hello there lovelies, thank you for dropping by; inbox me anytime if you wanna say hi;
requests are now open (send me your ideas, please)
if you have requested a story please be patient as I cannot seem to be able to write short blurbs, I am working on that;
I write mostly for my favorite drivers , but I can do others as well if I feel inspired;
I do mostly fluff/angst, with a tiny bit of smut (poorly written one);
You will find here chaptered fics and one shots;
personal favourites (*);
chaptered fics
friends (charles leclerc ft. pierre gasly) - finished
part 1 part 2 part 3
You, Charles and Pierre have been friends for the longest time, when Charles sees paparazzi pictures taken with you and a very drunk Pierre, the idea of being just your friend does not do him good.
genre: fluff, angst, bit smutishy;
catch me if you can (pierre gasly) - finished
part 1 part 2 part 3
You took Pierre’s seat at Red Bull, and from then on he portrays you as the scapegoat, you find your way from enemies to lovers after your stupid-ass teasings.
genre: fluff, smutishy;
you know me too well (daniel ricciardo)* - finished
part 1 part 2 part 3
Your break-up with Daniel Ricciardo, all that followed and all that was before that.
genre: angst, fluff, bit smutishy;
lady leclerc (lewis hamilton)* - on-going
preface/introduction (part 1) part 2
You fake a relationship with Lewis Hamilton to benefit both of your searches in finding or staying away for and from marriage.
genre: bridgeton au!, fluff;
lucky charm (charles leclerc) - finished
part 1 part 2
Charles Leclerc finds his son's paediatrician a little bit too pretty not to ask her on a date right before the Monaco GP.
genre: fluff
when we were young (sebastian vettel) - finished
part 1 part 2
Where you and Sebastian are co-parenting your sixteen-year-old daughter after your divorce and she comes home one evening telling you all about her little high-school crush, making you two go back twenty-five years ago when you two met for the first time.
me and the devil (charles leclerc) - on-going
preface/introduction (part 1) part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5
You have been friends before being teammates, each developing what seemed to be crushes on the other during that time. Then, you helped him achieving what he had always craved the most by playing the good cop of the game – and now you were turning on him.
genre: angst, fluff, slow-burn
short drabbles/one-shots
max verstappen:
family dinners: in which you and max have dinner over your parents’ house;
from mate to lover: in which you pretend to despise each other as teammates when in fact none of you does so;
charles leclerc:
still be friends: “I know you don’t do one-night stands, so I am the closest thing. Now can we fuck and still be friends?”
safety nets: in which you break-up with your boyfriend and charles tries to help in the aftermath;
carlos sainz:
kisses and jazz: just like the title says, kisses and jazz with a very fluffy carlos sainz;
mick schumacher:
gorgeous*: in which you meet your ex-deskmate Mick Schumacher at your high-school reunion;
prince charming*: in which you mistake him for your blind date, turns out he is your prince charming;
birthday flowers: in which mick leaves flowers at your door before midnight for your birthdays;
when are you going to post the bridgerton au part 3?? ITS SO GOOD I NEED MORE!!
I DONT REALLY KNOW HONEY TRUST ME I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS FOR ALL OF THE FICS IN THE WORLD BUT SO LIL TIME! it is on the list for sure, but i cannot tell you exactly a time and place, but it will for sure be posted!!
I am absolutely in love love love with me and the devil, best part of my feed :D I can barely wait for the last (?) part ✨ love ur writinggg
Thank you for liking it!! The last part (maybe) it is in the writing, it takes a while since it was holidays season here for Easter and all, but no worries it will get posted soon!!
hii!! so, i read when we were young pieces and they were BEAUTIFUL and i was just wondering if you've thought about doing a part where the divorce is detailed and make it heart achingly sad? 😋
You really do enjoy the pain, right? But this is a great idea for when I will be in the mood to write the most angsty stuff ever.
a 4 + 1 : the four times carlos almost says i love you, and the one time he (kind of) does | fluff, no warnings
a/n: this one has been brewing in my drafts for ages, i hope you enjoy it
i.
the first time it almost happens is the same time he realizes, wound up in his drivers room before a race.
“what are you even staring at?” your voice bounces off the walls with an amused laugh, ripping his attention away from the window to glance over you instead.
he’s playing with his lips, bottom lip pinched between his index and his thumb as he watches you walk over to him.
the sound of your steps is nothing new, he’s so familiar with the beat that he would recognize it even with his eyes shut. for the first time though, he notices the way your hips sway at each step.
you’re dressed simply, how you’ve always preferred: a nice classic t-shirt (that is probably his) along with a pair of blue jeans.
it’s nothing new, he’s pretty sure he’s seen you wear it a million times before.
but his shirt looks better on you than it usually does, and your jeans hug your curves in a way that makes him feel wrong for looking. you look different, but he can’t seem to point out why. he can’t seem to pull his eyes away either though.
he’s too busy studying you to realise how close you’ve gotten, suppressing the little jolt his body has the moment your hands find their place on his shoulders.
it’s not the first time you’ve been this close. in fact, you’ve been closer, but in that moment it feels like it’s too much for him. without thinking, he instinctively straightens his back, tucking his feet a bit under himself as he scoots to sit further onto the bench.
if you notice it, you don’t say a thing. instead, both of your eyes meet as he looks up to you, eyes tracing your face as you smile down at him.
did your smile always look that sweet?
he wants to speak but the breath he takes is intoxicating, the scent of your perfume sends shivers down his spine. he doesn’t understand it, smells the familiar floral notes of your usual fragrance but all of the sudden it’s all he wants to breathe in.
“you’re zoning out carlos,” you tease, hand loosely looping around his wrist to place it down on his lap.
the touch almost burns and he feels like his skin is on fire.
“sorry-“ he apologizes, clearing his throat to try to get the overwhelming amount of air out of his lungs. he flushes red when your hand finds his hair, giving his locks a gentle tussle.
“you’ll do amazing, you always do” it’s words that you’ve said countless times before, the usual encouragement you give him every time you attend a race.
he always forgets how much he needs to hear them, up until the moment you’re there to remind him.
“i just feel weird, a bit nervous” he murmurs, breath caught in his throat from the way your fingers go to fix his hair from the same mess you made. once you’re done, you sit beside him. your knees brush each others as your leg presses against his.
“that’s normal, but hey, you’ve done this a million times before.” right he thinks. you think we’re talking about racing. your fingers intertwine together as soon as your hand finds his.
he wants to laugh, almost does, because at the end of the day, you’re still right. he has done this a million times before. he’s known you since you were both six, stumbling around to play in the park. you held hands the moment you got too scared to go up the rope, and your knees touched when you both tried squeezing down the slide together.
he doesn’t understand what’s so different, what’s causing the pull in his chest that’s making his stomach twist.
“hey, look at me,” and he does, heart beating faster.
you only smile though, tongue swiping over your bottom lip, and he almost needs to look away again to just breathe.
“just do whatever your gut tells you to,”
there’s a beat of silence and for a moment he questions whether you’re still talking about racing- or if somehow, in some twisted way of yours you’ve managed to read him, the same way you always do.
his lips part, words hanging on the tip of his tongue i think - i love you?
but before he says anything there’s a knock on the door. it startles him to the point where his hand slips out of yours, knees brushing away.
it’s rupert. “carlos, warm up before the race.”
he takes a deep breath and gets up, calling back a nervous ‘okay’ before his eyes are darting back to you.
you’re looking at your hands for a short moment before you look at him. this time you’re the one looking up.
you smile. “see you later?”
he nods, letting out a deep breath. “see you later,”
he doesn’t end up having the guts to tell you before you leave to go home. deciding to wait it out just a bit longer.
ii.
the second time is during the summer holidays — you’re on your usual mallorca trip, both of your families agreeing to arrange some of the days to stay in the sainz’s villa together for a little bit.
he hadn’t seen you since the race, not in person at least. of course, you both consistently caught up. whether it was through off handed texts or quick facetimes here and there, you both always made sure you could still catch up.
it’s not like anything’s changed per-se. your dynamic remains the same. sure, maybe carlos’ stomach did a weird leap whenever you picked up the phone, or maybe he appreciated a lot more the way your voice curled at certain words, but he kept his tongue between his teeth, a self made promise to wait until he saw you again in person.
he knew he was postponing it though, the fear of you thinking differently being overpowering. the only worst thing he could imagine than having his heart broken by you would be losing your friendship.
that’s why, even after months of deliberation, hours of laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how to tell you, the moment you enter the villa, pushing your oversized luggage with a wide smile on your face, his mouth goes dry and he forgets every single word he wants to say.
you smile at him, eyes crinkled and a wave of your hand.
he sucks in a deep breath and smiles back, walking over to you with open arms.
confessing to you is a long forgotten memory for the rest of the trip. its easy to fall back into the rhythm with you.
he thinks its fine, you’re both fine, but things are always fine until alcohol is involved.
he should’ve known better.
you’re both pressed against each other in a club, music so loud that he swears he can feel it in his veins.
the night had taken a steep turn. one glass of wine with the parents turned into one whole bottle, and one bottle after dinner turned into two (and at some point, you really did lose count).
before he could even grasp what was happening you had already convinced him to get dressed to get to the nearest club. what if we don’t get to party together any time soon? you had asked.
and that’s how you both end up there. in a packed club with the base buzzing through your body. you’re dancing, back pressed against his chest as your hips sway to the music and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest.
he tries his best to move his own body with yours.
he steps to the right, before stepping to the left, but he struggles to find the rhythm, feet nervously moving side to side in an attempt to somewhat dance. of course by his clumsy luck he steps on the back of your heel, sputtering an apology just as you turn to face him.
you do so with a smile, and of course you do.
“you’re always so stiff,” you joke, arms swinging over his neck as you move closer to let some people pass. his hand instinctively goes to your back, sliding down to your waist to keep you in place. he feels how clammy his hands are; he can only hope that you don’t comment on it.
“well, you know I don’t like dancing.” carlos murmurs, and your faces are so close to one another that he can count each one of your lashes if he wanted to. you let out a small laugh at his words, looking down as your nose tickles his shoulder.
he can feel your breath against his neck and he can feel the bumps forming on his skin.
“I know, thank you for dancing with me.” you say softly before looking up at him again.
he isn’t sure if it’s the flashing lights in the club but for a split moment, he sees stars in your eyes.
it takes everything in him not to kiss you.
you both dance until your feet are sore, sing until your voices are gone, and laugh to the point where your cheeks are hurting .
the night ends almost the same way it starts, both of you sitting in the back of a cab, carlos almost slurring out his address to the driver. he says the name of his street before pausing because, what was his house number again?
“house number thirty-five please,” you say, finishing carlos’ floating sentence as you press yourself as close as possible into his side. the car is moving and your head is spinning and you just need to feel him next to you.
you miss the way carlos swallows, the way he bites the inside of his cheek as his eyes gaze over you.
you’re saying something about the night, how fun it is and how much you missed having those nights together and carlos can only listen along, watching you scroll through your phone. he wonders whether you two could be like this all the time. just you two.
his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, three words floating in his mind. i love you.
he’s about to say it, the words practically about to drip off his tongue. before he opens his mouth though he sees you open a chat.
“jack?” he asks teasingly, the name not ringing a bell to him. “is that your boyfriend?” you often tease each other like this, but your answer startles him.
“actually,” you pause, looking up at carlos with a flustered expression. “I’m kind of seeing him,” theres a little twitch of carlos’ nose but he stops himself from reacting, biting the inside of his cheek to stay grounded. it takes him a split second to muster up the courage to speak, but even then he doesn’t have much to say.
“oh, that’s nice” he simply responds; the three words never end up leaving his lips.
because ultimately, he rather have a bit of you, than none at all.
iii.
the third time it happens is when he’s visiting you, in the heart of london, tucked in a bar’s booth.
he’s meeting the infamous jack, a curly haired blonde boy with blue eyes who shows his dimples everytime he smiles. carlos learns that he’s born and raised in london, grew up in a well-off family. he’s smart (like you), has a master’s degree in computer engineering and is now working on starting a startup, that no matter how many times he tries to explain, carlos can’t really seem to understand.
most importantly though, carlos learns, that he’s there for you. he lives ten minutes away from yours. picks you up in the morning to take you to work, and comes over every other night. he cooks the dinner, you wash the dishes, and he buys you flowers on the way to yours every thursday when the market is open.
carlos learns that jack is everything that he isn’t. and it’s fine, he’s fine. the bitter pill had been swallowed the night in the club. he had seen the blush on your cheeks, and the smile on your lips.
that’s why he’s surprised, confused even, that in that same night, as soon as jack leaves you both to go out for a call, you bump your foot into his with a guilty look on your face.
“what’s wrong? i like him.” carlos says, brows furrowed as he leans back onto his chair. you mirror the same actions as him, sighing softly as your arms cross over your stomach. you mumble something under your breath, but the bar’s too loud for him to hear.
“what?” he asks again, this time leaning closer. you look mildly annoyed as you run a hand through your hair.
“i said i think i don’t like him,” you look guilty again, and even through the dim lighting, carlos can see your eyes go over him, studying his expression, looking for an answer that unfortunately he doesn’t have.
“what do you mean you don’t like him? he sounds like he’s nice, treats you well,” he murmurs, this time hunching over the table to hear you better. his eyes bounce from you to the door, double checking to see if jack is anywhere near.
“that’s not what i meant,” you sigh in frustration. “i mean like- i don’t like-” you stumble over your words, trying your best to find the best way to say it. when you realise you can’t, you just blurt it out. “i don’t think i love him.” you say it a bit exasperated this time. his brows knit together and his head tips to the side.
carlos is quiet for a bit, and you practically can hear the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to understand you. he clears his throat, swallows whatever knot that is forming in his throat. “you’ve been seeing him for like what? four months? these things take time no?”
“i know these things take some time, but, i just don’t think i can fall inlove with him.” your fingers graze over the rim of your wine glass before you hold the stem and twirl it. “i mean- i don’t know if i’ve ever been inlove,” it’s not really a confession to any of you, you were twenty five, almost twenty six now and you had never found yourself in a long-term relationship.
“i mean, if you know, you know.” carlos almost cringes with how cheesy he sounds, and you clearly agree with the way you roll your eyes.
“have you been inlove?” the question floats in the air for a bit, and carlos’ breath hitches a little when he looks up to meet your gaze.
“i think so,” he’s been in relationships before, one long term one and several short flings. they never lasted, or amounted to anything fruitful. there was no bad blood with any, none of them just, went anywhere. but he wasn’t thinking of them when he was answering your question.
“how does it feel like?” your question is innocent, just like the way you smile at him before resting your chin on your hand. carlos can’t help but smile back.
“it’s small things, i think. for me, love feels like the first sip of coffee in the morning.” he had your order memorized by heart. a latte macchiato with a pump of vanilla and oat milk.
“or the smell of fresh bread when you pass by a bakery?” he remembers your baking phase. taste testing more than a dozen cakes for weeks. he swore he couldn’t eat chocolate for a month after.
“or the giddy feeling you get in your stomach when you tell a joke that makes people laugh?” you nod at his question, a small smile on your lips as you hold back a laugh.
his chest swells a little, really, but he doesn’t show it. “i think most importantly, love is easy. it’s the first person you want to text when something happens, good or bad,” he wonders if you know, if you can hear the rush of his heart beat.
“love is,” carlos stops, not because he wants to but because he notices the way the door opens and closes, spots jack’s figure approaching the table. he feels a clap on his back, prompting him to straighten back in his seat almost instantly.
he flashes your boyfriend a smile, watching the way he slides into the booth next to you and giving you a kiss in the process.
love is.. carlos thinks, love is… the way I love you.’
iv.
the fourth time he almost says it, the world stops a little. in a surreal type of way that he doesn’t understand what’s going on.
you and jack didn’t last. but he didn’t stand a chance after carlos’ small little speech. he felt sorry, really. he was a nice guy, but carlos couldn’t deny the little sense of satisfaction when you had told him you both called it quits.
none of you bring up your break up apart from the are you okay? question carlos had asked when he found out. you simply had given him a smile and shrug with a promise of i’ll be fine, and somehow he convinces himself to trust your word for it.
he comes to learn though, that you are fine. he sees it from the moment he picks you up from the airport, rosy cheeked and blurry eyed from the flight. despite that, you’re smiling, dimpley and excited as you hug him (you hold onto him for a tad bit longer than usual, but he doesn’t complain).
by the end of the day you’re both in carlos’ parents’ kitchen, quietly helping them dry out the plates. reyes is by the counter, sipping on her glass of wine with carlos sr. putting away the plates.
it’s easy the way you all move around eachother, the domesticity of it all. you flow between his family like water down a stream, fitting perfectly into the commotion of it all. of course reyes teases you both, how can she not when she sees the way her son looks at you? or the stolen glances you gave back when he wasn’t looking.
she doesn’t push it too far though, she never does. instead, she makes sure her and her husband are tucked in bed the moment the house is clean.
by the time you’ve both unwinded, you’ve decided to crash on the couch for a movie, both too wide awake to sleep just yet.
the lion king is playing, both of your favorites, and despite the stretch of the couch you’re tucked into carlos’ side. you’re flushed against him, and he can’t help but draw absent minded cirlces onto your arm, with his arm that's wrapped around you.
it’s a usual set up for your movie nights but something feels different.
it isn’t helping that he can feel your gaze bouncing from the tv to him. he lets it slide four times before lowering his head to look at you, brow raised.
“what? don’t tell me you want popcorn now?” he asks, knowing that he could always make you get it yourself. its not like you didn’t know the house well enough. not that he ever would though.
“no, i was just thinking,” you murmur, looking over at him and he moves a little to face you better, leaning his head against the couch.
“what is it?” he asks, reaching over to fix a single strand of hair of yours that was sticking out. you watch him closely, features soft and murmuring a thank you once his hand moves away.
“about what you were saying about love,” it takes carlos a moment to remember, and when he does his breath falters a bit. you notice it, but you continue anyways.
“i think i get it now,” carlos can only nod, prompting you to continue, “it’s like the feeling when someone gives you the last bite of their food,” you think of the ice cream you had shared with him over dinner. you’d given him the last bite- since he’d realised too late you had gotten vanilla at the last moment. you complained (of course), but still hovered the spoon infront of carlos’ lips.
“or like the feeling of your hand out the window of a moving car breaking through the wind” you’d always have the best car drives with carlos, driving aimlessly outside the cities, enjoying the quieter scenery.
carlos doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop from his eyes to his lips, and his world stills. “but ultimately, i think love for me is the feeling of being with someone, and feeling at home.”
you both don’t know how you’ve both gotten so close, foreheads almost touching as you look into eachothers eyes. the only sound in the room is the faint soundtrack of lion king which had been long forgotten by now. his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, and he lets out a shaky breath. he has to say it.
and he almost does, lips parted to speak, but instead of his voice the next thing he hears is a loud bark. you both flinch, a space being created between you.
both of your eyes jump towards the door, to find piñon, innocently turning his head to the side. carlos almost curses. almost.
“i… need to take him out.” he murmurs, getting up to grab piñon’s leash.
v.
the first time he says it… well he doesn’t really say it.
it happens right after the race is over, after he crosses the line and pushes himself out of the car. the crowd is cheering and his ears are numb from Adami’s screams on the radio. he somehow can’t feel his legs, or his hands, or his face. he finally did it. he’s won his home race.
he’s smiling, so wide that he feels like his cheeks are going to shatter. climbing over the seat before he stands, raising both his fists in the air.
the moment he jumps off the car he’s running to his team. he hugs them tight, but they only hug him tighter. if he wasn’t running on adrenaline, he wouldn’t be sure how he would have pulled away.
he moves to the rest of the team, unclasping and taking off his helmet before he rips the balaclava off. as soon as the fresh air hits him, his head whips around, looking for you.
the moment he sees you its like tunnel vision, he runs to you, high with a mix of adrenaline and the thrill of winning.
“carlos-” before you can say anything else he closes the gap, stealing the next words from your lips.
he pulls away wide eyed and breathless, your lips still ghosting eachothers. “congratulations,” you murmur and carlos nods, lips parting and he wants to say it, wants to scream it, but he’s feeling too much that the words don’t come out of his mouth.
instead though you smile, shaking your head. he didn’t need to say it.
Hii, I really love me and the devil, your writing is ✨chef’s kiss✨ I don’t know if anyone asked this before but how many parts do you think this series will have? x
Hi!! Thank you for the kind words, means a lot that people drop by to tell me they like it. And complimenting my writing?!? DECEASED.
I think it shall stop at 6, so the next part will be the last. UNLESS! I got new ideas from you guys, also I wanted it to have like 3 parts at the beginning and then I got carried away with it?
But yeah, I THINK there is going to be one last part. Will keep you updated, ladies and gents. 🫡
requested by anon: "every year on her birthday, someone leaves flowers and a gift on her doorstep before the clock strikes midnight"
notes: hi! there was no name for the request but i totally pictured this cute idea with mick and i hope you like it this way! <3; just pure fluff, and nothing else;
masterlist
You were in awe each time you kissed him that your stomach still twirled in twists as if your mouths never knew each other until then.
It is your 26th birthday party, and you have decided at Mick’s pleadings to host it at your favorite restaurant.
You opposed at first, all you wanted was a small casual party in your apartment, and yet your boyfriend insisted for days to bring all your friends and family there assuring you that he is going to organize every single little detail.
You never had been able to resist those big blue gentle eyes begging something from you, therefore Mick’s request could not be ignored.
Arrived there, seeing the whole place filled with all giggles, chuckles and smiles, dancing hands in the air and clicks of glasses, friends, and families all together indulging in food and drinks, you were more than satisfied with the whole idea of hosting the party in there rather than your apartment which would have been heavily crowded with even this little people.
“You were right,” You say at Mick’s ear as you tightened the distance in between your bodies, dancing on some slow blues song playing, “This was the better choice,” You continue, hands around your boyfriend’s neck as you lose your fingers in the boy’s blonde locks, “Thank you for renting it out, no more gifts aside from this party – have I made myself understood?” You speak, trying to sound as demanding as you can, but losing it instantly as Mick locks lips with yours, smiling into the kiss.
You chuckle too, a rush thought entering your mind as you taste the sweetest laid still on the top of your lips after Mick departs. This is everything you dreamed of. You have someone to slow dance with, giggle after a short clash of lips and for whose taste to still linger although you’ve known it for almost ten years now. You were in awe each time you kissed him that your stomach still twirled in twists as if your mouths never knew each other until then. Mick too, was stunned, as he always is, by the sound of your laughs so close to his ears sounding better than any evergreen blues tunes.
“Yes, sure.” Mick nudge, and you can tell by the way his corners lift in a smirk that he is full-blown lying into your face, “No more gifts.” He smiles, and you amusingly shake your head knowing it is all lies.
You cup his cheeks to kiss him again, and the song stops. The only thing surrounding you now are your friends’ murmurs, “Take your cuteness somewhere else, please.” One of them pleads, you and Mick rolling your eyes at his words.
“Oh please,” Another one interrupts, watching you as you swirl your arm around Mick’s and lean your head against the man’s shoulder, “They’ve been like this since high school, they cannot keep their hands off each other.” She continues, eyeing Mick as he leans in to kiss the top of your head.
“Cannot help it.” Mick says, fingers tightening into yours as another song starts playing and he beats the taps on the back of your hand, “I mean,” Your boyfriend stops and stares at you head to toes, “Who could?” He sarcastically intones, and you cannot help yourself but timidly smile like in any other times when he compliments you in front of other people. Yes, it had been years – and still.
One of Mick’s friends drags his arm around your boyfriend’s neck after you thank him in a whisper, and you both turn into their direction as he speaks, “Let me tell you something about these two love birds right here, folks.” He begins, rousing curious glares from everybody around you as the one who speaks is Mick’s best friend, one of the few people who had been witnessing your relationship from start to now, and one of yours and Mick’s biggest fans while also being the one who’s been rolling his eyes the hardest at every little corny interaction in between the two of you, “I have never knew that someone can be so smitten over a girl until Mick met our birthday girl right here.” He says, spilling a few drops of wine from his glass as he points at you, “Does everybody here know the flowers story?” He inquires in loud voice to grab the attention on your conversation, “It is one of my favorite love stories, and as a hopeless romantic – I have heard them all.” He speaks, departing from Mick to join the people in front the two of you who were unaware of the tell.
You and Mick laugh – the story was your favorite too. You have plenty, ten years together gave you lots of stories to tell. Some romantic, some hilarious, and some hurtful. And yet, the story of the innocent twelve-years old Mick leaving flowers at your door before midnight on your birthday for the first time was your most special one.
You’ve lived next to Mick Schumacher for the eternity of your life. Your families knew each other, and they often got invited for lunches, dinners, barbeques, birthday parties and so on. You two were the same age, thus your families always paired you two in sharing toys, watching television, or simply running after each other in the yard. You were against the idea at first as two stubborn children, and yet with time and a lot of patience from your parents, you’ve learned to share your favorite coloring books and trucks, splash each other with water balloons and talk about what shapes the clouds in the sky have.
Mick was the first one to figure out that the girl who visited their home during the weekends was not simply his neighbor – he was falling in love without even knowing what love is or why his cheeks turned red when you kissed him goodbye. Mick started small, stealing all kind of flowers from the back yard of his house and leaving them in front of your door for your birthday, and that was only because you told him one time to not step on the flowers planted in the backyard because they might, as well as you and him, have some sort of a soul inside for them to blossom in such pretty colors.
“So, do you think that their colors match their souls?” Little Mick asked you then, both of you carefully analyzing the flowers in his backyard.
You nodded, “That is the only explanation.” You spoke with the strongest belief a twelve-years-old child could have into your tone, “They are all so pretty – I cannot pick one.” You added, pointing to the little field of flowers ahead of you.
Mick pondered your theory for a while, “What color do you think our souls are, then?” He asked, looking at your face with attention now as he was analyzing all the colors on your face: your skin, your rosy cheeks, your hair, and the pink of your lips – getting all flustered as you caught him staring.
“All of them, I think.” You replied with another nod, “I mean – I am pretty sure yours is a rainbow.” You judged for a while, taking the boys’ cheeks into your hands, “With a whole lot of blue in it, that is for sure.” You added with a smile, watching his clear blue-sky eyes searching for more shades of pink on your face.
That was when the little boy felt the urge for the first time to kiss you, without having no idea about what that meant. Yes, Mick has seen his parents kiss, and tight their hands around each other’s bodies, and laugh at incompressible jokes. That afternoon in the garden is when Mick had decided that you were the person with whom he wanted to do all those things, having no idea that there was a learning curve in all of that. Therefore, Mick pursed the idea in the years that followed by letting you know thinly about his little crush, being too shy to confess his feelings before ever knowing what a confession was.
Your parents were the ones to watch him struggling with silently jumping over your common fence to leave the flowers at the entrance of your house. The next day after watching you happily jumping around after receiving flowers from “a secret admirer” (as your parents' told you), they went and told Mick’s parents'. For whole years your parents were thrilled of Mick’s act in all its cuteness, and they complotted for you to never find out until you figured out for yourself that you were in love with Mick too on your own, without any interference from the adults in your life.
That happened four years after that, four years during which the flowers never stop arriving at your door for your birthday accompanied by small gifts such as electric trucks, coloring books and all the things Mick knew you liked.
“Mom,” You spoke with a frail voice, watching Mick helping his father water the plants in the garden across the fence, “How do you know you are in love?” You questioned, eyeing Mick’s upper body completely uncovered, feeling your knees getting weak as the boy waved at you from the garden.
Your mother caught your glare, as well as your teeth jabbing into your upper lip waving back at your “friend”, “I think you already know, darling.” She spoke, eyebrows amusingly twitching up, “I think you should stay up tonight, and that is how you will find out for sure.” She teased, returning to her book as you pulled yours closed to your chest following the cutest boy next door with your glare who was quick in stealing your glance on him, and even quicker to throw you a cheeky smile.
You listened to your mother that night before your birthday, hopping that your senses were right and that the one to leave flowers at your door was no one else but him. Turning off the lights, you unwearyingly watched the porch from your window with your heart up to your throat that almost erupted when you spotted the boy’s silhouette into the dim darkness of your house.
Legs rushed almost as fast as the beats of your heart down the stairs, waking up your parents in the process. They chuckled in their bed, “Mick’s here.” Your mother spoke, agreeing to go back to sleep in a minute or so as they knew that their daughter is in safe hands, and that she will forever be in the saftest that there exist.
You opened the door wide just to collide with Mick’s startled figure after carefully placing on the mat the most exquisite bouquet of flowers you have ever seen or received. All shapes and colors, odors, and perfumes in front of you. The one in which you wanted to engulf the most was Mick’s, still.
“Hi.” Mick’s shaky spoke, “I –” He blocked, stumbling on each word that was on his mind. A confession – that was all Mick had to do. And yet, you were standing so beautifully there in front of him with such an inebriating smile up to your ears, “I—” Mick tried again, and now was interrupted by your hurdling arms around him, holding him the closer to you that the boy has ever been.
“I knew that it was you.” You murmured, head buried at Mick’s chest as his hands awkwardly wrapped against your body too, “I wished for my secret admirer to be you this whole time.” You confessed, head up now to watch him staring back at you with bright flickers inside those eyes of his.
Mick laughed, placing one of his palms against your cheek with care as if there was something to break on your face, “I am glad you liked the flowers, and the other gifts.”
You nodded, “What you got me this year besides the flowers?” You inquired, tiptoeing close to the boy’s mouth, the rosiness of his cheeks turning bright red.
The secret admirer shyly so tittered again, “I thought about something different this year.” He gulped leaning towards you, “May I kiss you?” Mick asked, uncaging the butterflies from your stomach through your whole being.
You nodded right away, “Please do so.” You spoke, your lips brushing against Mick’s for the first time.
Mick never stopped kissing you since then, and you never stopped enjoying every single brush of lips that provoked twists of stomachs and tingles on tips of your fingers. Even now, as Mick’s lips rest on your shoulder in the back of the car driving you home, you feel the tingles and all the emotions that have not faded since you were sixteen. You were living your teenage dream again, and again, and again with the one who thought you love.
“That was fun.” You speak, watching Mick unlocking the door of your apartment, “And yet, I cannot wait to just take this dress off and jump into bed – completely naked, but completely tired.” You whimper in almost a sob after a short sly wink towards him, and Mick cannot help but be swept of his feet as he hears your little complains and attempt of flirting.
“Not yet.” He speaks, switching the light on your hall waiting for you to gasp at the sight of your apartment.
Flowers, everywhere.
All kind, all shapes and all colors waiting for you two to step into the living room. You cover your mouth with both of your hands, you were basically walking into a huge floor shop that has moved into the apartment, “Mick, these are –” You breathlessly try to speak as you figure out that were the exact type of flowers that Mick’s mother grew in her backyard, the ones that they boy stolen from you throughout the years you were neighbors.
Mick hugs you from behind, placing a kiss underneath your left ear into which he whispers, “You said you cannot pick one, so I bought them all.” Mick murmurs, sending tingles throughout your spine with one more kiss, “Happiest of birthdays, from your not-so-secret admirer.”
Honestly everyone, but I am most likely to write for the following; Charles, Carlos, Lewis, Mick, Seb, Pierre, Daniel, Norris, Max but I am very willing to try something else too.
So feel free to request anyone and I will do my best!! 🫶🏼☀️
summary: when a world famous singer's reputation takes a hit, she never expects to meet a man determined to stay with her through it all.
pairing: charles leclerc x reader
warning: none, fluff
note: part 1 of the reputation series. let me know if you want to be part of the tag list!
masterlist
you should take it as a compliment that i got drunk and made fun of the way you talk
your head is absolutely pounding and you’re sure that someone must be attempting to crack your skull open, but the arms wrapped around your waist reminds you exactly why you’ve spent most of the night downing shots after shots. ‘
you needed the alcohol to distract you from walking over to the other side of the room where he stood – bright green eyes and a brighter laugh that caught your attention the moment you walked in. or maybe you needed the alcohol to give you the courage to walk over to him.
people surrounded him and you’d seen a few ask to take a picture with him, requests you yourself have been getting the entire night but had to politely decline with an offer to buy them a drink instead. this man is gracious though, definitely not as patient as you – he smiles for every picture, chats with anyone that talks to him.
he must be someone, you thought. someone important, someone that matters. and someone that you’re not likely to forget anytime soon and so you down a shot.
“charles leclerc,” your friend says, having watched you watch him all night. “formula 1 driver.”
you feel a little bit caught but you’re drunk enough not to care as you turn to him again. he’s magnetic, a type of beautiful that had people turning. he definitely had you turning.
“let’s go over to them,” your friend says, already looping her arm with yours and pulling to the group before you could respond. you see some of their eyes widening as you approach, you see him turning to you, green eyes filled with recognition as he realized who you were. you almost wish you’d brought a bottle over with you.
“y/n,” one of his friends say, pulling your attention away from the driver. you’re almost thankful, being so close to him now feels a little overwhelming. “i’m a big fan.”
you feel him watching you and so you grin. you try to ignore the small voice in your head grimacing. it’s a wonder you still have fans nowadays. after the massive fall your reputation had taken, you’re a little bit surprised your friends had managed to drag you out of your apartment.
“thank you,” you say, hoping you aren’t slurring.
you’re not exactly sure how it happened but somehow, the rest of your friends ended up on their table too, the two groups merging together seamlessly as the music grew louder and the alcohol keeps flowing. you’ve talked to nearly all of them, laughing and sharing stories and joking around as though you’ve been best friends for decades.
all except him, of course. he remains in your line of vision and you feel his stare on you the entire night but you refuse to look. it’s a horrible idea, your reputation’s never been worse, you remind yourself. getting tangled up with another man to add to your long list of scandals might just have your media team resign on the spot.
of course that was up until he shattered whatever self control you had left as his hand wandered to your waist. it wasn’t anything with purpose, barely even a touch just something to get your attention but goddamn this man needed to think about the consequence of touching you in dark rooms.
“are you avoiding me?” he jokes and before you knew it, you’re face to face and you can smell the whiskey on ice mixing with his cologne.
and he’s gorgeous – just too goddamn beautiful that it almost makes you mad.
“your accent is funny,” you say and then you cringe.
his eyebrows scrunch together. he definitely hadn’t expected those to be your first words to him.
“Vous préférez que je parle français ?” he says, the words rolling off his tongue like honey. Would you prefer that I speak French?
god truly has favorites because of course he speaks french. he can’t possibly be just beautiful.
charles chuckles. “i speak italian too.”
oh. you hadn’t realized you said it out loud. “i didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
and then he laughed and you knew damn well he’s going to ruin all of your plans.
you're so gorgeous i can't say anything to your face
and so here you were, head pounding and dealing with the world’s worst hangover but having whatever ridiculously expensive cologne charles leclerc uses clinging to your skin.
you aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed to find yourself still wearing the sparkly dress you were wearing last night. and though charles’ shirt had disappeared to god knows where, the dark cargo pants he wore is still present.
dimly, you remember your drunken slurring, arms wrapped around his neck. he was only a little less drunk than you were, but he’d mixed up french and italian with english sometime after you’d lightly pulled at the hair on the back of his head as you both attempted to dance to the beat.
and as the sun began rising and both your friends had decidedly chose to call their own cabs, charles hadn’t even needed to ask you if you wanted to go to his hotel with him. he’d simply grabbed your hand and gently led you to his car. he doesn’t let go of your hand as he drives and not as you enter the elevator. even now as he sleeps and you’re cocooned within his arms, his hand is tightly entwined with yours.
it feels a bit odd; waking up so intimately wound with someone knowing nothing sexual needed to happen first. it feels odd to be held knowing he expects nothing in return. pure intimacy booths excites you and frightens you.
“ne veut pas encore partir,” you hear him mutter as he shifts, burying his head deeper against your neck. his arms around you tightens as he pulls you flushed against his chest.
you don’t know what to do with yourself, you can only be thankful that you aren’t facing him because god knows you’d end up stuttering and flushing being subjected to those green eyes. the man was far too gorgeous, it almost makes you mad. you only hope he can't hear the way your heart is beating so furiously against your chest.
“i have no idea what you just said,” you say.
“i said,” he mutters with a sigh. “i don’t want to go yet.”
disappointment hits you like a hot brick. “do you have to?”
he pulls his hand from under you, looking at his red richard mille watch. “i have to be on track before eleven.”
right. you forgot he drove for a living. you heaved a sigh as you pulled yourself away from his hold, ignoring the way he groaned and the sudden chill as the air condition hit your bare arms. you pick up your phone, finally breaking the safe bubble you’ve both created. you can’t help but release another sigh at the messages sent by your publicist; all consisting of different articles showing pictures of you leaving the club, hand being pulled by charles with his head ducked. thankfully, his face is pretty hidden apart from a blurry side view with him turning towards you.
you don’t want to drag charles into your bullshit more than you already have.
charles finally stands, putting on his discarded shirt. “breakfast before i go maybe?”
you couldn’t help but smile, putting your phone into your pocket as you return to your safe bubble. “yeah, i’d really like that.”
ok why i am in the mood to only write angst stuff?? (thinking about a short thing with daniel lol) please whoever sees this can you send me short fluffs ideas so i can practice writing something happy (i am thinking about making something like a challenge 1000 words fluff edition or smth);
