i had to watch the last 10 laps through radio on live timing and bad signal and i just want to say what a race from charles
and what a god damn come back after three races where they claimed he couldn't drive. the win wasn't on the cards today but he gave it a god damn fight
summary: multiple interactions between you and charles has everyone asking the same question: why is she with someone so much older?
warnings: controversially young gf, unspecified age gap
w.c: 6.1k
a/n: i finally finished anon’s request after that very long hiatus </3 i decided to split this into 2 parts so part 2 will be up soon!! 🤍🤍
you stepped out of the restaurant with a breath of relief. the meeting with your manager had run much longer than expected. notes on your schedule, preparing your audition for Wicked that’s in a few months, fans speculating about new music. your brain felt full. too full.
the evening air in vegas that night was cool, so you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself. you hadn’t noticed the shift in sound at first. as you began to walk out of the restaurant with your manager and security guards, one photographer turned toward you. then another. then all of them. you kept your head down. you were used to this.. or at least good at pretending.
but then, you heard cameras erupt beside you. which only meant one thing: someone else had just arrived. you turned your head up slightly to see who it was.
charles leclerc. casual clothes, hands in his pockets, softly smiling at the cameras. you’ve always thought he was good-looking.. seeing him in person only confirmed it.
he was with a few people, friends you assumed. he didn’t see you at first. he was just walking towards the entrance like any normal guy which, ironically, made him even more noticeable.
a reporter yelled your name. another yelled his. charles finally looked over and your eyes met, just for a moment. he seemed surprised, then offered a small polite smile and wave. you returned it.
the questions had already started flying.
you raised your hands slightly. “i just had a meeting with my manager and i’m leaving right now.. no scandal tonight, i promise.”
a few laughs from the crowd, but the cameras stayed.
charles stepped a little closer. not too close, just enough to be respectful. “hello.”
“hi there.”
he smiled.
before you could reach for the door of the car, charles opened it for you. a quiet gesture, harmless. you paused, meeting his eyes once more.
“thanks,” you smiled, tired, but genuine.
the door closed, the cameras flashed, and the rumors began.
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
the next morning, charles’ name was trending. yours higher.
how do they know each other..
are they a couple?
how old is she??
why is she with someone so much older? - this one in particular annoyed you.
you tossed your phone aside with a scoff. your manager sighed before coffee. “stay quiet and just let it pass.”
“i didn’t even say anything.”
“doesn’t matter, y/n. don’t let this bring you down. your birthday is in a few days after all!”
you laughed. “yeah, you’re right.“
you had rehearsal that afternoon. your body was tired, your mind even more.
as you were walking into the studio, you stopped dead in your tracks. “you’ve gotta be joking..”
he was there. talking to someone from production.
and then you remembered: your manager did mention a couple of weeks ago that ferrari booked part of the studio for a sponsor shoot.
it kind of makes sense. the studio is just a few minutes away from the vegas track.. but still. how convenient.
he noticed you walk past. only a faint smile. and you smiled back. that could’ve been all, but the person beside him asked: “do you two know each other?”
silence. then, charles answered first.
“we met briefly outside a restaurant yesterday.” then he turned towards you. “you alright? you look.. shaken up.”
“i’m alright.”
there it was again - the strange, steady silence.
before he could reply, someone called his name. but he lingered one second longer than necessary.
“good luck with rehearsals.” he said softly with a smile.
you went into rehearsal and did everything you were supposed to - warm ups, vocal checks - but for some reason, your focus wasn’t entirely there. you weren’t distracted, just.. aware of his presence.
hours passed before you saw him again.
the studio had gotten quieter. most of the crew had either gone on break or moved onto another part of the building. you sat on the floor outside the rehearsal room, a bottle of water in your hands, trying to give your voice a few minutes to rest.
“long day?”
you looked up.
charles.
you smiled slightly. “is it that obvious?”
“a little.”
he sat down a few feet away, not too close, leaving you enough space. somehow, that made it easier.
“i forget how exhausting this part is,” you admitted. “everyone sees the finished product. the performances, the interviews, the photos. but nobody really sees the hours before that.”
he nodded, almost immediately understanding. “i know exactly what you mean. people see the races. the podiums. the celebrations.” he shrugged. “but they don’t see everything that happens before. the pressure, the mistakes, the days where nothing feels right.”
for a moment, neither of you said anything. not because it was awkward, but because you didn’t need to fill the silence.
“it’s weird,” you said quietly. “you’re probably one of the only people i’ve met who actually gets that.”
a small smile appeared on his face.
“maybe that’s because our lives are not as different as people think.”
you couldn’t remember the last time a conversation with someone felt this effortless.
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
your phone buzzed with endless texts and mentions. happy birthday, they all say. you haven’t even gotten up from bed yet.
you sat up in bed, staring at the ceiling. “happy birthday to me,”as if saying it out loud will make it feel like something. you get birthdays every year, but this one feels like it’s supposed to mean something. like you’re supposed to feel older and excited. but mostly, you just feel watched.
you look at your phone again. it’s all overwhelming, so you decide to shut it off for a bit.
after getting ready, you go over to your best friend’s place.
“birthday girl! how are we on this amazing day?”
“i just want to enjoy my birthday in peace. please tell me you have coffee.”
“of course i do. who do you think i am?” you both laugh.
“hmm i don’t know. i saw some rumors online that someone has a habit of showing up wherever you are.”
“rumors, huh? and you’re talking about who exactly?”
your best friend just shrugged.
“you’re terrible. i’m not even gonna say anything.”
“well he’s VERY handsome soo if you don’t want, tell him to hit me up!”
you both started laughed uncontrollably. “i’ll be sure to let him know.”
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
later, you went to a local club with a group of friends. the music was loud enough that you could feel the bass vibrating in your entire body.
your friend puts an arm around your shoulders and passes you a shot glass. “okay birthday girl. take a shot and make a wish!” all your friends cheer, phones up, ready to record your moment.
you laugh, a little overwhelmed but happier than ever before, and lift the shot glass up near your lips. for a second, you close your eyes and all the laughter and noise fades. you make a silent wish and when you open your eyes again, the corners of your mouth crinkle into a soft smile. you tap the rim of the glass lightly against your friend’s before tilting your head back and taking the shot in one smooth motion. the burn hits you almost instantly and you wince, shaking your head as everyone cheers.
your friend grabs your hand and starts jumping. “that’s my girl!!”
you laugh again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. warmth spread through your chest - from the alcohol, yes, but also from the people around you celebrating you.
everyone, including you, starts dancing again. hair sticking to your face, hands in the air, hips swaying. for once, it feels like nobody is watching you as a celebrity. it kind of feels like freedom.
across the room, just as you spin back toward the crowd, you catch a glimpse at the bar.
charles is leaning against the counter, looking at you through the blur of the lights. like he’s been watching you long before you noticed him.
“is he stalking me or something..” you say as he starts walking towards you.
“seriously, how did you even find me here?”
he shrugs. “lucky guess. also, happy birthday!”
as you thanked him, even though the music is blasting, you can clearly hear your very, very drunk friends talking about you. “she has a crushhhhh”
you slightly turn towards them and glare. shut up, you mouth.
“i’m incredibly flattered.”
“don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
they laugh and continue to whisper (not so quietly) about the two of you. you whip around, embarrassed. “i hate you guys.”
he really laughs this time, the kind that crinkles his eyes. “your friends are very subtle.”
“can we please go literally anywhere else.”
you follow him through the large crowd. people are having way too much fun to notice you two walking together in a club. your hands and his brushed every now and then. not on purpose.. probably.
you finally get to a small alcove and after a moment he nods towards your friends way across the room, who are still talking about you as if you can’t see them.
“they seem fun.”
“they’re exhausting. but i love them a lot.”
he smiles. “at least they care.”
you look down for a second. “yeah, they really do.”
“you okay?” he studies you for a moment.
“yeah. it’s just nice being here with people. with you.”
he lifts a brow. “with me?”
you roll your eyes, though your cheeks start to warm. “don’t get too excited.”
the two of you keep talking, the conversation flowing effortlessly. it’s hard to believe you only just met.
“do you want to go back to your friends? or someplace else with me? i have a spot i go sometimes when i’m in the city.”
your pulse jumps. you look over at your friends across the room, who are still watching you with curiosity, whispering like they’re watching some kind of reality show.
“someplace else.”
his mouth lifts into a small smile. “alright, come on then.”
as you slip through the crowd behind him, you catch your friends mouthing OH MY GOD at you. you shake your head, trying not to laugh.
you follow him out through a back exit, the door thudding shut behind you and muting the music to a distant sound.
charles glances at you. “my car is not far. that is okay?”you nod, so you guys walk side by side. once you reach his car, he opens the passenger door for you. you slide in, the car faintly smelling like leather. he gets in on the other side and the engine roars.
“so,” he says lightly as the streetlights flicker across his face, “how does it feel to be, you know, older?”
you shrug. “honestly, the same. except now i feel like everyone expects me to suddenly be.. wiser?”
he huffs a laugh. “you don’t have to rush that. you have time.”
you lay your head on your hand and sigh. “i guess.”
a few minutes later, the city noise softens as he turns into a quieter area. he slows the car, pulling up to a small overlook facing the city, hidden away from everything.
“this is it.” he says, turning off the engine.
he gets out first, walking around to open your door. the night air is cooler here. you step out of the car and almost stumble, but charles grabs onto you tightly.
“those drinks are catching up to you.” he teases.
you follow him toward the railing, his hands still on you.
you lean your arms against the metal, the air hitting you almost instantly. he lets go of your waist and stands beside you, both of you facing forward.
for a moment, neither of you says anything. then, softly, he speaks.
“i’m glad i ran into you tonight.”
“me too. but, you sure that was just a coincidence?
“i’m sure!” he laughs. the two of you talked for a while, with occasional laughter and silences in between.
“feels better out here, doesn’t it?”
you don’t answer right away, just admire the city lights ahead. you shift your weight, aware of how close he is, the warmth of him cutting through the cold.
“much,” then, you finally look up at him. “i’m gonna be honest.. this has probably been one of the best birthdays i’ve had in a long while.”
“i’m glad i got to be part of it.” he turns to look at you.
his gaze drops. not immediately to your lips, but close enough that you notice. close enough that your breath stutters just slightly.
“you okay?” he asks quietly, like he’s checking in.
“yeah, just tired.. and a little tipsy.” you chuckle.
the space between you two suddenly feels a lot smaller. you carefully turn your body toward him without fully realizing you’re doing it, one shoulder angling closer. he mirrors it, slow and careful. it’s as if he’s giving you time to pull away if you want to.
he places his hand around your waist, warm against your skin. you lean in just a bit, but not enough to kiss him.
the two of you were close. too close. your heart is pounding so loudly that you’re sure he can hear it.
then, he clears his throat and takes a step back.
“we should go,” he says, too casual, like nothing almost happened.
the moment collapses in on itself.
you stand there for a second, eyes dropping to the floor. “uh, yeah.”
the drive back is much more awkward and quieter than before. when he pulls up in front of your building, you don’t hesitate to unbuckle your seatbelt and reach for the door.
“thanks,” you say. “good luck this weekend, by the way.”
“thank you.”
you open the door and step out, turning back once to smile at him before walking away. as soon as you start walking towards the entrance, that smile instantly disappears.
what the hell just happened??
you don’t notice the figure across the street — the camera lifted just in time, the click unheard by the hum of traffic.
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
you don’t see it that night.
it isn’t until the next morning — phone in your hand, half awake, still replaying what had happened last night — that something feels off. way too many notifications and too many texts stacked on top of each other.
your best friend’s name pops up first.
call me. now.
then another message.
have you checked your socials???
your stomach drops before you even open anything.
you open a post one of your friend’s sent you, and there it is. a grainy picture, but you know what it is. you stepping out of the car. charles inside, profile unmistakable even in the dark. no context.. just implication.
you sit up, heart pounding as you scroll. so many different accounts. the same moment, again and again.
your phone buzzes again.
charles.
you freeze. last night replays in your head — the step back, the awkward space he put between you two.
your thumb hovers over the screen, hesitant to answer.
finally, you pick up.
“hey.” his voice is calm, but it sounds tighter than usual.
“hi.”
a pause stretches for what feels like forever.
“i saw the photo.” he finally says, voice low.
your stomach twists into a million different knots and suddenly you just explode.
“i’m so sorry, charles. i didn’t mean for this to happen. i didn’t think about how it might affect you. with the season ending and all, i just.. i’m really sorry. i don’t want to make things harder for you or your team.”
“it’s not your fault. you can’t control what some person with a camera does.”
“i know, but i still feel like-“
“hey,” he cuts in gently. then, after a beat, “i should be the one apologizing.”
you knew what he was going to say, but asked regardless. “for what?”
“for last night,” he says. his voice drops. “for.. pulling away like that. i didn’t mean to make things awkward, or make it seem like you did something wrong. that wasn’t fair to you.”
your chest tightens.
“i just panicked, and i’m sorry.”
you swallow. “it’s okay. i get it.”
another pause.
“and for what it’s worth, i don’t regret last night.”
you blink, surprised. “really?”
“of course.”
“i just hate that it could make things harder for you.”
“don’t worry about that. i’ll be fine, really. don’t beat yourself up over this.”
you let out a shaky breath. “okay. thank you for understanding.”
“always.”
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
a couple of weeks later, you’re in abu dhabi. you were supposed to be back in the states for press interviews about the new single, but you pulled some strings to have everything here because of the race.
the yas marina circuit hums with energy. teams shouting in the garages and the air thick with anticipation for the final race of the season.
it feels strange to be back in public after the photo in vegas went viral. you haven’t seen charles since that night. your conversations over text are brief. nothing’s wrong.. there’s just too much left unsaid.
despite everything, the lead single from your new album dropped 2 nights ago. a warm love song, something you’ve never really done before.
your phone buzzes. a reminder from your manager: press interviews at 3. you take a deep breath, trying to steady the nervous energy fluttering in your chest. this is the life you signed up for: constant attention and constant pressure.
you pace your suite, pulling at the hem of your dress for what felt like the hundredth time. notes from the team are scattered across the table.
focus on the questions. don’t give them anything to talk about besides the song.
you try to steady your breathing, but the photo from vegas still lingers in the back of your mind. finally, you step onto the terrace, letting the warm abu dhabi air wash over you.
and there he is — helmet tucked under one arm, leaning casually against a wall away from everyone, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. you take a breath and hesitate. fuck it.
you decide to head downstairs, careful to avoid any staff or any wandering photographers.
“hey, you.”
he looks up, surprised, then his expression softens into a small smile.
“hey.”
“hiding?” you ask gently.
“something like that. i had a chance to slip away. just needed a few minutes to myself before this big race. you doing okay?”
you nod, even if it’s only half true. “yeah. just a lot going on.”
“i figured. big night for you.”
“i keep telling myself it’s just one song, but it doesn’t really feel like that.”
he nods, like he understands exactly what that feels like.
there’s a brief silence. then his expression shifts, more serious.
“can i say something?”
“yeah.”
“i know i already apologized,” he says quietly, “but i just wanted to say again. about vegas. about how i handled things.” he shakes his head slightly. “i don’t like that i made it awkward between us.”
“you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“maybe, but i still don’t like that it felt that way.”
you offer a small smile. “we’re good, i promise.”
he nods, like he’s holding onto that. after a beat, he says, “i’m glad you came this weekend. i wasn’t sure if you would.”
“i wanted to be here.. even if i wasn’t sure if i should be.”
he looks at you for a moment, then shakes his head. “you’re not a distraction or anything, if that’s what you mean. if anything, it’s the opposite.“
if anything, it’s the opposite. it made you happy to hear him say that.
“i should probably let you get back. i’m sure your team is looking for you.”
“yeah,” he agrees, though he doesn’t move right away. “good luck tonight.”
“thanks. same to you.”
there’s a second of hesitation — then you step forward and wrap your arms around him. he stiffens for just a moment before relaxing into the hug, his arms coming around you carefully.
when you pull away, you don’t look back as you head inside.
you don’t have to. you can feel his eyes on you anyway.
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
the press room is bright and cold. you take your seat, folding your hands neatly in your lap as cameras click and voices overlap.
“congrats on the release,” one interviewer says. “it’s certainly a different sound for you.”
“thank you! and yeah, it really felt like the right time to explore something new.”
“your fans are used to a more emotional, sad tone. this one feels.. lighter, happier, romantic.”
you smile. “emotions change. people change. i didn’t want to trap myself in one emotion forever.”
a few whispers around the room.
then, a shift.
a reporter near the front leans in. “do you think this change has anything to do with recent events? like, vegas for example?”
your pulse jumps, but your expression doesn’t change.
“i think people are reading too much into this. the song was written long before anybody saw a photo.”
another voice cuts in. “still, releasing a love song during the final race weekend. intentional?”
“i release music when it feels right for me, not for anybody else.”
someone else jumps in. “so no comment on—“
“i’m here to talk about my music.” you say gently, still smiling.
there’s a beat of silence. then, one of the interviewers redirects the conversation.
a few more questions about your music are asked and as the interviews wrap up, all you can think about is how that moment in vegas is quietly inserting its way back through your public life.
you thank everyone and step outside into the abu dhabi heat. realizing that the race is starting in about half an hour, you quickly find your way to the paddock.
your heartbeat quickens. you see charles walking along with his team towards the garage, helmet in hand, exchanging quick words with his engineer. even with all the chatter and noise around you, your eyes are locked on him.
after a bit, the formation lap starts. once they finish the lap, your pulse races. this final race will determine if charles wins the championship or not. he’s in an extremely close battle with redbull driver, max verstappen.
the lights above the track blink red, then suddenly go out.
lights out and away we go!!
the roar of engines is deafening. the cars surge forward, tires screeching against the asphalt. your eyes flick to the screens, the different names climbing and falling.
a sharp corner comes up, and charles leans into it perfectly. you bite your lip, heart in your throat. the car holds steady. relief floods through you briefly, and then tension returns immediately as max closes in.
with every lap, the championship inches closer to being decided. you barely blink, heart hammering in your chest. every turn, every shift of his car, makes your stomach flip.
lap after lap, they trade positions. charles pushes hard, but max isn’t giving an inch. the gap is less than a second — one mistake could cost everything.
max edges ahead on the long back straight. you hold your breath. charles swings wide into the next corner, and..
he takes it, clean and perfect. you didn’t even realize you were shouting until your voice joins the roar of the crowd.
there’s only 2 laps left. your hands are shaking. you barely notice the other people around you. your entire focus is on him and him only.
every corner feels sharper, every straight so much longer. you stop breathing without meaning to, eyes following the red car like your life depends on it. one lap to go.
the engines scream louder and you press closer to the barrier, heart in your throat. max is right behind him, but charles doesn’t flinch. he holds his ground lap after lap.
then the checkered flag waves.
when he crosses the line, it takes a second for it to register in your mind. then the paddock erupts. cheers, radios crackling, people shouting, and you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding, a smile plastering across your face as relief floods your chest.
your eyes find him again, climbing out of the car and lifting his fists up. you catch yourself laughing under your breath, shaking your head like you can’t believe it actually happened.
he takes his helmet off, hair damp with sweat, adrenaline still written all over his face. he’s smiling widely and you can see tears starting to form in his eyes.
before you can talk yourself out of it, you start moving. slipping past crew members and officials while the celebration is still unfolding. no one really questions you. everyone’s too busy, too caught up in the win.
by the time you reach the side of the track, charles is still there, hugging his mom and brothers. you stop a few steps away, not wanting to interrupt. just close enough to see the way his hands are still shaking, the way he keeps taking steadying breaths like it hasn’t fully sunk in yet.
his gaze lifts again and this time, he sees you. you smile at him. his expression shifts instantly and his smile softens. he takes a half-step toward you before remembering where he is, before the cameras and people pull him back into reality.
he hesitates, like he’s deciding whether to break away. then, you see max walk up to him and congratulate him. they have a laugh before someone is already speaking into charles’ ear, a hand guiding him toward the waiting cameras.
he’s pulled forward them, swallowed by microphones and flashing lights, his name shouted from every direction. you stay where you are, watching as he’s ushered into interviews.
you linger at the track a little longer. from where you stand, you can still catch glimpses of him in between people, answering questions and smiling. every so often, his eyes would drift back to where you’re standing. soon, he’s guided further away towards the cooldown room.
you watch him disappear down the narrow corridor, the crowd closing in behind him until there’s nothing left but movement and noise.
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
a little bit after, fans were waiting for you outside your hotel. you took pictures with them and signed a ton of autographs. by the time you make it back to the suite, you kick off your shoes, letting them land wherever, and sink into your bed. only then do you finally check your phone.
the single is everywhere. climbing charts, trending clips, lyrics dissected line by line, fans speculating meanings like they’ve discovered something. some of them are bit too accurate.
and then there’s the race. photos of charles are everywhere as well. champagne spraying, fists in the air, tears streaming down his face, photos captioned “WORLD CHAMPION” in big, bold letters. your worlds literally colliding in timelines and people’s feeds, whether you meant for them to be or not.
you set your phone face down beside you. a few minutes pass. maybe more, you’re not really sure.
then, your phone rings.
you answer before you can overthink it.
“hi,” you say softly.
there’s a pause on the other end, then charles’ voice — still slightly breathless.
“hey. i saw you out there in the crowd.”
your lips turned into a small smile. “yeah. i didn’t wanna get in the way.”
“you wouldn’t have. anyways, i’m really glad you came.”
“so am i. aren’t you supposed to be celebrating right now, world champion?”
he laughs softly. “well yes. that’s where i’m headed right now.. you know, you should come.”
you hesitate for a beat. “i don’t know if i can handle all that noise right now. go enjoy yourself though.”
“fair enough. take care of yourself tonight, okay? you had a long day.”
“yeah, you too. come back in one piece please!”
“no promises.”
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
the knocking comes first. soft at first, then more insistent, until it’s impossible to ignore. it’s 3, maybe 4 a.m., and your heart leaps into your throat. who the hell could be here at this hour?
you stumble out of bed, throw one of the hotel robes on, and peek through the peephole.
charles is leaning heavily against the doorframe, one hand braced flat against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. his clothes are rumpled, his hair a mess, cheeks flushed.
your hand hesitates on the lock for a second, but you eventually open the door.
he almost stumbles forward when the door swings open, catching himself at the last second.
“hi,” he says, voice low and rough, a little slurred.
“sorry,” he adds quickly. “sorry.. didn’t mean to wake you.”
“charles, what are you doing here at this time? how’d you even get here?”
“i just.. i needed to see you,” he frowns, like the words aren’t coming out right. “couldn’t.. not.. i don’t know..”
the drunken edge makes him.. fragile. it tugs at something in you.
“it’s late. come inside.” you say softly.
you grab his hand, steadying him as you pull him in. he leans into you without meaning to.
“god, you’re so drunk. are you okay?”
he swallows hard, shaking his head.
“no.. no.. pas vraiment. i should’ve handled things better.. with vegas.. with us.”
he looks down at your joined hands and his fingers twitch. his hands are shaking.
“i’m sorry.”
you tighten your grip on his hand.
“charles, i already told you it’s okay. you don’t need to apologize for anything.”
he takes a shaky breath.
“i can’t stop thinking about that night.. about how close we were. about everything i didn’t say and do.”
he hesitates, blinking hard, then continues anyway.
“i know the age difference and all that matters. i keep telling myself i shouldn’t, but i can’t.. can’t stop thinking about you. about us. it shouldn’t feel this way, and maybe it’s wrong but i don’t care. i just.. i need you to know.”
your chest tightens. the quiet desperation and vulnerability in his voice is almost painful. before you can think, he takes an unsteady step closer.
“charles..”
he presses his free hand to the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. then he leans in, and your lips meet.
the kiss is messy, slightly off, but full of everything he’s been holding back: yearning and desperation.
when he pulls back, just a little, you’re both breathing fast. he leans his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
“i didn’t mean to-“ he whispers.
“it’s okay.”
he wraps his arms around your waist. the urgency in his hold tells you how much he needs this moment.
“thank you,” he whispers. “for letting me.”
you murmur, heart still racing. “always.”
he stays there for a moment, forehead still resting against yours, like he’s anchoring himself. his breathing is uneven, warm against your skin.
“i should not.. be standing,” he whispers, swaying almost.
you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah, i noticed.”
you guide him to the sofa where he flops down and lets his head fall back against the cushions, eyes closing.
“you okay?”
he nods slowly. “yeah.. quite dizzy.”
his hand finds yours again, thumb tracing over your knuckles.
“i don’t want to mess this up, amour,” he says quietly. “i already feel.. feel like i have.”
you freeze, just slightly, your heart skipping. the word catches you off guard. he’s never called you that before.
he’s just drunk. don’t think so much into it.
you squeeze his hand. “you haven’t messed anything up. we don’t have to talk about any of this tonight.”
you stand, tugging gently at his hand. “come on. you need to lie down and get some sleep.”
“your bed?”
“unless you wanna sleep on the couch.” you tease.
he shakes his head, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “no. i don’t.. i don’t think i do.”
you walk with him slowly, your fingers still laced together. when you reach the room, you guide him to one side of the bed. he sits down, then looks up at you.
you smile at him before helping him lie back and pulling the covers around him. he catches your wrist gently before you start to walk away.
“stay?” he asks.
you consider it for a second, then nod.
you lie down beside him, leaving space, but not much. his wraps himself around you and quickly dozes off.
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
you’re already awake, standing in the kitchenette in an oversized tee and socks that don’t match. the pan sizzles softly as you cook eggs.
the images won’t leave your mind — his voice, low and unsteady. the kiss. the way he fell asleep with his arms heavy around you.
“morning.” he says softly.
his hair is messy, eyes tired but a lot clearer. he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes, sleeves pushed up. he looks confused, like he doesn’t really know where he is yet.
“hi there.” you reply.
he winces. “oh my gosh. i feel like my head is about to explode.”
“there’s water and painkillers on the counter.”
he grabs 2 pills and takes a long gulp of water. then he leans against the counter, watching you.
“i.. uh, don’t really remember how i got here.”
your hand tightens around the spatula.
“you came by. late.”
he nods slowly, like he’s piecing things together. “i remember celebrating. and then.. nothing. just very small bits and pieces.”
“you’ll probably remember more in a couple of hours.”
i really hope you do.
there’s a silence. heavier than the one last night.
he rubs the back of his neck. “did i say anything stupid?”
you swallow, your back still turned to him. “no.”
that’s not a lie. not really.
he lets out a breath of relief. “good. i worried i might’ve uhh.. i don’t know, crossed a boundary or something.”
something in your chest sinks at that.
“sorry if i was a mess.”
“you weren’t,” you say gently. “you were just drunk and tired. that’s all.”
he studies you for a moment, like he knows there’s something he’s missing but can’t reach it.
“thank you for letting me stay.”
you slide a plate onto the counter. “eat.”
he smiles and sits down. for a moment, it feels normal. but as you turn back to the stove, your chest aches with everything he doesn’t remember.
the way he spoke about you.
the way he kissed you.
the way he held you tight.
the way it meant something to you.
⟢ ⋆˙ ✶
the suite is quiet when charles wakes up from a nap.
afternoon light filters through the curtains. for a moment, he doesn’t move. just lies there, staring at the ceiling, head still pounding slightly, thoughts scattered.
then it hits him. sudden flashes of fragments from the night before.
your face close to his.
your hands steadying him.
the words he let slip before he could stop himself.
he sits up abruptly.
the kiss comes back next. not sharply or vividly, but the warmth of it.
he exhales, running a hand through his hair.
and then the fear. the age gap, the hesitation in his chest. knowing he shouldn’t.. and saying it anyway.
merde.
he finds you sitting on the sofa.
you turn to him with a soft smile. “you sleep okay?”
“i remember some pieces..”
your breath catches. “pieces?”
“from last night,” he clarifies. “your face. your hands. the way i felt..” he shakes his head, frustration in his words. “it’s not all clear yet. not everything makes sense.”
he hesitates for a moment before continuing. “i remember kissing you. not because i was drunk, but because it just felt right. i wanted to.”
you swallow, heart pounding.
“and i remember being scared. about what this would mean. about what people would say.. but i don’t think i was confused. i think i knew what i wanted to say. i don’t want you to think it didn’t matter to me, because it did.”
“it did to me too,” you admit quietly.
there’s a silence again. what now?
charles exhales slowly, like he’s been holding it in all day. “i should probably go.”
“yeah, you probably should.”
he glances towards the window. “i don’t want this to be something we pretend didn’t happen.”
“it’s not. at least not to me.”
his mouth curves into a smile. “good.”
he starts walking towards the door, but hesitates and turns.
“can we talk later?”
you nod.
his gaze lingers on you for a second too long before he turns and goes.
this foreboding f1 news is interfering with my post charles win glow. the week after a charles win on f1blr should be exclusively reserved for charles content
thinking about how charles just can't help himself around you
warnings: smut, p in v, dom!charles, dirty talk
charles had just finished some talks with the team when he saw you walking through the paddock in a short, scuderia red dress. he’d always been interested in you, but never acted on it — not while you were dating carlos.
but something in him shifted. for the first time, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. the moment he saw you, every ounce of self-control he'd held onto suddenly disappeared.
he pulled you aside into the garage. you barely had time to register it before he stepped closer and started kissing you. it felt wrong, but neither of you cared.
then, he pushed you against the wall and started leaving marks all over your neck while putting his hand higher and higher up your thigh. “charles.. someone might see.”
he laughed deeply and whispered in your ear. “that’s what makes this even more exciting.”
he wrapped your legs above his hips and slowly pushed your panties to the side. “merde.. you’re so wet. if you wanted me this bad you should’ve just said so.”
charles started thumbing your clit which made you gasp and wince. he softly shushed you and started unbuttoning his jeans. you felt the press of his cock against your exposed skin. he’s so fucking hard.
he quickly slid his length into your tight hole and your eyes went wide. his thrusts are quick and aggressive. “you feel so good around me." you let out a moan as your head hit the wall. he put his hand over your mouth. “stay quiet. can you do that for me baby?”
you looked at him with your fucked out eyes and nodded.
“good girl. you’re doing so good.” he was pounding you relentlessly, each thrust harder than the last. the sound of his voice and the pleasure was making you go fucking insane. your body was trembling under him.
“god.. charles,” you moaned.
“fuck, say my name again,” he whimpered. he kept thrusting into you until his cum decorated your walls.
charles whispered into your ear, kissing your neck softly. “that was amazing, mon ange.”
wishing every lh fan that called for charles being thrown to the dogs in the name of lewis fighting for the championship a very this is scuderia ferrari there is no fucking championship
there is no way he is driving the same car he had pre miami i get it the brakes were fucked but if this lack of consistency is due to them then god fucking hell bring those brembo brakes back and figure out a way to deal with them
this is atrocious the only thing i can think of is cota 2023 and even then at least we knew he was on a different strategy
titsay
dailybridgerton
areudirty
pixelskylines
