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do you think i have forgotten about you? | arthur leclerc

fem!reader x arthur leclerc

2.8k words

in which you and arthur have been exchanging letters since childhood until one day, he stops.

a/n: just re-read five survive by holly jackson (5* read i def recommend 😛) !!! this is semi-inspired by arthur's letter to red and bc i miss the pen pal i had when i was like 10 :(

about you the 1975

March 29, 2007

To: Y/n

Hello, this is Arthur. My maman told me that writing letters would better my english but I think my english is fine? Anyways, I am from Monaco and I like racing like my brother and my father. Love for racing just runs in the genes I think. What do you like? I don't have much to say honestly so I'm sorry that this is your first impression of me. I hope you're doing good.

From: Arthur

⎯

April 10, 2007

To Arthur,

Hello! I'm Y/n, as you already know. I've been expecting your letter actually! My mother said you'd be writing. This is actually so cool I've always wanted a pen pal :o

I like music, I play piano. I don't know much about racing but I will ask my dad about it! Looking forward to exchanging more letters with you. And don't worry about your first impression, it is okay for me!

- Y/n :)

⎯

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #fem!reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #arthur leclerc #al50 #arthur leclerc x reader #charles leclerc

#f1 #f1 photos #f1 pics #formula one #formula one photos #formula one pics #formula 1 #formula 1 photos #formula 1 pics #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc photos #arthur leclerc pics #al50 #al50 photos #al50 pics

Somewhere Between You

Ex! Charles Leclerc x Reader x Arthur Leclerc

CHAPTER TEN - TUSCAN TROUBLES & MIDNIGHT KISSES

(NSFW Warning)

Lorenzo's Bachelor Party

The villa in the hills of Tuscany was something out of a rustic daydream—sun-drenched stone walls, olive trees stretching across the landscape, and the smell of wood-fired pizza drifting lazily from the old brick oven near the back terrace.

Inside, however, the evening had quickly shifted from picturesque to utterly chaotic.

You had no idea who thought it would be a good idea to include you in the bachelor party festivities—perhaps Lorenzo, drunk on gratitude and Prosecco, had declared, “You’re one of the godparents, you're family, Y/N!”—but here you were.

The only woman in a room of five men, halfway through a drinking game that was steadily devolving into a minefield of brutal, personal questions. The rules were simple: lose a round of pool, answer a question. The less you wanted to answer, the drunker you got. And you kept losing.

“I swear to God, if you ask me what color underwear I’m wearing again, Lorenzo, I will shove this cue stick somewhere unpleasant,” you slurred, leaning heavily on the table with a laugh.

Arthur smirked from his seat beside you, stretching an arm lazily along the back of the worn-out couch, his fingers grazing your shoulders ever so lightly.

“Alright, alright,” Lorenzo chuckled, raising a hand. “New rule: no underwear questions. We’ll keep it classy.”

“Define classy,” Arthur murmured in your ear.

You elbowed him lightly but didn’t move away.

The night was loud, full of shots and laughter echoing through the rustic villa, until Charles—quiet for most of the game—decided to open his mouth.

Arthur had just lost a round. Everyone turned to Charles, expecting something tame.

Instead, he leaned forward, his voice too calm, too sharp: “Did you sleep with her?”

Silence. Deafening silence.

You blinked. Arthur went completely still.

Lorenzo stared at Charles, stunned. “Bro—”

Charles didn’t look at you. He didn’t even seem drunk, just angry. Raw and reckless.

“Charles,” Lorenzo warned again, eyes wide.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he was about to laugh or swing.

You stood up, your cheeks hot—whether from the wine or fury, you couldn’t tell. “Okay, I’m done. I’m getting some air.”

Lorenzo grabbed Charles by the arm. “Come on, man. Let’s get you a glass of water before you destroy everything.”

Arthur watched you go for a moment. Then without a word, he stood and followed.

You were in the kitchen, leaning against the old marble counter, the room dim and quiet now compared to the chaos outside. The wine buzz still hummed through your veins, but the sting of Charles’ question had sobered you a little.

“Hey,” Arthur said, slipping inside, gently closing the door behind him.

You didn’t turn around right away. “Your brother is a menace.”

“He’s jealous,” Arthur replied simply.

You finally looked at him. “That wasn’t okay.”

“I know.”

A beat of silence.

Then his voice softened. “But he’s not the one I’m worried about.”

You stared at him, confused. “What?”

Arthur stepped closer. “I need to know if you regret any of this.”

“Any of what?”

“This,” he said, brushing your hair back, “whatever this is between us.”

You swallowed hard. The wine, the tension, the heat from earlier—all of it stirred again.

“I don’t regret it,” you whispered.

That was all he needed.

He leaned in, slow and sure, his hands bracing on either side of the counter as he kissed you. Soft at first, tentative—as if waiting for you to pull away. You didn’t.

You kissed him back, deeper this time, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer. His body was warm against yours, his breath mixing with yours, his mouth insistent but reverent.

You smiled against his lips. “We’re kissing in a Tuscan kitchen. This is very cliché.”

Arthur grinned, brushing his nose against yours. “Should I say something in Italian to seal the deal?”

“Only if it’s inappropriate,” you teased.

“Oh, definitely inappropriate.”

And when he whispered it—ti voglio tutta per me—you were absolutely certain you didn’t want the night to end.

The kiss deepened with a hunger that neither of you tried to hide anymore—no teasing, no hesitation, just want.

Arthur pressed you harder against the kitchen counter, the cool marble contrasting the heat radiating between your bodies. His hands gripped your waist like he’d been dreaming of this moment, like letting go would undo all the tension you'd both carried for too long.

“I’ve wanted this…” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough, breath hot, “…fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You gasped as he kissed down your neck, your head falling back to give him more room, your fingers fisting into the front of his shirt like you might tear it off him if he didn’t move faster. “Then do something about it,” you challenged, voice breathless, daring.

That did it.

Arthur spun you around, lifting you effortlessly onto the countertop, your legs parting for him without question. His mouth crashed back into yours, all tongue and teeth, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other slid up under your dress, rough fingers skating over bare skin.

He groaned when he felt how wet you already were through your panties.

“You’re killing me,” he hissed, voice shaking.

“Then do something reckless, Leclerc,” you whispered in his ear.

He hooked your panties aside, not bothering to remove them, and sank two fingers inside you with a low curse, watching your head fall back and your mouth part in a moan.

“Look at you,” he murmured, curling his fingers just right. “So fucking ready for me.”

You pulled him by the collar until your foreheads touched, lips barely apart. “I’ve been ready. You’re late.”

That broke him.

He unbuckled his belt with a fury, dragged down his pants just enough, and with your legs wrapped around him and your nails digging into his shoulders, he pushed into you in one desperate, hard thrust.

You both gasped.

It was messy. Raw. There was nothing gentle about it. It was hips slamming into hips, fingers clawing at skin, mouths trying to meet but always too breathless, too caught up in the need.

The countertop creaked under the rhythm of his thrusts, the kitchen filling with the obscene sound of skin against skin, your ragged moans mixing with his gritted groans.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Arthur grunted, voice cracking with restraint. “You feel—Jesus, I’m not gonna last—”

“Don’t stop,” you panted, nails dragging down his back. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He didn't. He drove into you harder, deeper, until your cries turned into broken syllables, your head resting against his shoulder as your orgasm built fast and heavy, stealing the air from your lungs.

You shattered with a cry, body tightening around him, and he cursed violently before spilling into you with a strangled groan, his hips twitching as he buried himself deep one last time.

The two of you stayed like that—sweaty, panting, tangled in each other’s arms—while the villa outside carried on unaware.

Arthur kissed your jaw, breath still uneven. “We’re never going to hear the end of this if someone walks in.”

You smirked, still trying to catch your breath. “Worth it.”

He kissed you again. Slower now. Like he wasn’t finished with you yet.

And something in his eyes said he wasn’t.

The cabin was filled with the muffled chaos of drunken voices, laughter echoing down the hallway as the rest of the group stumbled back from their night out.

You and Arthur, however, had never left your room.

You were too busy.

Tangled in each other. His body pressed hot and heavy against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist as he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, your skin already marked by his mouth, your lips swollen from how desperately you’d been kissing.

He was on top of you, forehead resting against yours, his breath coming out in soft, ragged pants as he thrust into you again—deep and slow—like he didn’t want the night to ever end.

And you were trying so hard not to make a sound.

You clung to his shoulders, lips parted in a silent moan, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out every time he hit that spot inside you that made your back arch off the bed.

You could hear the others laughing as they passed by your door.

Arthur grinned. “They have no idea, do they?” he whispered against your neck, his voice hoarse, dark with amusement.

You shook your head, barely able to breathe, let alone speak, as he rolled his hips again. Your nails dug into his skin. “Arthur…”

“Shhh,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “Don’t want them to know how good I’m making you feel.”

Then came the knock.

You both froze.

A sharp knock against the wood, followed by a familiar voice.

“Hey,” Charles said, voice low, clearly tipsy. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

You gasped softly, panic rushing through your chest—but Arthur didn’t stop.

He didn’t even slow down.

You slapped his shoulder lightly, but he just gave you a wicked grin, thrusting deeper this time, making your entire body jolt. You covered your mouth quickly, eyes wide as he kept going, his pace cruelly controlled.

Charles knocked again, voice softer now. “Please. I… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I was an idiot earlier. I let the drink get the worst of me.”

You clenched around Arthur involuntarily, a choked sound slipping through your fingers as your orgasm began to creep in, hot and inevitable. Arthur groaned quietly, his lips against your ear. “You like this, don’t you?” he whispered. “Making you come while your precious Charles is right outside the door?”

You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut.

Arthur pressed his hand over your mouth just as your body trembled beneath him, the climax crashing through you in waves. He didn’t stop moving, didn’t let you breathe, just held your gaze as your moans were swallowed into his palm.

Outside the door, Charles’s voice came again—barely audible now.

“I’m sorry, then,” he said, his voice laced with regret.

You blinked, remembering he was still there.

Arthur slowed slightly, letting you catch your breath.

You removed his hand gently and whispered, “It’s okay,” loud enough for Charles to hear—but your eyes were locked on Arthur’s, your voice trembling from pleasure, not emotion.

A pause. Then a soft, “Goodnight,” and the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall.

Arthur finally stopped, his body collapsing gently against yours. The tension in the room dissolved as the door stayed closed, the hallway quiet once more.

He pulled out of you slowly, kissing your temple, his hand stroking your thigh with lazy affection. “That was evil,” you murmured.

He smirked. “You loved every second.”

You rolled onto your side, facing him, still breathless. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he whispered.

You nodded against his chest. “Me too.”

The cabin fell silent. No more knocks. No more footsteps. Just your breathing slowing in sync with his.

And then, sleep.

TAG LIST: @starrgir1, @charlesgirl16, @thechosen-neo, @teenagetoadghostwobbler, @pinklemonade34, @halleest, @aleclerc14, @tothestarsandwhateverend, @livelaughleclerc, @tillyt04, @anayaverse, @janeh22, @a-beaverhausen, @ellen3101

Pick Up Lines - Arthur Leclerc

Pairing: Arthur Leclerc x fem!reader

Warnings: none. Though I swear a lot IRL and I can’t believe I have written a fic with no swear words, so there may be one in there I’ve missed. EDIT: there is one near the end lol 🙈

Summary: You are Arthur’s best friend and in love with him. One time when you’re drunk you text him a pick up line and he thinks you have a crush on someone and are just testing the line on him, so you start texting him daily pick up lines. They can’t possibly be working on Arthur though, can they?

A/N: I stumbled upon @/savannahraedemers on instagram and fell in love. 99% of the pick up lines in this fic came from her. I just wanted to write a fun, fluffy fic so I hope you enjoy ❤️

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x female reader #arthur leclerc au #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fic #arthur leclerc x reader #AL50 #AL14 #Arthur Leclerc one shot #arthur leclerc fluff #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic

the concept of the real life arthur leclerc having a boxboxd account and gifting this james vowles

#arthur leclerc #al50 #formula 1 #monaco gp 2025

Somewhere Between You

Ex! Charles Leclerc x Reader x Arthur Leclerc

CHAPTER ELEVEN – CONFESSIONS

That morning, the soft morning light filtered through the cabin curtains, casting a golden hue across the room. The air still smelled faintly of pine and last night’s firewood, and your muscles ached pleasantly from the night before.

You stirred alone in bed.

Arthur was gone.

You stretched, sighing softly, and slipped out from under the covers to take a shower. The water was warm, washing away the remnants of sleep and the traces of your shared intimacy. When you emerged wrapped in a towel, Arthur had just returned from the kitchen with damp hair and a clean shirt half-buttoned.

He looked at you with that familiar softness in his eyes. “Didn’t want to wake you,” he said simply, stepping close to brush a kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, lips curving faintly. “It’s okay.”

But then—another knock on the door.

This time, gentler. Hesitant.

Arthur met your eyes for a moment, then turned to open the door.

It was Charles.

He stood in the hallway, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, hair still slightly messy from sleep. His expression was more sober now—less guarded, more human.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes flickering past Arthur to you.

Arthur looked at you questioningly, and you gave a small nod.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Arthur said quietly, brushing past Charles as he left the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Charles stepped inside, shutting it gently.

The silence between you both stretched.

“I meant what I said last night,” he started, voice low. “I was drunk, yeah, but that’s not an excuse for being an asshole.”

You pulled the towel tighter around your chest, sitting at the edge of the bed. “You weren’t an asshole, Charles. You were honest.”

He sighed and leaned against the dresser, arms folded. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my place anymore.”

You looked up at him slowly. “It’s okay,” you said softly. “I understand why it felt heavy for you, I know that me being here… it’s not easy for you or for Alexandra.”

His jaw tightened just slightly at her name, but he nodded. “She’s been on edge since we saw you. And I… I didn’t realize how much I still had to process. Until I saw you with Arthur.”

There was no malice in his tone—only resignation. Maybe regret.

You gave a small smile, tired but kind. “I get it. You don’t have to explain. We had our history, Charles. And it didn’t end perfectly. It makes sense that there’s still something there. Even if it’s just discomfort.”

He met your gaze. “Still. I’m sorry for how I acted. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I appreciate you saying that.” You exhaled slowly. “Really.”

The tension softened between you, and for a moment, there was just the quiet, familiar echo of two people who had once meant something to each other… and were now learning how to be something else.

“Anyway,” Charles cleared his throat, standing straighter, “I’ll let you finish getting ready.”

You nodded. “Thanks, Charles.”

He turned to go, then paused at the door. “And… for what it’s worth—Arthur’s a good guy.”

Your lips curved. “Yeah. He is.”

He gave a slight smile, and then he was gone.

Leaving you with a strange sense of peace… and the faint sound of Arthur’s laugh somewhere in the kitchen.

The rehearsal dinner was set against a postcard-perfect backdrop—long tables adorned with white linen, flickering candles, and wildflowers, all laid out beneath strings of soft golden lights that swayed gently in the warm Tuscan breeze. The terrace overlooked rolling vineyards that stretched endlessly into the dusk, bathed in hues of lavender and amber. It was impossibly romantic. Almost cinematic.

Laughter mingled with clinking glasses, the soft buzz of conversation, and the distant strum of a live guitar.

As the last course was cleared, Lorenzo stood, glass in hand. His cheeks were slightly pink, from the wine or the emotion—or maybe both.

He tapped his glass gently and smiled. “I’m not usually one to speak much,” he began, earning a few chuckles. “But tonight… I have to.”

He turned to Charlotte, his bride, his voice already thick with emotion. “Thank you for choosing me. Every day, you teach me what love means, and this… this celebration is just proof of how much light you bring into people’s lives. Including mine.”

His eyes found his mother, Cristine, then Arthur, Charles, and the guests. “I want to thank everyone for being here. Friends, family. Those who’ve been with us through every season of our lives.”

A pause.

“And… for those who aren’t here with us tonight—like Jules.” His voice faltered slightly.

Cristine lowered her head, discreetly wiping at the corner of her eye with a cloth napkin. Arthur reached over to place a hand over hers.

Charles stared down into his glass for a moment, jaw tight.

“I know he’d be proud,” Lorenzo finished, softer now. “And I know he’s here with us in a way. Laughing. Probably teasing me about my haircut.”

That earned a light laugh through tears. The table clapped gently.

When the moment quieted, you rose.

Just a short toast. Nothing dramatic.

But when you looked out at them, at the entire Leclerc family sitting there—bathed in twilight, surrounded by warmth and stories and the past you had quietly shared with them—it stirred something in you.

You lifted your glass. “I just want to say… thank you. To all of you. For never making me feel like I was an outsider. For letting me be part of this.”

Your eyes found Charlotte. “You’re luminous. Truly. And Lorenzo—thank you for making me feel like family all these years. This wedding… it’s such a beautiful moment, and I’m honored to be here for it.”

A murmur of gratitude, a few smiles and nods, and you sat back down.

Charles hadn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time.

From across the table, Alexandra noticed. Her gaze sharpened, lips pressing together tightly.

She leaned closer to him as dessert was served. “You’re staring at her again,” she said, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

Charles blinked, snapped out of his reverie. “I wasn’t.”

She gave him a look. “It’s always her, isn’t it?”

He leaned in, voice steady, almost too casual. “She’s with Arthur now. You can relax.”

“Don’t lie to me” she asked, suspicious.

Charles’s smile was cool, almost smug. “I’m not lying, Arthur is with her. Trust me my Love.”

Alex’s mouth opened slightly in surprise, but Charles had already turned back to his wine, letting the silence speak louder than anything else.

Meanwhile, at your end of the table, Arthur was stealing bites from your plate with zero shame, teasing you with a crooked grin.

“You gave a speech,” he whispered close to your ear. “Since when do you get all emotional?”

“I wasn’t emotional,” you protested with a smirk. “It was heartfelt.”

“You’re cute when you’re heartfelt,” he said, brushing a kiss to your cheek as he handed you back your fork. “Still hungry, or ready for something sweeter?”

You nudged him playfully. “You’re such a menace.”

He grinned, unbothered. “But I’m your menace.”

As the night ended, and guests began retreating to their rooms or continuing drinks by the firepit, you and Arthur slipped away.

The vineyards were quiet now, lit only by moonlight and the faint echo of laughter from afar. You walked side by side between the rows of grapes, hands brushing, fingers eventually lacing together.

He kept pulling you gently toward him. Kissing your forehead. Your temple. Your shoulder. Wrapping an arm around your waist like he couldn’t stop touching you. Like it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“Do you think they’ll be this happy forever?” you asked softly, looking back toward the house where Charlotte and Lorenzo danced alone beneath the lights.

Arthur looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. “I think some people are just meant to find each other,” he said, and then, after a beat—“Like us.”

You looked up at him, cheeks warming, your heart stuttering.

Before you could answer, he kissed you again—slow and sweet under the stars, surrounded by the smell of earth and wine and lavender carried on the breeze.

Somewhere Between You

Ex! Charles Leclerc x Reader x Arthur Leclerc

CHAPTER NINE - THE NEED TO FORGET

The warm lights of the central cabana cast a cozy glow over the long dinner table, alive with the soft clinking of cutlery, murmured conversations, and the salty scent of grilled fish and lemon. The Family of the groom was gathered, plates filling quickly, wine glasses being passed—everything just as expected on a summer night in Corsica.

Except for one detail.

Charles's eyes flicked to the empty seats.

“Y/N and Arthur aren’t coming?” he asked casually—or at least he tried to sound casual. His fork hovered mid-air, forgotten.

Lorenzo shrugged, mouth full. “Mom said they were staying at the cabin. That they were tired.”

Charles’s jaw tensed slightly. “Tired of what?”

Lorenzo squinted at him. “I don’t know. Why? Is there a problem?”

Giulio leaned in with a grin, poking fun. “It’s Charles. Of course, there’s a problem.”

“No,” Charles replied too quickly, voice tight. “None. I was just curious.”

Pascale, sipping her wine with the calm wisdom of a mother who always knows more than she lets on, gave a small smile. “They’ve grown closer, haven’t they?”

Cristine, your mother, nodded with a chuckle. “They’re always together lately. I saw them in the kitchen this morning. Arthur was peeling mangoes for her. Mangoes!”

Everyone laughed softly, but Pascale went on, “They’d actually make a lovely couple. Don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Cristine said with a smile, nudging her glass toward Pascale in a toast. “They balance each other well.”

The mood was light. Warm. Until—

Charles set down his fork. “It would be strange.”

The words hung there, cold and oddly loud in the air. Pascale turned to him, raising a brow.

“Why would it be strange?”

Charles hesitated, his eyes darting toward his plate as if hoping it might open up and swallow him.

“I mean…” he began. “Because… we—Y/N and I—we used to—”

“Darling,” Pascale interrupted gently, “that was a long time ago.”

Cristine nodded, almost laughing. “Teenage dating doesn’t really count, Charles. It’s just puppy love. Passion, drama, hormones.”

Charles shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “Still.”

Pascale leaned in slightly, tone light but with that sharp motherly edge. “If that was something that mattered, wouldn’t you two be together now?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Giulio smirked. “Guess Arthur doesn’t think it’s strange at all.”

That earned a chuckle from Lorenzo—and even louder laughter when Pascale added, almost offhandedly, “He looked awfully relaxed in the pool when I saw him earlier.”

Charles blinked. “You saw him?”

Pascale smiled with innocent delight. “Oh yes. He said he was tired. And bloated. Like a pufferfish.”

Cristine nearly spat out her wine laughing.

Charles, however, was no longer chewing—just staring into the middle distance like he could feel his younger brother making a move he could never quite bring himself to.

And for the rest of the dinner, he barely said a word.

That night, Charles didn’t go back to Cabin 4.

He couldn’t. Not after the dinner, not after the teasing, not after watching everyone laugh off something that made his stomach turn. The thought of seeing you—of seeing Arthur—in the same space made his skin itch. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He took Alexandra’s hand and quietly said, “Let’s get out of here tonight.”

No explanations. No drama. Just an escape.

They ended up at a small boutique hotel just ten minutes down the road. It was tucked into a quiet cove overlooking the sea, the kind of place couples chose when they wanted peace, privacy, and absolutely no brothers or ex-girlfriends within walking distance.

Charles had been increasingly aware that the tension between you and Arthur—whatever it was becoming—was starting to bleed into his relationship with Alexandra. She hadn’t said anything directly, but he could feel it. In the pauses between conversations. The quiet glances. The way her hand would slide out of his when you walked by.

Tonight, he wasn’t going to let that happen. He was going to be present. Grounded. He was going to focus on his girlfriend—on Alexandra—before he lost his grip entirely.

The hotel room was elegant and calm. Soft white sheets. A breeze through the balcony doors. He poured her a glass of wine while she took off her heels, and they talked for a while—about anything but the others.

About Monaco. About work. About the ocean.

And later, they fell asleep wrapped around each other, the sea whispering below, far from the chaos of cabins and pools and the strange tension of a summer that was slowly starting to shift in ways Charles hadn’t been ready for.

For the first time in weeks, he slept peacefully.

And so did Alexandra.

do you think i have forgotten about you? | arthur leclerc

fem!reader x arthur leclerc

2.8k words

in which you and arthur have been exchanging letters since childhood until one day, he stops.

a/n: just re-read five survive by holly jackson (5* read i def recommend 😛) !!! this is semi-inspired by arthur's letter to red and bc i miss the pen pal i had when i was like 10 :(

about you the 1975

March 29, 2007

To: Y/n

From: Arthur

⎯

April 10, 2007

To Arthur,

Hello! I'm Y/n, as you already know. I've been expecting your letter actually! My mother said you'd be writing. This is actually so cool I've always wanted a pen pal :o

- Y/n :)

⎯

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #fem!reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #arthur leclerc #al50 #arthur leclerc x reader #charles leclerc

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