, Charles. They weren’t dangerous yet.”

“They are literally bred to be the most dangerous snakes in existence!”

She rolled her eyes. “They’ll be fine. Nature will take its course.”

He groaned. “Nature is not supposed to have snakes like that.”

Y/N smirked. “Well. It does now.”

Charles let out a strangled noise, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she had, in fact, released a new species of snake into the wild like it was a normal Tuesday.

He gestured toward Bella, who was still watching him with far too much intelligence in her gaze, “and her?”

"When I got home, I found an egg in my bag. One of the last ones. And it was already hatching.”

Charles swallowed, eyes flickering between Bella and her.

“And you kept her.”

“I fell in love with her,” Y/N corrected, brushing her fingers gently over the serpent’s gleaming scales. “She was..perfect. Small, fragile—but full of venom. Just like they wanted her to be.”

Her voice was wistful now, almost affectionate.

“My Bella,” she murmured. “My belladonna.”

Charles let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “A deadly name for a deadly snake. Fitting.”

“Isn’t it?”

Her lips curled at the edges, but Charles didn’t miss the way her fingers tightened slightly against Bella’s body, the way something unspoken lingered in her expression.

“She’s been with me ever since,” Y/N said. “Protecting me. Warning me. And I protect her.”

Charles exhaled, shaking his head. “You really are insane.”

Her lips twitched. “Probably.”

Charles studied her, really looked at her—the way she carried herself, the way she spoke, the way her fingers moved against Bella’s body like a silent promise.

And for the first time since stepping into this room, since hearing her say -I’ve got the plans and the blueprints, now I just have to execute- something settled in him.

She wasn’t the villain of this story.

Even if she was batshit insane for keeping a snake like that as a pet.

Speaking of—

His eyes flickered toward Bella, who was still watching him.

“Okay, but can you—can you make her stop staring at me?” Charles gritted out, shifting uncomfortably.

Y/N arched a brow, amused. “She likes you.”

“That is not as reassuring as you think, chérie”

“Would you rather she didn’t?”

“Yes!”

Charles jumped back, pressing himself against the wall as the snake shifted again, slithering down Y/N’s arm like it was about to launch itself at him.

“Oh my god.” His voice broke. “It’s going to kill me.”

Y/N sighed, running a soothing hand along Bella’s body. “Relax.”

“No.”

“She’s just curious.”

“I don’t care, she tried to bite my nose off!”

“She was defending me!”

Charles made a strangled noise. “Against what?!”

Y/N just smirked. “Your dramatics.”

His eye twitched.

This was not how his day was supposed to go.

___________________________

Charles never thought his life would end up like this.

Sitting in his driver's room, less than two hours before qualifying, casually chatting with a fucking assassin while she lounged on the floor like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Y/N had her back against the wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. Bella—the demon snake—was curled loosely around her wrist, occasionally flicking her tongue in the air. Whenever it strikes her fancy, the snake kept moving, shifting positions, giving him a heart attack each time.

Charles was on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching her with something between fascination and disbelief.

Never in a million years did he think he’d end up in a situation like this.

And yet.

“You grew up in Monaco, huh?” Y/N mused, tilting her head as she toyed with Bella’s tail.

He scoffed. “I thought you already knew everything about me.”

“I know the headlines,” she said. “Not the real things.”

Charles gave her a dry look. “You mean the boring things.”

Y/N smirked. “You are a bit of a goody two-shoes.”

“Excuse me?”

“You grew up in Monaco,” she continued, undeterred. “Started racing in karts, went through all the junior formulas, got into F1, then Ferrari. It’s a neat little story.” She glanced up at him. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Charles frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

She shrugged. “I told you about me.”

“Yes, and your life is—” He gestured vaguely. “Not normal.”

She smirked. “Are you saying yours is, Mr. Millionaire F1 driver?”

Charles exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I snuck out once when I was sixteen.”

Y/N raised a brow. “That’s it?”

He scoffed. “I was grounded for two months.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s fucking adorable.”

Charles shot her a flat look. “Well, sorry I wasn’t out committing crimes.”

“Eh, you still have time.”

He gave her an exasperated stare. “Why do I even talk to you?”

She smirked. “Because I'm the most interesting person you've probably, ever met”

Charles let out a sharp breath, leaning back on his palms. “You are unbelievable.” He shouldn’t be engaging in this conversation, shouldn’t be looking at her like—

Like he wanted to trust her.

But then his gaze dropped, and he was instantly reminded of why that was a terrible idea.

Because Bella was staring at him.

The fucking snake.

He tore his eyes away, looking at Y/N instead. “What are you going to do with Volkov?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Kill him.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“You say it like you’re discussing what to have for dinner.”

She shrugged. “It’s my job.”

Charles let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair, ignoring the way Bella flicked her tongue like she was tasting his fear. “And I shouldn’t worry about that?”

Y/N tilted her head slightly. “No, you shouldn’t.”

His laugh was sharp, incredulous. “Are you hearing yourself?”

“Clearly,” she said. “Are you?”

Charles threw his hands up. “You’re talking about murder.”

She arched a brow, suddenly feeling a bit more defensive. “Why do you care so much?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know.” The admission came out more frustrated than he intended. “I don’t know why I care. But I do. And it’s making my whole life go sideways” He let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head.

“Out of all the people I had to feel a connection to, it had to be a fucking assassin—” His gaze flicked to the snake. “—with a fucking demon as a pet.”

Bella’s tongue flicked again.

Charles automatically flinched back on the bed.

Y/N smirked. “Oh,” she hummed. “So you like me.”

His eyes snapped to hers. She was teasing him, and worse, she was enjoying it.

Charles squared his shoulders, “I know the face of people who like me.” He leaned closer—not too close, because Bella was still very much a factor, but enough to close the gap in the small room slightly. “And I know for a fact that you’re attracted to me.”

Her lips curled slightly. “Vain much?”

“Confident.” His grin was sharp, teasing. “And I—” he pointed at himself, “—am not the one with a snake wrapped around my shoulders like a goddamn scarf.”

Y/N smirked. “Jealous?”

Charles scoffed. “Oh, deeply.”

Bella moved slightly, adjusting her coils.

Charles flinched and Y/N noticed.

She reached over, holding Bella out towards him.

Charles immediately leaned back. “Put that thing away.”

She burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you’re a coward.”

“I am not a coward. I just—” He pointed at Bella, glaring. “I don’t trust her.”

“She’s a baby, Charles.”

“She’s a serpent, Y/N.”

“She wouldn’t hurt you—”

“She wants to hurt me,” he hissed. “I can feel it.”

Y/N outright laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “And you are evil.”

"Ridiculous." Y/N repeated, shaking her head with a grin.

Charles sighed, rubbing his face. “And yet.”

She arched a brow. “Yet?”

His gaze flickered to hers.

And just like that, the air between them shifted.

Charles let out a breath, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “Yet here I am.”

____________________________

The moment her phone buzzed, Y/N almost didn’t look, almost didn't notice it.

She was too caught up in the easy warmth of the moment, in the way Charles was smiling at her—so effortlessly, so stupidly cute with those dimples of his.

It was unfair, really, how charming he was when he wasn’t even trying.

But then she glanced at her screen.

Volkov is here. This is your window.

And just like that, reality came crashing back in.

The warmth in her chest evaporated, replaced by something colder, sharper. The transition was instant. One second, she was teasing Charles, basking in his attention, and the next, her entire body tensed, her mind shifting into something more calculated. More detached.

More like the assassin she was trained to be.

Across from her, Charles’ expression faltered. He wasn’t stupid—he felt the shift immediately. His smile dropped, and for a brief, ridiculous second, Y/N felt absurdly sad that she couldn’t see his dimples anymore.

Focus.

“What happened?” he asked, sitting up straighter on the bed.

She inhaled, pocketing her phone. “Volkov is here.”

His brows furrowed, confused.

“Your qualifying starts in less than an hour,” she continued, pushing to her feet. “People are arriving. I have to do it before he goes home. Qualifying means everyone will be at the track and in the stands—this is my best chance.”

Charles’ lips parted slightly, realization dawning over his features. But beneath the shock, there was something else. Something that made her stomach tighten.

Worry.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, stepping toward her on instinct—before stopping abruptly, his gaze flicking warily to Bella.

Y/N almost rolled her eyes but instead sighed, setting the snake down gently on the floor.

Charles exhaled as if that alone made him safer, which made her smirk despite herself. But it disappeared as she stepped closer to him.

She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to reassure him.

This wasn’t his problem. He had nothing to do with this.

But still.

“Of course, I’ll be fine, Charles.” Her voice was softer now. Calmer. “This isn’t my first time doing this.”

His jaw clenched slightly, his eyes searching hers. “But what if—”

“Don’t worry about me,” she interrupted. “Worry about qualifying.” She let a small smile tug at her lips, her hand coming up to squeeze his shoulder. “I want you on top, okay?”

She meant it.

For some reason, she really meant it.

Charles held her gaze, his expression unreadable. But just as she turned to pick Bella up, she felt it—

His hands.

Warm, steady, curling around her waist as he pulled her back against his chest.

Y/N froze for half a second, instinct screaming at her to react—to break free, to fight, to run.

But then—

She didn’t.

Because it was Charles.

And she knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t harm her.

Which was dangerous.

It was dangerous how quickly she had trusted him.

Charles Leclerc had done something to her, definitely.

“Please be careful,” he murmured against her ear. His voice was quieter now, filled with something heavier. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you get hurt.”

Y/N swallowed.

Her heart—her fucking traitorous heart—melted.

For a moment, Y/N didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Charles was warm behind her, solid and steady, his arms wrapped around her waist like he could physically keep her from walking out that door and into the chaos.

It was ridiculous, how easily he made her hesitate.

She should let go. She should step away, make a joke, turn this into something lighter.

But instead—

She leaned back. Just slightly.

Charles exhaled, like he hadn’t expected it.

His grip around her tightened.

And just like that, the tension between them shifted into something else. Something softer.

“You’re acting like I’m walking into my death,” she murmured, tilting her head back slightly. “I told you, I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Charles said, but his voice was hesitant, unconvinced. “I just…” He sighed, his chin dipping to rest lightly against her shoulder. “I know you said you have a handler, but I hate that you do this alone.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

Alone.

She wasn’t sure why that word made her chest tighten.

Because that’s how it’s always been.

“I’m used to it,” she said finally, her voice quieter now.

“I don’t like that either,” Charles muttered.

Y/N let out a small breath of laughter, turning her head just enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re very stubborn, you know that?”

Charles huffed, his lips curling slightly. “I drive F1 cars for Ferrari for a living. You think I don’t know?”

That made her laugh.

And for a second, it was easy again. The warmth was back, the weight in her chest lifting just a little.

Her hand came up, resting lightly over his. “I’ll be fine, Charles.” She squeezed gently. “I promise.”

Charles was silent for a moment. Then—

“I better see you in the garage after qualifying.”

His voice was low, teasing, but there was something behind it—something serious.

Y/N smirked, twisting in his arms slightly to face him. “You’re giving me orders now?”

“Yes.” His hands stayed firm on her waist, keeping her close. “And you’ll listen, because you like me.”

She scoffed. “There it is again. The fucking ego of men.”

“It’s not ego,” he said, leaning in slightly. His eyes flicked to her lips for a fraction of a second, before locking onto hers again. “It’s confidence.” He winked at her, that horrible but adorable wink.

Kiss me

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Dangerous.

He was so dangerous.

And not in the way she was used to.

Before she could process it—before she could let herself get too caught up in his damn eyes—she stepped back, putting some distance between them.

Charles didn’t stop her, but his hands lingered as she pulled away, like he was reluctant to let go.

Y/N cleared her throat, grabbing Bella off the floor and draping the snake over her shoulders.

Charles, despite the moment they just had, took an immediate step back, his expression shifting from soft and charming to mildly horrified.

“I still don’t get how you just—carry her around like that.”

Y/N grinned, adjusting Bella’s position so her head rested lazily against her collarbone. “She’s a good listener.”

Charles scoffed. “Great. A snake probably has better communication skills than half the pit wall of Ferrari”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. But then, as she looked at him—really looked at him—her amusement softened.

His brow was still slightly furrowed, his mouth set in a way that told her he wasn’t completely at ease.

“Charles.”

His gaze flicked to hers.

She stepped closer, Bella shifting slightly with the movement. “I’ll be fine,” she said, softer this time, more certain. “I know what I’m doing, please believe me.”

Charles swallowed, nodding once. But then— “I do, and I still don’t like it.”

Y/N tilted her head. “The assassin thing or the snake?”

Charles made a face. “Both.”

Y/N grinned. “I’m starting to think you don’t actually like me.”

Charles let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I would like you a whole lot more if you had a normal pet. Like a fucking dog.”

Bella flicked her tongue.

Y/N smirked. “You are aware that snakes can hear, right?”

Charles’ eyes widened slightly, flicking to Bella. “They can?”

Y/N leaned in, voice dropping to a stage whisper. “She knows you’re scared of her.”

Charles took an automatic step back.

Y/N laughed. “I’ll see you after quali, Leclerc.”

And with that, she walked out the door—Bella in place, a smirk on her lips, and an entirely too fond Charles left staring after her.

____________________________

The tifosi roared around him, a sea of red and passion, but Charles could barely hear them.

Monza. Pole position. The dream.

And yet, his mind was elsewhere.

He tried to stay present, tried to soak in the electric atmosphere, but his thoughts kept slipping. Even as he smiled through interviews, even as his team cheered and clapped him on the back, his focus was fractured.

Because Y/N was out there. Somewhere.

And he had no idea if she was okay.

The celebration around him was deafening. Journalists fired off questions, one after another, microphones shoved into his face. He answered them automatically, his responses smooth but distant.

"Yes, the car felt amazing."

"Ferrari did an incredible job."

"I hope we can carry this pace into the race."

All the right words. All the expected answers. But his mind was still in that driver’s room, where she had stood before him, telling him she was about to kill a man like she was announcing the weather.

Had she done it? Had it gone smoothly? Was she safe?

His chest felt tight. He needed to see her. Needed to know.

A voice cut through his haze.

“Charles, you seem very focused. Is there something on your mind?”

He blinked, his media-trained smile locking into place a beat too late. “Just the race tomorrow,” he deflected smoothly. “I want to win for Ferrari, for the tifosi.”

The journalist chuckled. “Of course. But maybe there’s something—or someone—else you’re thinking about? Maybe the one you're taking for the gala tonight?”

His stomach flipped, but he only laughed lightly, shaking his head. “I think you’re reading too much into it.”

Even as he said it, his eyes flickered toward the paddock exit.

He needed to find her.

____________________________

Charles had given up looking.

After searching everywhere, he let go of his hope and returned to his hotel's suite, exhaustion settling into his bones. But when he opened his bedroom door, he was met with the shock of his life.

There she was—sprawled across his bed like she belonged there, her snake curled lazily around her neck. Her expression was one of pure frustration, her fingers drumming against his pillow as if deep in thought.

"You’re in....my bed," he stated, still standing in the doorway.

"You took too long." She barely spared him a glance, shifting slightly as the snake adjusted itself. "Volkov was not where he was supposed to be. He’ll be at the gala tonight, before the race tomorrow. I'm trying to think of a way in."

Charles processed that for a moment before shutting the door behind him. "The gala at the paddock," he echoed. Then, without missing a beat: "Come with me, I'm invited"

She scoffed, sitting up. "As your date?

"Why not?" He leaned casually against the wall, watching her.

"Because that would put too many eyes on me." She arched a brow. "I need to finish the job quietly, not be paraded around as your latest charmante compagnie."

His lips curled into a smirk. "It’s a masked gala, and very less media will be there" He reminded her.

She stilled for a second, considering that. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face. "You just want an excuse to dance with me."

Charles shrugged, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. "And if I do?"

Her gaze flicked to his, sharp and knowing. "Then you're playing a dangerous game, Leclerc."

He tilted his head, voice dropping to something softer, something teasing. "You’ve been in my bed this whole time, chérie—I think I already won."

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched. "Fine. But if you step on my toes, I’m feeding you to my Bella."

"Noted." He grinned, eyes flicking briefly to the snake draped around her before meeting her gaze again.

_______________________

The gala was nothing short of spectacular.

Set in the paddock, the entrance was lined with marble pillars and cascading chandeliers, casting a golden glow over the crowd.

Classical music floated through the air, mixing with the quiet hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Charles adjusted the cuffs of his sleek black suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to his frame. His deep crimson tie was a subtle nod to Ferrari, and his mask—an elegant black with gold accents—fit effortlessly onto his face, concealing just enough to add to the mystery of the night.

Even behind the disguises, he could recognize so many faces. Fellow drivers, team principals, socialites—some familiar, some strangers he had only seen in passing. It was a world he knew well, yet tonight, with everyone masked, it felt different. A game of intrigue, of whispered secrets behind expensive champagne.

He had barely finished scanning the room when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Turning around, his breath caught.

"Wow."

The word escaped him before he could even think.

Because she was standing there.

Y/N.

Even with the mask covering part of her face, he knew that smirk anywhere. Knew the teasing glint in her eyes, the confidence in her stance.

She smiled wider, giving him a graceful curtsy. The deep red of her dress clung to her in a way that was entirely unfair, the silk flowing like liquid fire down her body. The slit at her thigh, the way her bare shoulder caught the golden light—it was all entirely intentional, and Charles knew it.

She was doing this on purpose.

And it was working.

He exhaled, stepping back slightly before offering a small bow. “Enchante, mademoiselle.”

Her eyes glimmered with amusement as she replied smoothly, “The pleasure is mine, monsieur.”

He nodded toward the guards, who let them pass, the photographers snapping away at every guest. The anonymity of the masks kept it from becoming too intrusive, but the flashes still followed them as they stepped deeper into the venue.

Good, Charles thought. This isn't heavily covered by the media.

But even if it was—his mind could barely focus on anything other than her.

Because fuck.

She looked breathtaking.

And judging by the way she was smirking at him, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

That dress. That damn dress.

He was sure she wore it just to drive him insane.

And judging by the increasingly impure thoughts running through his head, she was doing a spectacular job.

Charles barely had time to admire her for another second before he felt it.

A slight shift.

So subtle that if he hadn’t been holding her, he wouldn’t have noticed. Her body tensed minutely in his arm, her fingers twitching slightly against his sleeve.

His brow furrowed, but before he could ask, she whispered, “There he is.”

Charles followed her gaze, and—fuck.

He knew that man.

Not personally, but he’d seen him before. He was the kind of person who always seemed friendly, approachable even—handshakes firm, smiles perfectly measured, the kind of guy who could convince an entire room that he was nothing but a well-mannered businessman.

But of course, you couldn’t trust anyone.

A lesson Charles was learning rather quickly these days.

His voice was low when he asked, “What’s the plan?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate, taking his wrist and leading him through the crowd, away from the chandeliers and murmured conversations, until they slipped behind a secluded pier.

She pulled something small from the folds of her dress and pressed it into his palm.

An earpiece.

“So Kiwi can talk to both of us,” she explained with a smirk. “Congratulations, Charles. You’re my first mission partner.”

Charles should have felt exasperated.

Should have questioned how, in the span of a few weeks, he had somehow ended up here—at a gala, in a mask, about to assist in an assassination.

But he didn’t. Instead, he felt proud.

Maybe even a little arrogant.

And, fuck, he couldn’t even explain why, but it felt weirdly nice that it was only him she had ever partnered with.

No one else.

A small crackle came from the earpiece before a voice filtered through.

“Hello, Charles. My name is Kiwi. Y/N tells me you don’t approve of our Bella.”

Charles turned his head sharply to glare at Y/N, who simply smiled—innocent, like she hadn’t just sold him out to her little assassin network.

And then, to his complete and utter horror, she laughed lightly.

The soft sound was so out of place given the situation—murder was literally about to happen—but damn it, he couldn’t even help himself.

He was enchanted.

_________________________

Y/N and Charles stood near the railing, subtly keeping an eye on the crowd. Occasionally, someone would approach them for small talk—vague pleasantries exchanged under the guise of politeness—but neither of them was fully invested in the conversations.

Their real focus lay elsewhere.

"Alright, guys," Kiwi’s voice crackled in their hidden earpieces. " I’m working on getting access to the security cameras, but it’s a bit trickier than expected. I’m also attempting to hack Volkov’s phone—if all goes well, I’ll send him a message that’ll lure him to the balcony at the very top."

Y/N hummed quietly in response, sipping her champagne.

"In the meantime, go dance. Be a distraction."

Charles, who had been silently observing the room, exhaled a soft chuckle. He turned to Y/N, lifting a gloved hand toward her with a mock-apologetic expression.

"I know I said I can't wait to dance, but I am horrible, I am so sorry for your feet," he said solemnly, "I will personally give you a foot massage after this."

Y/N arched a brow, her lips curling into a smirk. "Don’t worry," she said smoothly, placing her hand in his. "I can lead."

And god fucking dammit.

Charles was not supposed to find that hot.

He swallowed, pushed away whatever that feeling was, and led her to the dance floor. Around them, couples moved in practiced steps, masks concealing their expressions but not their elegance. The music shifted, a slow yet dramatic waltz filling the space.

Y/N’s grip was firm but fluid as she took control, guiding him effortlessly through the movements.

Charles, admittedly, was not a terrible dancer—but something about the way she commanded the steps made him let go of control entirely.

He surrendered to her lead, and the world around them faded into nothing.

Their feet moved in perfect synchronization, their bodies closer than what was appropriate for a dance like this. And yet, neither of them pulled away.

Charles’ lips curled. "You know, you’re very good at this."

"Dancing or leading?" she quipped.

"Both," he admitted, his voice lower than before.

Her smirk deepened, but she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she spun them effortlessly, twisting them between other pairs before pulling him close once again. Charles’ breath hitched slightly.

"You’re staring," she teased.

"And you’re enjoying it," he shot back.

She hummed. "I enjoy many things, Charles."

His fingers tightened on her waist instinctively, and he leaned in just slightly—just enough to make her breath catch.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, "Y/N, I don’t think I want this to be the last time I see you."

For the first time since they started dancing, Y/N faltered.

Just for a second.

Her grip on him remained steady, but her expression shifted, something unspoken flashing across her face. "Charles," she said softly. "You know we cannot do that."

"No, Y/N," Kiwi suddenly interrupted, her voice smug in their ears.

"You can absolutely do that. No one, has anyone seen the assassin King Cobra. I've also made sure that Y/N L/N has never been involved in any type of crime. Currently, she’s just a filthy rich heiress born to her filth rich parents, touring all of America. You’re the only one stopping yourself, love."

Charles smirked. "Is that so?"

Y/N let out a soft scoff, her expression exasperated as she subtly glared at the air—where Kiwi, if she were present, would undoubtedly be standing with the most shit-eating grin.

"Remind me to revoke your access to my records," Y/N muttered.

Charles, however, wasn’t letting this moment slip away. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a gaze that left her breathless. "I can decide for myself," he murmured. "And I choose you. There’s nothing you can do about it."

She stared at him, something vulnerable flickering in her expression before she shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping. "Charles Leclerc, incredibly stubborn," she murmured as if remembering from something.

Charles winked at her, though he horribly failed.

"I like to think of it as.... persistence," he corrected.

Before she could retort, hr pulled her closer, fingers grazing her jaw before he leaned down—pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

And Y/N, despite everything she had trained herself to be, despite every wall she had built, melted.

________________________

Charles could barely focus on the masked figures dancing around them—his eyes were on her. The deep cherry-red dress clung to her like it had been tailored to ruin men, namely, him.

He wasn’t even ashamed about staring anymore, now that they were..something.

"You wore this on purpose, didn’t you?" Charles murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Y/N tilted her head, smirking as if she had no idea what he was talking about. "Whatever do you mean, Charles?"

She spun gracefully, the fabric of her dress swishing around her legs, and when she pressed back against his chest, his grip on her waist tightened instinctively. She was trouble.

God, she was trouble.

Charles leaned in, voice rougher now as he murmured against her ear, "You know exactly what I mean. This dress. That color. The way it fits you like a second skin."

Y/N pretended to ponder his words before her smirk widened. "Mmm. Well, it does come with its own surprises."

Charles should have asked what she meant. He should have focused on that. But instead—he was far too gone, drowning in the way she was looking at him, like she knew exactly the effect she had on him and was reveling in it.

A grin spread across his face, dark and sinful. "The only surprise here is how I’m still standing and not on my knees for you yet."

Her smirk faltered—just slightly. Her fingers twitched where they rested against his shoulder.

Y/N scoffed, attempting to stay cool. "How dramatic of you, Leclerc."

Charles tilted his head, dropping his voice lower. "Dramatic? No. Honest? Yes. And that dress, mon ange, will be of no use when I’m on my knees for you."

Her breath hitched—damn him—but she masked it quickly, letting out a slow, amused hum.

She raised a brow. "That eager, huh?"

Charles grinned, completely unapologetic. "Oh, ma belle, I’d already be worshipping at your altar. If you’d let me."

His fingers skimmed her waist, teasing, lingering. She let out a slow chuckle, shaking her head in mock pity. "You should be careful, Charles."

He feigned curiosity. "And why’s that?"

Y/N leaned in, voice a whisper full of promise and threat. "Because I don’t play fair."

Charles laughed, and damn it, he had never wanted someone more.

Before they could continue their teasing, Kiwi’s voice crackled through the earpiece.

"Alright, lovebirds, enough flirting. I’ve managed to hack into the CCTV and his phone. He should be getting an urgent text right about… now."

Both Charles and Y/N subtly turned their heads, watching as Volkov pulled out his phone, reading the message. After a moment’s hesitation, he began making his way toward the secluded balcony.

Y/N’s expression hardened. She nodded at Charles, stepping back. "I’ll take it from here."

But Charles didn’t let go.

"I’m coming with you."

Her gaze snapped to his, more serious now. "Charles, you cannot. Do you really want to see me kill someone?"

His jaw tightened, but his eyes didn’t waver. "When I said I choose you, I meant the assassin, murder-y part of you as well."

Y/N exhaled sharply, muttering, "Incredibly fucking stubborn," before turning toward the balcony. Charles, smug, followed.

She reached for the door, pushing it open just slightly—but the second she peered inside, she snapped back, eyes wide.

Charles tensed. "What?"

Y/N grabbed his wrist, pulling him a step back. "Kiwi," she said hurriedly. "There are guards in there. With him."

Kiwi swore under her breath. "Either we made him suspicious, or he’s extremely narcissistic and cautious."

Y/N sighed. "I’d go for the latter."

Then, without warning, Y/N pulled him back behind a pier, turned her back to Charles and said, "Push my zipper down."

Charles blinked. "What?"

She groaned, throwing her head back. "Charles oh my god."

Scrambling, he reached for the zipper, his hands slightly shaky as he dragged it down. His eyes widened when he caught sight of what was hidden beneath—several small knives strapped to the back of her bra, gleaming under the dim light.

"What the fuck, Y/N."

She smirked, reaching back with practiced ease to grab the knives. With a playful glint in her eyes, she handed one to Charles.

He stared at it.

"You wanted to help, right?" she grinned.

Charles swallowed. "I was thinking more…standing at the side, offering emotional support, ma belle"

Y/N patted his cheek, grinning wider. "Congratulations, darling, you’re now getting hands-on experience now."

__________________________

The night air was thick with tension, the weight of it pressing against the dimly lit balcony. A warm breeze drifted in from the gardens below, ruffling the crisp collars and dark suits of the six men flanking Anton Volkov.

He stood at the railing, his glass of whiskey glinting under the lantern light, his expression unreadable as he stared out into the night.

Then—one of his men collapsed.

No gunshot. No cry. Just a sharp hiss, and a strangled breath before his body hit the marble floor with a dull thud.

The remaining guards tensed immediately, hands twitching toward their weapons, eyes darting toward the shadows. But before they could react—

The doors to the balcony swung open.

Charles stepped inside, the golden glow from the gala casting long shadows behind him. He looked completely unbothered, adjusting his cufflinks with an easy smirk and a convincing surprised look on his face.

"Mr. Leclerc," Volkov said smoothly, though there was a flicker of shock in his eyes. "What an unexpected pleasure."

Charles smiled, feigning nonchalance as he glanced past him at the city skyline. "Needed some air. It’s so loud in there I can’t even hear myself think." He looks back inside as the door to the balcony closes, the sound level has reached a high enough that people inside would probably not even hear a bomb going off.

Volkov exhaled a quiet chuckle, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Yes, these events can be quite overwhelming."

Charles took a casual step forward, gaze flicking to the remaining guards. "Strange place to take a break. Alone?"

Volkov’s lips curled slightly. "Not alone," he murmured, tilting his glass before taking a sip. "I am here to meet a....friend."

Charles hesitated. Barely a second.

But Volkov caught it. His sharp eyes narrowed ever so slightly, reading the split-second pause, the almost imperceptible shift in his stance.

He opened his mouth—

"Delivery for Volkov."

The voice sliced through the night like a blade.

From above.

And before anyone could react, she dropped from the rooftop.

Y/N landed on the marble railing with effortless grace, crouched low like a predator ready to pounce. Her dress, now slit dangerously high for mobility, fluttered around her legs as she straightened, her mask catching the light like a phantom's grin.

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming beneath the mask.

Holy fuck she's hot, Charles's mind whispers.

Then she fired.

The silenced bullet hit its mark. Volkov jerked back, a sharp grunt escaping him as the bullet tore into his shoulder. His whiskey glass shattered against the floor, the golden liquid staining the marble like spilled blood.

The guards moved instantly.

Y/N twirled the gun in her fingers before tucking it away, exhaling a slow breath as they charged.

Then, she turned to Charles.

A slow, dangerous smirk spread across her lips.

"Showtime, baby."

_______________________________________

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Part three will be up the day after tmr, but thankfully it'll be more shorter. I'm going to be on the flight while this part will be posted, so I can hopefully wake up to some good feedback.

Jules♡

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[dying-inside-but-its-classy]

The Assassin King | CL16

Charles Leclerc x Assasssin! Reader

Summary: Y/N was supposed to complete the mission and move on, but, of course, nothing in life is ever that simple—especially when a certain Monegasque Ferrari driver gets involved.

Warning(s): Mild Language, just an assassin doing assassin things—like murder and assassination, but it's lowkey murder, liberties taken with race weekend of monza, cobra snake, Charles being nosey and almost gets his nose bitten off, lol, comedy, fluffy, long story, and in three parts. Long story meaning—hella long.

Part 1 < | > Part 2 < | > Part 3

"They say I did something bad, then why's it feel so good?"

Y/N could feel the weight of the night in the air as she walked toward the mansion.

Her every step calculated, her mind running over the mission details as the heels of her shoes clicked softly against the marble floor.

The lights of the ballroom flickered just beyond the door, the hum of laughter and clinking glasses filtering through the air. She was almost there.

Her handler, Kiwi, was already speaking in her ear. Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

Kiwi was always the voice of reason, even if that voice was full of exasperation and sass.

“Alright, King, you’re almost in position. The perimeter’s secure. I've hacked the Cctv. No one should be getting in or out unless they have clearance, and we both know you have perfect clearance.” Kiwi’s voice was calm, almost too calm, like she was bored.

But Y/N knew better. Behind the monotone was always that edge of concern.

Kiwi liked control, and Y/N? Well, Y/N liked chaos.

“The target’s inside—Victor Hartwell. He’s the CEO of some tech company, whatever the hell they do. You’ll find him near the center of the room, surrounded by his entourage. Guy’s a sleaze. You’ll know him when you see him. He’s the one with the stupid red tie, the one who looks like he thinks he owns the whole world.”

Y/N was already scanning the crowd, her eyes moving over the sea of faces. It wasn’t hard to pick out the target. A man standing too tall in a crowd, his smug smile practically glowing through the smoke and mirrors of wealth and power.

There he was. Victor Hartwell.

Y/N’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile as she slipped through the guests, effortlessly blending in with the waitstaff.

“Yeah, I see him,” Y/N muttered, her voice low but sharp. “Nice red tie. Pretty sure he’s compensating for something. I’ll be done before you even have time to finish your drink, Kiwi.”

She adjusted the tray in her hand, moving past a group of people, but not without giving them a quick look—there was a pearl bracelet on one woman’s wrist that caught her eye, and a diamond necklace on another that gleamed just right.

She quickly pushed those thoughts away. She had a job to do.

“Focus, King,” Kiwi warned, but Y/N could hear the slight chuckle in her voice.

Kiwi might be a professional, but she’d never be able to resist Y/N’s particular brand of chaos. “The poison is already in the drink, right?”

Y/N had already slipped the fast-acting poison into Hartwell’s glass of champagne. A few quick drops and the job was done. Hartwell wouldn’t know what hit him.

The poison was fast, nearly undetectable, and it’d make sure his heart would stop within the next minute.

Easy.

“Done,” Y/N replied, her voice calm. “In and out. Just like that. All while you’re sitting somewhere, probably eating fucking nachos”

Y/N, of course, knew that Kiwi was just as serious about the mission as she was. But deep down, it was a compliment to her own skills, the way she made Kiwi’s job easier. Kiwi would never admit it, though. She’d insist that only she could handle Y/N’s particular brand of flair.

You kill one mad scientist and suddenly you're overdramatic

Kiwi groaned on the other end. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t get cocky. Just make sure you don’t—” She stopped, and Y/N could hear the sharp inhale. “Wait. What’s that in your pocket?"

Y/N glanced down at her coat, then around at the room, clocking the camera that was following her, knowing it was her handler watching, she couldn’t help but smirk.

Her hand slipped into her pocket, feeling the smooth curve of the stolen pearl bracelet. She was already moving toward the exit, but there was no harm in taking a little prize along the way.

“Oh, nothing. Just a little something extra,” Y/N said casually, slipping the bracelet further into her pocket.

She moved through the crowd, her heart beating a little faster now. There was something about this game—about the rush—that always kept her on edge.

“I swear to God, King,” Kiwi muttered. “You can’t just do the mission. You always have to do something else. God forbid you keep your hands to yourself for two seconds.”

Y/N chuckled, her eyes on Hartwell again, watching as he took his first sip of the poisoned drink.

She didn’t need to look long—his face was already starting to pale, the first signs of the poison taking effect. He was already halfway to his collapse, and no one was going to know what happened until it was far too late.

“Listen,” Y/N said, her voice light, almost teasing. “You didn’t complain when I got you that $300K watch, did you? You love the gifts, Kiwi. Don’t act like you don't.”

Kiwi’s voice was sharp and incredulous. “I knew it. I knew you’d stolen that goddamn thing. I knew it wasn’t just a ‘gift.’ You have terrible taste in watches, King.”

Y/N snorted, weaving her way out of the ballroom. She could hear the faint sounds of Hartwell stumbling behind her.

She didn’t need to look back. She knew what was happening—he was on his way out, and that was all that mattered.

“Hey!” Y/N protested, offended. “I’ve got excellent taste in watches. It’s not my fault you’re too busy to notice the good stuff when it’s right in front of you.”

“Oh, please, spare me. The only reason you know what’s ‘good’ is because you’ve been stealing for years, assassin with a sidejob of a pick-pocket” Kiwi quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Y/N grinned. “Well, you’re welcome. You got a pretty damn nice watch out of it, didn’t you?”

Kiwi didn’t answer right away, and Y/N could picture her rolling her eyes back at base, no doubt staring at the camera feed of the ballroom, watching her every move. “I swear, King, you’re impossible. At least you’re good at what you do. Just don’t get caught. And don’t steal any more shit.”

Y/N pushed through the side door of the mansion, stepping out into the cool night air, the sounds of the party still distant behind her. She let out a slow breath.

Mission complete. And no one was any wiser.

She slid her hand into her pocket once more, feeling the smooth edges of the bracelet she’d swiped earlier.

She wasn’t even sure why she took it, but the temptation was too strong. And besides, it wasn’t like Kiwi was going to yell at her forever.

“I’m not that bad, Kiwi,” Y/N teased, grinning to herself as she ducked into the shadows.

“I hate you, King,” Kiwi said flatly. “But alright, don’t get too comfortable. There’s always someone new who needs a little ‘talking to. Or an appointment with the 'big dog’"

Y/N’s lips curled into a grin. “You’re the only one who'd call god, the 'big dog', Kiwi. I swear. Always a new mission with you, isn't it, always a new target. Maybe you need to take a break... let me get you something shiny next time, yeah?”

Kiwi’s voice was flat. “I swear, one of these days you’re going to get me to actually punch you.”

Y/N laughed, feeling the rush of adrenaline slowly starting to fade.

The job was done. The target was gone. Kiwi was right—it had been easy. And the stolen jewels were just a pretty bonus.

“You’re welcome,” Y/N said with a grin. “Talk to you tomorrow, Kiwi.”

With that, she signed off, her comms going silent. The night was still young, and she had more work to do.

____________________________

Y/N’s boots made no sound as she ascended the staircase, her mind effortlessly juggling a dozen different thoughts. The grocery list was at the top of the pile: eggs, flour, dead mice, vegetables, coffee, and a few more essentials.

Maybe I should get a dead deer? It's been long since a good treat.

A soft hum played in the back of her head, an almost subconscious tune she couldn’t quite place. It danced around the edges of her focus, soothing in its simplicity.

Her steps were slow, measured, the rhythm of her movement unhurried despite the urgency of the tasks ahead.

The second floor corridor stretched before her, a quiet emptiness save for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Her mind was still calculating, balancing her to-do list, when she reached her door, key already in her hand.

Her gaze flickered toward the handle.

It was turned.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her body went still.

A chill ran down her spine as a quiet sense of dread settled into her chest.

The door, slightly ajar, beckoned her like an unspoken threat. She felt the tension coil inside her, reflexes primed for action. The grocery list and the jeweller faded into the background, replaced by the cold, sharp edge of reality.

Instantly, her fingers brushed against the cold steel of the knife hidden inside her jeans, the familiar weight of the blade comforting her.

She moved with practiced grace, her muscles taut, mind completely in the moment. Every sense heightened, every movement calculated.

Step by slow step, she advanced into the apartment, each footfall silent on the wooden floor.

The air felt thick, heavy, charged with the kind of tension that only a predator could feel before striking. Her eyes darted, scanning the space with military precision, noting every detail—the soft gleam of the lamp on her side table, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the bathroom.

Nothing was out of place. But something was wrong.

The hairs on her neck stood up.

She barely had time to register the sound behind her before the cold muzzle of a gun pressed against her back.

Her body tensed instantly, but she didn’t move. The man’s breath was hot and shallow, his voice a low growl, “Move, and I’ll put a bullet in your skull.”

Her hand tightened around the hilt of her knife, but she stayed still. It was too late to fight, and she knew it.

This wasn’t some rookie; this was a pro, someone who knew how to subdue quickly and efficiently. He had her pinned—she couldn’t use the element of surprise, couldn’t rely on a quick strike.

So she did what she did best: she waited.

The silence dragged on for a moment longer, the tension so thick it almost had weight.

Then, with a mocking laugh, the man shoved her forward, slamming her into the edge of the nearby table. The knife in her hand slipped free of her grip and clattered to the floor.

“Not so confident now, are we?” The man chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with condescension. “The great King, is actually a fucking useless woman. You know, I thought since you’re such an amazing killer, you’d be better at choosing a place to stay. Better at defending yourself. Clearly, women are weak.”

His laugh echoed through the room, and for a moment, Y/N’s mind spun with the irony of it all. This man had absolutely no idea who he was dealing with.

"Do you know why the fuck I’m here?" he growled, stepping closer.

Y/n arched a brow, eyes flicking down to the gun like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. "Well, considering you’re holding a gun to my gut, I’m guessing this isn’t a friendly visit."

His sneer widened. "You killed my fucking brother."

She blinked, unimpressed. "Gonna need more than that."

"Daniel, you bitch! Daniel Cortez!"

A beat of silence. Then—

"Oh. That dumbass."

The man’s smirk grew, confidence swelling in his chest. He thought that meant she was afraid.

King just exhaled, glancing at the ceiling. "Jesus. You’re really about to get yourself killed over that idiot?"

She leaned back casually against the table, her posture relaxed, as if the man’s presence didn’t affect her at all.

His smirk faltered for a moment, confused by her sudden nonchalance, but then he caught sight of her smile.

The kind of smile that had earned her the nickname ‘King.’ It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what was coming next.

“Since you thought King was some useless man,” Y/N’s voice was smooth, almost lazy as she spoke, “let me tell you my full name.”

She pointed to herself, the movement slow, deliberate. Her voice calm.

“King.”

Then, she pointed behind him, a smooth motion that made his confusion deepen.

“Cobra.”

The man turned—too late.

Before he could even react, the sound of something swift and deadly filled the air.

A loud, hissing strike.

A blur of scales and speed, and the man’s body jerked back, his scream ripping through the air. His hand shot down, swiping in a panic, but it was no use. The cobra was faster.

The snake latched onto him with terrifying precision, its fangs sinking deep into his skin, injecting venom so potent it was like fire running through his veins. His scream turned into a choking gasp as the poison hit his bloodstream, his body seizing in agony.

Y/N’s smirk didn’t falter as she watched him struggle. The snake, her snake, slithered up to his chest, wrapping around him with the kind of fluid grace that could only come from a predator at the peak of its strength.

The man writhed beneath it, his eyes wide with horror as he felt the cold, relentless coils tightening around him, every movement just another reminder of his impending end.

Y/N stood, unmoving, her hands resting casually at her sides.

She watched him for a moment longer, savoring the sight of his panic as he fought against the inevitable.

It was always fascinating, watching people realize too late that they had made a fatal mistake.

She knelt beside him, her movements slow and deliberate, never rushing, always in control.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his body jerking as he fought against the cobra’s constriction. He looked up at her, eyes wide with terror, his mouth opening as if to beg for mercy.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a wicked smile as she leaned in closer.

“How’d you like my baby?” she purred, her voice smooth and mocking. “Saved her myself, raised her from birth, too. She’s mine.” She let the words sink in, watching his eyes widen even more in disbelief. “And anyone who tries to harm me—well, you know what happens.”

He struggled, trying to find words, his voice barely a whisper as he gasped for air. “You’ll never tame that snake. No man can.”

Y/N’s smile widened, a dark glint in her eyes as her hand slowly, deliberately, reached for the knife still resting on the floor.

She gripped the handle, lifting it with a fluid motion as she moved back into position beside him. The snake had done its job, but now it was her turn to finish the job.

“No,” she said, her voice soft, almost too calm. “Good for me, then. I am no man.”

The knife glinted in the dim light as it cut through the air, its blade meeting his forehead with a sharp, final precision.

His body went limp, the last breath rattling from his lungs as he succumbed to the venom, to the blade, to the quiet finality of death.

Y/N stood, brushing the hair from her face with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. The snake unwound itself from the man’s body, its mission complete, and slithered back to her, coiling around her arm like a familiar, trusted companion.

"Good job, Bella"

She didn’t even look at the body on the floor. There was no need.

After all, the man had made the most fatal mistake—underestimating her.

____________________________

The roar of the engines vibrated through the Ferrari garage, a deep, primal sound that made the walls hum. The scent of burnt rubber, gasoline, and something vaguely metallic filled the air, clinging to the red uniforms of the mechanics moving in and out of the pit lane.

Y/N moved through the chaos seamlessly, a disposable figure in a sea of red. She carried a tray of coffee orders, a neutral expression set on her face, the perfect blend of present but unremarkable.

The Ferrari crew barely acknowledged her, too busy poring over data screens or making final adjustments to the car before their drivers took it out for the first session.

An intern. That’s what she was here. Just another nameless cog in the well-oiled machine that was Ferrari’s race weekend operation.

It was the perfect disguise. No one paid attention to interns.

She recited her cover story in her head as she handed a cappuccino to an engineer barking out tire strategies to someone over the radio. Vivienne Giovanni, fresh-faced motorsport management student, landed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to intern with Ferrari for the Monza Grand Prix. Background in data analytics, eager to learn, grateful for the opportunity. All of it was fabricated, of course. Her real name had been scrubbed from every database that mattered.

Her target, Anton Volkov, was a high-ranking FIA official. By day, he dictated rules and regulations, a bureaucrat with power over the very sport these people lived and breathed. By night, he was something far worse—a key player in the black-market trade of stolen car technology and illegal weapons.

The kind of man who could make millions selling secret blueprints to the highest bidder, no matter the consequences.

He was here this weekend, doing his usual rounds, acting as though he weren’t responsible for trafficking stolen data and guns that could get people killed.

Y/N’s job was simple. Infiltrate. Gather intel. Wait for the right moment. Execute.

She turned a corner, stepping lightly past a group of engineers, her head down just enough to avoid drawing attention but not so much that it looked unnatural.

She had spent years perfecting this balance—appearing so unimportant that people forgot she existed even as she stood right in front of them.

The espresso machine whirred as she filled another cup, her hands moving on autopilot.

It wasn’t hard to get the job at Ferrari.

She’d crafted an unimpressive but plausible résumé, slipped it into the right hands, and a few nudges in the background by Kiwi made sure she was accepted. Nothing too obvious. Just another eager intern with an affinity for numbers.

A voice crackled over the team’s radios, something about tire degradation and brake balance.Someone swore as they adjusted a data screen.

Y/N carefully placed a small stack of documents onto a desk beside one of the lead strategists. They weren’t important, but interns were expected to do menial tasks, and she wasn’t about to raise suspicion by being idle.

Anton Volkov was expected to pass through the paddock in the next hour.

He would be making his rounds, checking compliance regulations, shaking hands, making himself look important. It was almost laughable. The FIA saw him as an enforcer of rules, but in reality, he was the one breaking them at the highest level.

Y/N knew how these types of men worked. Power wasn’t enough for them. They wanted control. They wanted to play god in whatever arena they found themselves in.

She picked up another tray of coffee and moved through the garage again, her ears picking up bits and pieces of conversation around her.

Charles was struggling with understeer. Lewis had mentioned something about track temperatures affecting grip levels. The mechanics were already preparing for the next round of pit stop practice.

She let the details fade into the background. Her focus was elsewhere.

Blend in. Observe. Wait.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Not her real one—the cheap, disposable burner she was using for this mission. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A single message from Kiwi.

T-minus one hour. He’s on schedule. No changes.

She exhaled slowly, tucking the phone back into her pocket. No changes meant everything was going according to plan. No surprises. That was good.

She grabbed a cloth and pretended to wipe down a counter as she subtly checked her reflection in the polished metal surface. Nothing out of place.

Her uniform was neat, her hair was secured in a way that wouldn’t stand out. She looked exactly like what they expected her to be—just another girl trying to get a foot in the door of the motorsport world.

A junior engineer called out for another coffee, and she moved quickly, handing it off with a polite nod.

Just another intern.

______________________________

He’s sure that she’s not just another intern.

Charles first noticed her when he walked into the Ferrari garage that morning, the familiar red-and-black blur of his team moving around him with a practiced efficiency that should’ve made everything blend together. But she stood out.

Not because of anything obvious—there was nothing particularly striking about her at first glance. She wore the same uniform as the other interns, moved with the same quick but careful steps, kept her head down when necessary.

And yet, something about her felt off.

He had seen her before.

Charles was sure of it.

Her face—it was something he had found himself staring at before, though he couldn’t place where. A strange sense of déjà vu curled in his mind, gnawing at him as he watched her move through the garage, taking coffee orders, jotting down notes, exchanging quiet words with the other interns.

It was normal. Completely normal.

And yet, Charles felt like he was looking at a puzzle with one piece out of place.

“Charles.” His race engineer’s voice crackled through the garage noise, pulling him back. “We need to go over tire warm-up procedures again. The track’s colder than expected.”

He nodded, forcing himself to refocus. Later. Think about it later.

The Monza paddock was a relentless beast. It always had been. Pressure coiled thick in the air, threading itself through every mechanic, every strategist, every driver.

Charles could feel it wrapping around his ribs, pressing against his lungs as he glanced at the live telemetry data on the screen in front of him. The times weren’t bad, but they weren’t great either.

The Ferrari was holding steady, but in Monza, steady wasn’t enough.

He leaned over the monitor, listening to his engineer as they discussed the run plan for the session. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of her again.

She was standing near the back of the garage now, arms crossed, nodding along as one of the engineers explained something. But it wasn’t just that she was listening. She was watching.

She scanned the room the way drivers scanned the track before a race, like she was looking for the gaps, assessing threats.

His grip tightened on the edge of the table.

Most interns were nervous, wide-eyed, eager to learn. She was composed. Her posture was loose but deliberate, like she was always prepared for something. It wasn’t a stretch to say she carried herself more like an athlete than an intern.

Then there was the way she patted her stomach. A light touch, barely noticeable, but he caught it. It was quick, habitual.

A nervous tick? No, it didn’t seem like that. Was she checking something? Pregnant? No—she didn’t look pregnant, and even if she was, a motorsport garage was hardly a safe place for her to be inhaling all these fumes.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. What are you doing, Charles? You’re in FP1, focus.

Lewis was already out on track, running his first stint, his voice crackling over the team radio as he relayed feedback. Charles was supposed to be getting into the right mindset, preparing to take his own car out soon, but now he was fixated on the stranger in his garage.

Why?

He turned his attention back to the screen, watching the delta times update. The Ferrari was quick on the straights, but the low-speed corners needed work. He drummed his fingers against his thigh, barely listening to his engineer as they discussed changes.

His gaze flickered back to her.

She was smiling at something another intern said. It wasn’t an overly expressive smile, just the polite, friendly kind people gave when making small talk. But there was something about it that struck him.

Maybe it was the way it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Who are you?

Charles wasn’t usually this intrigued by new faces in the garage. There were always interns coming and going, wide-eyed students hoping to get their foot in the door. But this one—this woman—was different. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he felt it in his gut.

“Charles, you’re up in five,” his engineer reminded him.

Right. Right.

He rolled his shoulders back, exhaling slowly as he pushed the thoughts aside. He needed to focus. He could deal with this later—figure out why his brain wouldn’t let go of the feeling that something about her didn’t add up.

For now, there was a session to run.

And a race to win.

___________________________

Charles had just finished his run for FP1, and the weight of the track was still fresh in his bones. Monza wasn’t just any race; it was one of the most crucial weekends of the season for Ferrari.

The pressure to perform in front of the home crowd hung heavy, and though he’d pushed for a solid lap, there was always the need for more. Always room for improvement.

The garage was buzzing with activity as the engineers analyzed the data, mechanics scurried to fix the cars, and the air seemed thick with the tension that came with a race weekend.

Charles, feeling the exhaustion creeping in, leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath as he pulled off his helmet.

The cool air felt good against his flushed skin. He’d been in the zone, but now, with the session over, he allowed himself a few minutes of respite.

And that’s when he saw her again.

She was at the coffee station, serving orders, moving gracefully through the garage with an ease that didn’t match the usual chaos of Monza.

He noticed how she stood a little taller than most, her back straight, never slouching. Her eyes scanned the room often, as if taking everything in, noting the comings and goings of everyone in the garage, the noises, the chatter.

He really shouldn’t be looking at her this much. It was odd. Maybe it was just his mind overthinking, the weight of the weekend starting to get to him.

But Charles couldn’t help it. There was something magnetic about her, something different.

She finally turned and walked towards him, her hand extending with a coffee cup. “For Charles Leclerc,” she said in a tone that was all business, but there was something in her eyes—something that made his heart race slightly faster than usual.

"Grazie," he said, though he barely registered the words. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noticing the calm way she held herself, the way she smiled easily, with no hint of awe or excitement.

There was nothing in her expression that said I’m talking to Charles Leclerc, Formula 1 driver.

She was treating him like a person. A regular person. Not a celebrity.

Charles frowned, a little confused by the way that made him feel. He was used to the attention, of course, but he realized he kind of liked this—this sense of normalcy.

“Anything else I can do for you?” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he found himself staring a bit longer than he should.

He chuckled, almost awkwardly. “Uh, no, I think this will do.” He took a sip of the coffee, grimacing slightly.

God, I hate coffee

But he didn’t care. The bitter taste was worth it just to have an excuse to talk to her. There was something compelling about her, something... intriguing.

He took another glance at her, his eyes darting down to her wrist, where he spotted something—a glint of pearls. It wasn’t something you saw every day in the Ferrari garage, especially not on an intern.

His eyes widened slightly as he noticed the bracelet, a small but unmistakable luxury piece. It looked expensive.

She had to be well-connected, or had money of her own, though there was no way she could afford something like that with an intern’s paycheck. A thousand questions flashed through his mind in an instant. Why was she wearing it? And why hadn’t he noticed it before?

Before he could think too much about it, she was stepping back, her posture still immaculate, her face betraying nothing. “Glad I could help,” she said, her smile warm, but professional.

Charles couldn’t help but stare for a moment longer as she walked away, her every step confident and purposeful.

The engineers had already started to gather around him, their voices cutting through the haze in his mind. Charles tried to focus, tried to give them his attention, but his thoughts kept drifting back to her.

Why did she look so... unbothered?

Charles tried to push the thoughts from his mind. He was supposed to be focused. Monza was important. But he couldn’t stop the pull he felt whenever he saw her, the way his eyes kept wandering back to her, trying to catch her doing something, anything that would explain the quiet confidence she exuded.

As the morning stretched on and he moved to join the others for another round of debriefing, Charles found himself seeking her again.

As he approached, he saw her again, handing out cups and taking notes with a focused expression. There was something magnetic about her that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Without thinking, Charles stepped up to the counter where she was stationed.

"Another coffee, please?" he asked casually, his voice light but with an underlying hint of curiosity.

She glanced up, her expression unreadable for a moment before a smile tugged at her lips. "You back for more, Mr. Leclerc? I thought one coffee would be enough for a day."

Charles chuckled, leaning slightly against the counter. "Just Charles, please, and I think I might make an exception today," he looked at her name tag, "Vivienne." How odd, she does not look like a Vivienne.

Her eyes flickered over him, a sharp glance that he didn't miss. "Is that so...Charles?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning a little closer, his voice softening just enough to be more intimate. "Maybe I just needed an excuse to talk to you."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement. "Flattery? That’s a little forward, even for you."

A grin spread across his face. "Is it working?"

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she just studied him for a moment, her gaze cool and unbothered, before giving a slight shrug. "I guess we’ll see."

Charles felt a spark of satisfaction at the lack of hesitation in her response.

Most people would have fumbled, tried to impress him. But she didn’t. And that made her even more interesting.

It was honestly a rare thing for him to find someone who didn’t seem affected by the usual fame and attention, and it was intriguing in ways he couldn’t ignore.

He glanced down at her wrist again. The pearl bracelet.

A sharp contrast to the simple outfit she wore, but it intrigued him. It didn’t fit with the rest of her persona. Most people would show off their wealth or status, but she kept it understated, almost as if she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

"Nice bracelet," he said, his voice more casual than he felt.

She looked down, following his gaze. "Oh, that?" She shrugged again, her tone still light, though there was a flicker of something guarded in her expression. "A gift. I don’t really think much of it."

Charles’ curiosity piqued further. She definitely wasn’t just an intern. There was more to her than that—more than the polished exterior she was letting on.

"Where are you from?" he asked, leaning in a little as if to get a better look at her. "You don’t seem like the typical intern."

She gave him a look, one that said she wasn’t about to let anything slip too easily. "I’m from here, actually," she said in Italian after a pause. "I’m just here to work. Not much more to it than that." Back to English.

That answer felt too rehearsed. He didn’t press, though. He had the feeling that pushing too hard would only make her more guarded. Instead, he focused on the present moment, the slight curve of her lips, the way her smile seemed effortless, genuine.

"You really don’t seem like an intern," he said softly, his eyes tracing her face. "You seem... different. More capable, maybe. Confident, even."

She met his gaze without flinching, her smile widening slightly. "Is that a compliment, Charles?"

"It’s an observation, bella" he said, leaning back, though the way he said it felt like a flirtation.

He couldn’t help it.

Something about her drew him in. He was used to being surrounded by people eager to impress him, but she wasn’t like that at all.

She shook her head smirking, at what, he didn't know but there was no real bite behind it. Was it something he said? "Well, I appreciate the observation," she said, clearly not going to let him off easy. "But really, I’m just here to do my job."

Charles found himself laughing, enjoying the back-and-forth, the way she wasn’t letting him get away with anything too easy. It was refreshing.

He reached for the coffee cup she handed him, his fingers brushing against hers, and he couldn’t help but notice the spark of something between them.

He didn’t let it linger, though. He took the coffee from her with a smile. "Thanks," he said, but instead of walking away immediately, he lingered, making his next move.

"Well, if you’re just here to work, that’s fair," he said, eyeing her with a playful glint. "But it seems to me like you might be a bit more interesting than just an intern."

She smiled, but her eyes held something more guarded now. "You’ll just have to stick around to find out then."

Charles chuckled softly, but before he could say anything more, the engineers were calling for him. He glanced at the coffee in his hand and sighed. "Guess I’ll have to find out another time. Ciao, Bella "

With that, he made his way toward the door, coffee in hand. He didn’t even hesitate before throwing it into the nearest plant pot, his actions too quick for anyone to question. Coffee will never be his thing.

But the conversation? That was definitely something he wanted more of.

____________________________

She watched him walk away, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the counter.

Y/n realised she has a problem, a problem named Charles Leclerc.

Something about him irritated her, in the way only a very perceptive man could.

It wasn’t just the flirting—she could handle that. It wasn’t even the charm, though she’d give him credit where it was due. No, what frustrated her was the way he’d read her, the way he’d taken in more than he should have.

He wasn’t supposed to be paying that much attention.

She had played the role well—cool, professional, unbothered—but his eyes had lingered in places that made her wary.

He'd spotted the bracelet, noticed her confidence, and worst of all, he’d clocked that she didn’t fit in.

That wasn’t good.

And now, as she stood at the coffee station, arms crossed, she watched him slip back into his element—his Ferrari cutting through the circuit, the red flashing against the Monza sun.

Focus.

She had done her recon for the day, had noted what she needed to, had blended in as she was supposed to. But for some damn reason, she couldn’t get her mind off him.

The way he moved in the car—precise, aggressive but controlled—was the same way he had approached their conversation.

He was testing her, prodding for weaknesses, searching for answers she wasn’t willing to give.

And he had enjoyed it.

The cool weight of her snake coiled around her waist kept her grounded, the familiar pressure beneath her shirt a quiet reminder of her control.

She ran a hand absentmindedly over her abdomen, feeling the slight shift as her companion adjusted. At least someone knew how to stay quiet.

She exhaled sharply and pressed two fingers to her earpiece. “Kiwi, you there?”

A beat of static, and then her comms crackled to life.

“You say that like I ever leave,” Kiwi’s voice came through, her usual dry humor intact. “What’s up? You sound moody.”

Y/N’s eyes stayed locked on Charles as he threw his Ferrari into a fast lap, smooth as ever through the Ascari chicane.

“I need some information on Leclerc.”

A pause. Then, “...Why?”

Y/N sighed. “General behavior, trustworthiness. Anything I should know?”

Kiwi hummed, and Y/N could hear the grin in her voice. “What, is he suspicious of you?”

“A little.”

“Oh, how the turns have tabled.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Kiwi.”

“Alright, alright,” Kiwi laughed. “Charles Leclerc—good guy, from what I’ve seen. You've had contact before this, a charity event recon mission, I think. Man's a straight shooter, kind of a golden retriever, but an incredibly stubborn one. Loyal to a fault. Probably trusts his team too much, but he’s got a strong gut instinct. He doesn’t like being lied to, though, and he will notice if something doesn’t add up.”

Y/N sighed through her nose. Of course he was sharp. She did remember him at the event, looking ridiculously put together and all smiley for the crowds cheering for him.

“Why the sudden curiosity?” Kiwi prodded.

Y/N’s fingers tapped against her thigh as she watched Charles take another fast corner, looking too comfortable for her liking. “He’s been a bit nosey.”

Another pause. Then Kiwi snorted. “So? Just play dumb, flirt with him.”

“I am,” Y/N muttered. “But I don’t like people getting too close. He's getting close”

She could practically hear Kiwi rolling her eyes. “You flirted with him already, didn't you?”

“He flirted first,” Y/N corrected.

Kiwi laughed. “Yeah, and you let him. You were purring weren't you?”

Y/N scoffed. “That’s disgusting. I do not purr.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Kiwi teased. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you might have just made yourself more interesting to him. He loves a challenge.”

"Fuck my life, that's my type"

Kiwi cackled. “You like him.”

Y/N scowled. “I do not like him.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

Kiwi laughed. “I can hear it in your voice. Oh my God, you’re flustered.”

“I am not flustered,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to glance down at the snake wrapped around her waist. “I just don’t like people paying too much attention to me.”

Kiwi was still probably grinning. “And yet, here you are, watching him.”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

She watched Charles cross the line to finish another flying lap, his time popping up on the screens around the garage. Fast. Too fast. He was good.

That was annoying.

“I mean,” she muttered dryly, more to herself than Kiwi, “he can always have an accident.”

Kiwi's voice choked. “WHAT?”

Y/N smirked. “I’m just saying.”

“NO. No, you are not ‘just saying.’ That is a famous Formula 1 driver. Do you know how many people would riot if you even scratched his car?”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “So you’re saying I can scratch his car.”

“Oh my God,” Kiwi groaned. “No murder. No accidents. Please.”

Y/N bit back a laugh as she watched Charles slow down after his push lap, pulling off into the pits.

“Fine,” she said, feigning boredom. “But if he keeps sniffing around me, I will find a way to make him regret it.”

Kiwi sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Just try not to make him too interested. Or else I’ll be the one dealing with your crisis.”

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head as she kept her eyes on Charles, watching him climb out of the Ferrari.

She hated being noticed. And yet, there he was, standing by his car, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, looking way too smug for her liking as he winked at her.

He was definitely going to be a problem.

___________________________

He should not be this interested.

He should not be this interested.

And yet, his feet moved of their own accord, carrying him through the garage with the silent precision of someone who had mastered the art of avoiding cameras.

Qualifying was in four hours, and he should be resting. But instead, he was slipping toward the back of the garage, gaze locked onto her.

Y/N stood with her back to him, speaking into something he couldn't see. Her head was slightly tilted, her voice barely above a whisper, but Charles caught enough to know it wasn’t casual conversation.

His stomach twisted.

He had felt something was off about her. He had seen it in the way she moved—too aware, too precise, like someone used to staying unnoticed.

But he had ignored the feeling because… well, because she was intriguing. Because she was attractive.

"I've got the plans and the blueprints. Now I just have to execute."

His stomach dropped. Betrayal.

His heart kicked against his ribs.

Was she from a rival team? Had she been spying?

He didn’t even hesitate.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Y/N jerked around so fast her shoulder hit the wall. Her eyes went sharp before smoothing into something unreadable, too composed for someone just caught saying that.

Charles stepped closer, heart pounding. “What plans?” His voice was low, sharp. “What blueprints?”

She blinked, slow. “Pardon?”

His patience snapped. “Don’t play dumb,” he bit out. “What exactly are you planning to execute?”

________________________

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She could already hear Kiwi’s voice crackling through the comms, calm as ever.

"Do not kill. Deflect."

Easier said than done when Charles Leclerc, incredibly stubborn, loyal to a fault, was staring at her like she’d just confessed to sabotaging his car.

There was no way he was going to let this go. Not with that sharp look in his eyes, all determination and suspicion, tightening his jaw like he was already preparing to argue for hours.

Which meant she had only one option—get him on her side.

“We should talk,” she said evenly. “Somewhere private.”

"King, are you sure that's a good-" she takes off the comms.

Charles didn’t look convinced. His eyes flickered over her like he was trying to see through her, but eventually, he jerked his chin toward his driver’s room. She followed, steps light, aware of the way his back was tense with wariness.

The moment they were inside, she swept the room with her gaze, going and touching things.

Charles folded his arms. “What are you doing?”

“Checking the room for bugs.”

His expression shifted immediately into exasperation. “There are no bugs,” he scoffed. “What do you think? That someone is listening on—”

Snap. She yanked the first one from the closet.

Charles stopped talking.

Snap. The second one came from under his bed.

For a moment, the only sound was his sharp inhale, the kind of breath a man takes when the world tilts sideways. Y/N crushed the tiny devices in her palm, metal and wires crunching under pressure, and Charles looked like someone had kicked the air out of his lungs.

“That—” He swallowed. “That was in my room.”

“Yep.”

His hands clenched into fists. His own team. His own space. The betrayal painted itself over his features, clear and raw.

Before he could spiral, she stepped closer. “Listen, this isn’t just about you,” she said, voice measured. “This is about Anton Volkov.”

Charles’ expression sharpened further. “The FIA executive?”

“The FIA executive and black-market arms dealer,” she corrected, watching as realization and fury flickered across his face. “He trades in more than weapons. Car parts, blueprints, engineering secrets. Things that could make or break a Formula 1 team.”

Charles inhaled sharply, processing. His whole posture screamed barely restrained anger. “And you?” he demanded. “What do you have to do with this? Are you with him?”

Charles took a step forward, and she barely resisted the urge to move back. Are you expecting me to be okay with that?” he demanded, voice low, sharp. “What, you want me, to just let you drag me into this?”

He got closer.

Too close.

Her back nearly touched the door now, and he was still moving in, furious and unrelenting, eyes boring into her like he could will an answer out of her.

“You think I’d ever let you get away with something like this?” Charles said, voice rough with something between anger and disbelief. “If you expect me to sit back and—”

He didn’t finish his sentence.

Because something moved.

Fast.

A flash of dark scales, a sharp hiss, and suddenly—

"Merde!”

Charles leapt back so fast he nearly hit the wall, eyes going huge as the snake shot toward him.

“Stop!” Y/N barked, and the snake froze, mid-strike, fangs bared before it coiled back up her leg and wound around her arm.

Charles was pale. Absolutely frozen.

Eyes locked on the creature wrapped lazily around her, still tasting the air with its forked tongue.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “You—you have a snake.”

“Yes.”

“A fucking snake.”

“Yes.”

His voice climbed an octave. “A—oh my God, that is a cobra!”

“Technically, he’s—”

“I do not care what he technically is, Vivienne!” Charles cut her off, eyes darting between her and the reptile like either one of them might strike at any second. “Are you fucking mad?! You have a snake—on you!”

Y/N sighed. “Charles—”

“I—I am going to die in Monza.” He ran a hand through his hair, face crumpling in sheer panic. “Oh my God. I am going to die in Monza, and everyone will think it was a Ferrari failure, but no, it was a fucking snake.”

“Charles—”

“You—you are going to kill me!”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not—”

“Oh my God, I’m dying in Monza.”

“Enough, Charles,” She took a deep breath, then—

THWAT.

The sound echoed off the walls.

Charles’ head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, his mouth still open in half a panicked rant, now completely cut off.

Silence.

Then—

“You hit me, Vivienne” Charles mumbled, stunned.

Y/N dusted off her hand. “Its Y/N, and you were being hysterical.”

The cobra flicked its tongue.

Charles gulped.

______________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this part please leave a like a comment and a reblog!

Part 2 and 3 is gonna be up, but the timing will depend on how much traction this part gets, more chemistry is also in part 2. I think this was my most favourite thing to write. I love badass woman. Happy woman's day to all my lovely woman!!

Jules♡

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @evie-119 @that-one-little-soybean @six-call @stressed-cherry @il0vereadingstuff @whatevenisthisxxxxx  @freyathehuntress @nina-or-anna-or-nora @allthings-fandoms @larastark3107 @myescapefromthislife  @wertyuizxcvbnm @halleest @hs2016 @lucyysthings @justaf1girl @bernelflo @mendes-bae @chelseyyouraverageluigi @llando4norris @sid-is-gr8 @henna006 @hurtblossom @quinquinquincy @ts1mp0ne @spidercat-soccerfan @kodzuvk @wherethefuckisthething @hellowgoodbye @prttylight @l4ndonorizz @edgyficuselastica @k-kaliop @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner @1mverstappen @inchidentofftrack @blackmage24 @angelluv16 @alice-went-away @teamnovalak  @wierdflowerpower @sunshine-and-midnight-rain @maxswhore33

[thewollfgang]

Ao3 Officially Exiting Beta!

They grow up so fast :')

[thewollfgang]

Don't forget to grab your badge!

[fuckthisbloganditscurses]

Happiness Will Come To You.

[12goblins]

when tho

[fuckthisbloganditscurses]

When You Least Expect It. Probably Late March

[wizardshark]

reblog for happiness to come for you in late march!

[zigxortega]

[zac--efren]

I reblogged this last year and I hung out with blink-182 backstage on March 30. Reblogging again because it worked the first time.

[scientiablr]

honestly, last year one of the best days of my life happened in late March

[alexturntable]

Am I hallucinating or did they edit Carlos’ part in the intro to a closer shot??

[alexturntable]

he’s getting closer and closer

[dying-inside-but-its-classy]

They have the chance to do the funniest thing here

[bob-belcher]

Happy International Women’s Day!

[aregebidan]

[ID: Screencaps of Miranda Otto as Éowyn saying “I am no man,” then screaming and brandishing her sword. End ID.]

[hamararakattirastas]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE LEFT AN OUTLINE

[perf333]

My ex got married photoshoot

[mecachrome]

DTS S8E1 — landoscar clowning charles at the f1 75 launch

[nyree2712]

Formula 1 - Incorrect Quote 291

Charles: Did you hear about the chef that died?

Carlos: No

Charles: He pasta away

Carlos: I hope you pasta away

Charles: You're a bad person :(

[gryjpiastri]

Oscar found a new toy

[dying-inside-but-its-classy]

It's down again

What the hell😭😭😭😭