#f1 monaco

[mclarengf]

[ahomeinthevoid]

It's all I can see

[verstappenpiastrif1leclercc]

Ohh I just thought of one actually after watching the Monaco GP, I like the idea of the reader and Charles been enemies on the track like always pushing each other off etc, however reader sees Charles getting a lot of hate for not getting pole in his home race, and in the final few laps reader has managed to over take Lando for the lead and realises how important the race is too Charles so holds Lando up and lets Charles take the lead (we all know that’s what max did too) and at the end he whispers thank you and they all make up and fluffy and kissy and she’s like I don’t know what your talking about,

It’ll never be the same

i am backkkkk and here is a soft small fic to celebrate 🥳

The sun had barely risen over the jewel-toned coast of Monaco, and yet the streets were already echoing with the high-pitched roar of engines. The city was alive electric with anticipation.

But none of it mattered to you. Not the cameras. Not the fans. Not even the podium dreams hanging in the air like saltwater mist.

Only one thing mattered today -: beating Charles Leclerc.

He was Monaco’s prince. The prodigy. The boy raised by the streets that now shaped into curves and chicanes under your tires. And you? You were the problem child of the paddock the one with enough fire in your blood to challenge a golden boy on his home turf. Every race weekend, it was the same. You and Charles locking wheels, hearts racing, always pushing the boundary between rivalry and war.

Last weekend in Imola, he ran you wide in Turn 6. The one before that in Miami, you boxed him in so tight he radioed Ferrari with a full symphony of curse words.

And Monaco? It was meant to be the crescendo

Qualifying was a mess. Charles had been the favourite fastest in all three practice sessions. But in Q3, he clipped the barrier in the swimming pool section. Just enough to kill the lap. The cameras caught his jaw tighten, his gloves clenched. The Monaco crowd went silent for him in a way they never did for anyone else.

And you? You were third on the grid, right behind Lando in P2, and Max in P1.

Charles was stuck in sixth.

You didn’t gloat. Not this time.

Because when you walked past him in the paddock that night and caught the press hounding him like vultures, microphones shoved too close, voices questioning if he’d ever win in Monaco you saw something you weren’t used to seeing in him.

Vulnerability.

And for once, it didn’t make you feel powerful. It made you ache.

Race day.

The air was heavy with heat and tension. The tarmac shimmered, and so did the stakes. As the lights went out, your instincts took over. You were flawless slipping past Max with a lunge into Sainte Devote, a calculated move that left even the commentators breathless.

Then, you hunted Lando lap after lap until, finally, on Lap 68, he braked just a touch too early at Rascasse. You pounced.

P1. You were leading Monaco.

And Charles? By some miracle strategy, brilliance, or sheer Monaco chaos he was now right behind Lando in P3.

The crowd was screaming. Your heart was thundering. You could taste champagne already.

But then

You glanced at the big screen. A replay.

Charles diving down the inside of Oscar a few laps earlier, wheel-to-wheel, sheer audacity. He was driving like a man possessed. But even more than that, the camera caught him in the cockpit silent, focused, jaw tight not angry.

Desperate.

This wasn’t about points for him. This was Monaco. It was family. Legacy. Ghosts he hadn’t laid to rest.

And suddenly, it hit you like a wall of G-force.

This wasn’t your win.

It never was.

You saw the narrowest window open as you exited the tunnel. Lando breathing down your neck, Charles closing in on him. You had the pace to hold both of them off. You should have.

Instead, you eased just slightly enough for your engineer to squawk confusion in your ears.

“Box? Why are you—wait, you’re slowing?”

You blocked Lando just enough. Not dirty. Just enough to give Charles the line he needed. He didn’t hesitate.

Lap 77. Charles overtook both of you in a move so clean, so poetic, the crowd erupted like firecrackers.

And you? You sat back and watched.

Let him take it.

Let Monaco give him back his soul.

Final lap.

You finished third. Lando second.

Charles? He crossed the line with a sob in his throat and a whole nation roaring his name. He did his cool-down lap with tears streaking his cheeks. You’d never seen him cry. Not even when you collided in Austria two seasons ago and he got a DNF because of it.

You waited by parc fermé, helmet still on.

He climbed out of the Ferrari, trembling. The moment his eyes found you through the crowd, something broke open.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

He walked up to you slowly, cautiously, like you were something holy and dangerous all at once. His hand curled around your wrist and leaned close, lips brushing the edge of your helmet.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Soft. Raw.

And your voice came through your visor before you could stop it.

A smirk ghosted your lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Later, on the balcony above the harbor, champagne in your hands, the sun melting into the Mediterranean, Charles found you again. No cameras. No crowd. Just sea breeze and silence.

You barely had time to react before his lips found yours gentle at first, then urgent, like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

When you pulled away, breathless and flushed, he laughed against your cheek.

“You’re still insufferable.”

“And you’re still a drama queen,” you replied.

His arms wound around your waist, forehead against yours.

But the rivalry? Still there. You could feel it under your skin, crackling like static.

Only now, it had teeth. And it had tenderness.

Monaco would never be the same again.

[loonylupinblack3]

Home Race

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles finally wins in Monaco and you're there to celebrate alongside him

Warnings: none i think? maybe slight suggestive content but very, very vague

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: I LITERALLY CAN'T EVEN IM SO HAPPY FOR CHARLES YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND 😭😭 THIS IS LIKE A DREAM

Your heart was bursting. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you ran through the paddock, ignoring the flash of the cameras. Charles had won. Charles had won in Monaco, his home race, a dream he’d held close to his heart for years but one he’d started losing hope for, year by year as luck went against him.

This year was different. You’d felt it in the air, as you arrived for the weekend. A hope, latching onto your heart, stronger than usual. There was a fevored excitement in the air that hadn’t been there before, as if the people of Monaco too knew this was the year Monaco would finally accept Charles, would let him win and feel that pure ecstasy of earning P1 in your home race.

People moved out of your way as you ran, smiles and congratulations following you. Fifth place was good; you could have done better, but a 5-6 for Red Bull was still an acceptable turnout, and you knew some teams on the grid couldn’t even dream of actually achieving a 5-6, so you were okay with your result.

It didn’t matter to you much though, not with your boyfriend having finally achieved his childhood dream of winning his home race. You could only imagine the emotions he must be feeling, the joy and shock of finally winning. The relief of finally feeling like maybe, maybe you do belong there, maybe you do deserve this. The overwhelming pure happiness of winning in your home, along your streets, full of people you know, your people, watching from balconies and screaming from stands. You couldn’t be happier for your boyfriend if you tried.

You made it to the crowd waiting beneath the podium, pushing yourself to the front. You stood out like a sore thumb with your navy Red Bull uniform against the sea of Ferrari red and yellow but you didn’t care, and no one else did either. Everyone had long ago gotten used to seeing Red Bull livery in the Ferrari garage and vice versa, the two of you always together no matter what team you’re on.

Today was no different, and you were pat on the back and had your shoulders squeezed by Ferrari engineers and employees, an honorary member of the team as they liked to call you. You craned your neck back to look at the podium, waiting with a grin for Charles to appear.

When he did you cheered alongside everyone else until your voice was hoarse, clapping your hands until they were raw. Charles spotted you immediately, like an iris in a sea of roses. His already ear splitting grin widened, eyes locked on you as he took his place in the middle of the podium.

You shared a smile, trying to show all the emotions you couldn’t put into words. Charles understood it; he always did, his gaze softening, smile morphing into something special, just for you. Your heart fluttered, even after all these years together, and your smile turned slightly shy, something Charles noticed if the way his grin turned into a smirk was any indication. 

You watched as he was awarded with his trophy, hugging the Prince of Monaco like an old friend, his hair windswept and eyes alight with an infectious joy. He grinned down at his team, at his fans, and at you. He had everything he wanted in front of him. The day could not get better.

You waited for him to get off the podium, hurrying to meet him at the Ferrari garage. When he finally made it there- being the winner of a grand prix made you a very busy person- his eyes immediately scanned the area for you, the corners of them crinkling from a smile when he found what he was looking for.

You ran up to him and threw your arms around him in a bone crushing hug, feeling so overwhelmingly happy for him. He mirrored your emotions, an iron grip on you as one hand wrapped around your waist and the other rested on your back, nestling his head into your hair.

You pressed kisses to the side of his head, and when you pulled back peppered his face in kisses too, the man laughing but indulging your antics, the both of you over the moon. He cupped your face in his hands when you were done, staring into your eyes, finding the same happiness he was feeling in them. You understood each other, cared for each other and both your achievements. His happiness was yours and vice versa.

He grinned, pulling you close for a kiss. There were cheers and teasing whistles as people watched, causing the two of you to smile against each other's lips. It wasn’t a long kiss- you’d save that for later when you were alone- but it was nice. It meant something, something only the two of you would understand and share.

You pulled back, letting Charles get dragged away and congratulated over and over, but he made sure you were close by, always catching your eye in the crowd, wanting to share this amazing moment with you.

You walked by his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as they travelled away from the garage to the docks by the harbour. By now some employees had left, and family friends had joined the group, creating a sea of colour rather than just red and yellow. You reached the docks and you took a safe step back from Charles, knowing what was about to happen.

Just like you expected, Charles took an unsuspecting Fred Vasseur’s shoulder, manoeuvring him to the edge, and with a strong shove pushed the man into the water, a spray of water droplets hitting the now laughing crowd.

Charles readied himself to jump in and you made sure your friends were recording- you hadn’t retrieved your phone after finishing the race- when Charles paused, turning towards you. Too late you realised what was about to happen, and by the time you started shaking your head Charles had you by the hips and jumped into the water, taking you down with him.

You let out a shriek as you hit the water, the cold enveloping you as your face went under. You could feel Charles’ hands leave your waist, so you both didn’t drown, and you swam up eagerly, gasping for breath when you broke through the water’s surface.

Charles came up shortly after, laughing and wiping his face. He saw you and gave you a cheeky grin, one you responded to by splashing him with water, the man exclaiming in surprise, his pleading mixed with laughter.

Before you could continue he had his arms wrapped around your waist and was tugging you to him, creating ripples through the water. You put your hands gently on his shoulders to balance yourself, smiling down at him.

“I love you,” you whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

Charles pressed his head against your chest, giving your waist a squeeze. “Thank you mon amour. I love you too. So much.” He pulled back to look at you, his eyes full of adoration, and gently peeled a strand of wet hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

[pomegranateuser]

Monaco Grand Prix 2026, moments before disaster.

[withloveiriss]

we literally just started what the fuck do you mean max is OUT

[indychanel]

congrats lando and oscar 🍾🧡

(pics from mclarens instagram)

[formulaicons]

charles leclerc icons

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