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pinkandgoldensoul · 3 months
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MV#1 || Domestic Silence || tape a
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: ̗̀➛ tape a of the 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 series If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.
pairing: max verstappen x female!reader genre: established relationship, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, mention of s*x without any description of it word count: 6.6k plot: drinking your disconnection from the world away, you forget your diary next to your glass of wine. Max can't help but read: what have you been hiding behind those lost and distant stares?
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«I’m home!» Max locked the front door and sighed, tiredness nestling inside his bones, shoulders finally falling in relaxation. He had attended a dinner downtown with Horner, Marko and some representatives of a new sponsor willing to ride the wave of success at Red Bull. Because of the business-driven and extremely formal setting, Max had thought it would be better if you didn’t come along with him, since he knew how boring dinners like these could turn and how much you had grown to despise them, through your father’s work. Plus, throughout the night, he would be able to hold onto your thought, wondering what you were doing instead, and anticipating the moment he would reach you.
He turned around and followed the dim light of the living room, unconsciously switching on the light when he halted at the door frame. You were sat down on the floor, hands slowly brushing the rug until you would lose sensitivity and a soft burn would cover your skin. You clung onto that feeling as an anchor to the world, as a sign you were physically present, licking your lips drenched in wine. It had started like every other night: you had come home, opened the cabinet where you would usually store bottles and grabbed a glass, drinking to unplug, to disconnect from yourself and let the alcohol flow until a pleasant numbness would enclose your senses. Still, now you desperately wanted to escape your thoughts and embrace feeling once again. You weakly smiled when you noticed his standing figure. «Welcome home.» you said, looking around you. Leaning onto the glass coffee table of the living room, you clumsily placed your wet fingers on your spread-open diary, wrinkling the once smooth, yellowish paper soaked in with ink and words. There was no sweeter pleasure than jotting down a flow of consciousness without fully being yourself: you may cry, twist your face in pain, laugh and whine in frustration, but always perceiving the warm buzz of alcohol softening feelings’ sharp edges and blossoming on your cheeks. Any time you decided to use wine as your socially acceptable but private emotional outlet, your diary was always beside you.
Max stirred a smile, quickly eyeing all the cues of the room and piecing them together. «Seems like I’ve missed a fun party.» he joked, raising the bottle of wine you had opened. «You can join now!» you brought up your glass as an invitation. «Don’t tempt me, it’s time to go to sleep.» He crouched down, studying the lost look your eyes threw at him. Max found your drunk ways teasingly cute, too much for him to bear without smiling and feeling the most endearing swell in the middle of his chest. «Let’s get up.» He took your hands and quickly lifted you up, with such a force you bumped inside his arms, holding onto him, scared you could fall back down. «I’m tired…» you slurred. Max wiped your cheek while checking whether you were wearing makeup he would remove, happy to see your skin was bare. «We’re going to bed, don’t worry.»
Going back to the living room, he got near the coffee table and reached out to the bottle to put it away, but his eyes inevitably fell on your diary: he then let the glass bump against glass, enamored with your calligraphy. He stared at it long enough to acknowledge his curiosity and be taken over by it; he grabbed it and sat down on the couch in religious silence, afraid to break the spell of violation. He took in hand the glass of wine you had left still full and got comfortable, in search of peace after a consuming night spent condescending sponsors.
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In the dark lit room, your eyes got used to the long gray shadows forming onto the rug beneath your thighs. You felt nothing but loneliness. With the lights off, it almost seemed like you were utterly alone on earth. The diary spread open, you were only able to write the same old shit every entry, because nothing has really changed: you still poured wine down your throat in search of disconnection, in search of peace, hoping it would help, knowing it wouldn’t. You didn’t know anything anymore. Every time you had tried to talk to Max about your feelings, words disappeared or got lost between your teeth, like you had never experienced or felt those things, so nothing was meant to be said. Max had shared anything with you, and you had too, for a while: but then something had inevitably shifted. Something had turned off, inside of you. Inside a bubble, you could only witness Max’s happiness without feeling included, him thinking he was living the same fairytale with you. How fucking miserable did you have to be? Getting drunk on the floor all by yourself, waiting for your boyfriend in the darkness, not able to be honest with him? What kind of future would your relationship have if you had completely lost the ability to connect with him, if you wouldn’t trust him?
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Max’s brain shut off, slowly internalizing those words. He flipped some of the previous pages, reading the entries’ dates, surprised to find that many, completely unaware of your secret emotional life.
Throughout the dinner, gazing down his feet, he had anticipated the sweet scent of your shampoo he so dearly loved whenever he would press his lips onto your nape, the pearly white of your teeth blinding him with a smile, the velvet caress of your fingertips upon his skin. He felt a particular type of comfort in coming back home, in your apartment, and dismissing his front to embrace his full range of emotions, exploring them with you and being intimate. After years of gray, turning off the volume of his soul not to feel hurt, not to feel fear, not to feel anger, not to feel regret, after falling in love with you he had begun acknowledging his own feelings more, carefully unveiling them, allowing himself to experience them, in a safe environment. What had made it safe in the first place was you being honest and vulnerable as well. Max had perceived a subtle shift, which he considered effect of time, of habit. You seemed more closed off, but he had always known you were more onto the introverted side of the spectrum: he would have never imagined something deeper would be at the route. But now he needed to dig deeper; he needed to know.
He quickly reached the first page, written in a hurry, full of whirls and small spots of ink.
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You hadn’t paid attention to the dress you had chosen for the night; you had been in a rush, since you had completely forgotten about the dinner your father was having, though he had profusely talked it out to you.
«It’s an important occasion, so I’d like you to be there with me.» «What is it? Boring investors?». «No, this time I am the investor. We’re hosting Christian Horner, do you remember him?» «Oh, yeah, I do. The energy drinkers.» Your dad deeply inhaled. «They’re… not, I’ve told you, they are running one of the most successful teams in motorsport.» «So… Are you trying to get on board and get a slice of success too? Bet they’re already packed with sponsors, if that’s the case.» «My investments and my plans for the future were compelling enough to persuade Red Bull’s team principal to hear about them even more as my guest, so I earned my slice with hard work. That’s real success, y/n.»
You had welcomed Horner and the small group of people accompanying him at the door; you had guided them through the glamourous hall of your family’s villa and reached the dining room with indifference; it was usual for you, an oiled ritual of circumstance smiles and premeditated words, calibrated. All predictable, except for the man who entered the room for last. A blue blazer, the shiniest white shirt and the most polished, neat and fine features you had ever seen in a human being. Ethereal, unreal, he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, hypnotizing your poor and lost eyes with such an insignificant gesture. «Y/n, I’m glad to introduce you to the best driver of the sport and the current world champion, Max Verstappen.» You completely neglected Horner’s words being directed towards you, as your attention was completely drawn to the enchanting eyes of that silent and unreadable creature, visibly contracted in attending such a formal event, yet relaxed and laid down. «Nice to meet you.» In a single second, your entire insensitive and confident façade had broken in pieces and let the sea of doubt water your thoughts: his polite manners made you feel inadequate and out of place, made you question everything about the way you looked, the way the dress fit, your choice of words, the judgement he had already formed about you. You had stopped being a lonely planet; you had entered his orb and started gravitating around him. «The dining room is this way.» you quietly breathed out, turning around and guiding them.
Anytime you were about to stuff a bite in your mouth or filled your glass, anytime you moved from your unfazed stillness, you felt a burning stare upon you, an unconditioned reflex of Max tracking you, scared to lose sight of you, curious about your gestures, and the burning would soon turn into ice blue whenever you crossed eyes. Studying each other from across the table, it was easy to stumble by chance on Max in the majestic balcony reserved for the guests to admire the garden your father had designed; it was easy to start a conversation, champagne in hand, and offer him a tour of your life wandering in the silent nature; it was easy to listen to his anecdotes and stories, hanging off his smiling lips, and it was definitely impossible not to rapidly fall in love with his charm, his unique humor, his both delicate and sharp ways, as he asked you to join him for a ride on his sportive car. Running away from business and obligations, on board with a stranger, you had never felt freer and safer in your whole life.
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Sardinia’s sun was just about to rise, a deep red disc painting the clouds orange, rippling the slow waves with gold. Enchanted by the view, taking in the heavenly peace of the moment, you leaned your head against Max’s shoulder, who was sitting next to you. He had invited you on his yacht, giving you the chance to live an Italian summer in his company, and he had demanded you’d see the sunrise with him. Getting up early had definitely been worth it. Wrapped by the same beach towel, you had whispered a conversation waiting for the sky show, enamored with the calm setting: nobody was around when you arrived at the dock and had sailed unseen. Your cheek still pressed on his warm skin, you wondered how you had managed to be so lucky and get to spend precious time with such a precious person. You and Max weren’t official yet, but you both knew you weren’t simply engaging in a platonic relationship, and that had been clear since the beginning. Though, you were walking one step at a time, without rushing into things, taking time to savor every milestone, as if you both had a limitless amount of time ahead of you which you were sure to spend together.
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The sun now burned bright and the sea had acquired its naturally bluish tint, speckled with white, luminous splinters of light. Coming back to your deck chair with a tube of sunscreen, you sat down and squeezed the plastic envelope to put some on and avoid a sunburn. «Do you want me to put it on your back?» «Oh, no, thanks! I can manage!» you said, patting a handful of cream behind your neck. Max looked at you, exhilarated, as you tried to reach with your fingertips your upper back, without great results. «Uhm… Maybe I could use some help…» Max shook his head in fake disapproval and sat behind you, carefully taking the tube away from your grab. «You gave up pretty fast.» he chuckled. «Just admit you wanted me to put suncream on you as soon as you walked on the deck.» Enjoying his gentle hands massaging and distributing the cream, you stuttered at his words. «What? No way. You were the one who was dying to and immediately offered help. You’re down for me so bad…» Max stopped his motions, leaving you hanging while he grabbed new cream upon his fingers, and surprised you both with the cold texture hitting your back and his reply. «You don’t need any more suncream, but you still haven’t stopped me and neither have you complained about it, so you must be down bad for me as well.» You both smiled without letting the other see it. That type of teasing had been going on for a few weeks already, and the small banters always ended with a silent, omitted, shared conclusion: you were in love with each other. It lingered in the air, but none of you had said it out loud yet. Letting Max’s arms encircle your shoulders while he leaned back into the deck chair taking you down onto his chest, softness dug into your heart: lost in the middle of the sea, cuddling together, kissed by the sun, nothing seemed as perfect. «I think I love you.» you whispered, hiding your flushed face against his arm. Max’s joyful giggle, paired with the quick peck he left on your cheek, made your heart flip around. «I love you too, silly! Thank God you said it, I couldn’t go on much more with this urge.» «Urge?» you asked. «Yes. The urge to say it. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.» he gazed in the distance. «Why did you wait then?» «Because I wanted to hear it from you first.» «You’re such a tease…» «And that’s why you love me, right?» You wished you could say he was wrong without shamelessly lying. After all, his carefree-self had brought a peace and gust of youth you would never give up on; the way Max was able to hit every soft spot amazed you, scared you, charmed you.
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It never felt right. Every time you heard your father speaking through the phone, addressing you with confidence and composure, perfectly measured, you were never able to understand where his voice came from. You knew it wasn’t him. You knew it couldn’t be. Maybe you had only imagined the words he had reserved for you in the past; they weren’t actually directed at you, they were never spitted out between your dad’s teeth in the outraged tone you remembered, they were never accompanied by his accusing pointer finger. Maybe it had always been a dream, an illusion. He had asked you once again to attend a gala, sure you would eventually give in to his persistence, and counting on the fact you would follow in his businessman footsteps. You had turned down the invitation without hesitation, to his dismay and surprise. He had tried to talk it out with you on the phone, only aggravating the situation, insensitive to your choice, until you had mentioned you weren’t feeling quite good physically. Who would ever want a pale, bored out daughter sitting at the table next to prestigious colleagues? He had dropped the topic right as you excused yourself and demanded you to rest and recover.
A foot pushing down the cushions of the couch, one cheek resting onto your brought-up knee, you heard the shuffling noise of metal clashing against metal, a distant signal Max had come back home. «Thanks for helping me with the bags, y/n, always so attentive.» he joked, speaking from the kitchen. «Y/n?» His steps were inaudible, but his presence was clear to you the second he approached the door. There was no need to talk or prompt any more questions: Max acknowledged your silence with patience, carefully taking a seat next to you. He stared at you with softness, and you wished you could dare to look at him, but your eyes were lost in a point ahead of you. As soon as his fingers brushed your skin to put a strand of hair behind your hair, tender, in an uncontrolled reaction, you felt the need to justify your behavior. «Dad.» you whispered. «It’s okay.» he kept brushing locks of hair upon the first one. «We don’t have to talk about it.» Lulled by the repetitive movements, you were, though, totally unresponsive to them, both physically and emotionally. You could see your hair lightly dancing on your shoulder as he put it in place, but you felt trapped inside a glass bell. «…be alright. You know that?» Max’s question dropped in silence. It was rhetorical, but he expected some sort of reaction from you. Your eyes dodged him, none of your muscles moved under his fingertips. He had never seen you so distant. He carefully placed his hand on the side of your head and pulled you close to his chest, getting comfortable on the couch. If he couldn’t get you to talk, at least he would cuddle you until you fell asleep inside his arms, amongst small kisses to your temple and caresses. And it worked. He felt your cheeks gradually warming, blossoming in red life, your body slightly shifting in the embrace. A lump of words was stuck in your throat, but you wanted to say something to Max. You wanted to at least try describing the veil that had you trapped in numbness. «Max…» you groaned. He simply hummed, listening. Every word faltered as you began summoning them and you were left with the only comfortable ones, residues of your intentions. «I love you.» Max’s arms couldn’t help but tighten the grab in affection, while his lips sealed the gesture on the top of your head. «I love you too, y/n.»
Your dad never really understood that you hadn’t become Max’s girlfriend as an excellent entrepreneur choice, tying your surname to his and therefore strengthening a contract the two of you had no interest in. He would never understand what love felt like.
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Max had anticipated a couple of scenarios as he entered the house party with his arm draped around your waist: he had imagined the two of you dancing together until dawn, drunk of joy for yet another race win; colorful shadows adorning your face in the dark of the floor, sure you would stand out and shine of light to his eyes; giggling as idiots while coming back home holding each other. He hadn’t anticipated the one he was in. Head buzzing, Max searched for your scent, for your clothes, for your hair, for your eyes through the packed venue, incapable of relief as you seemed to have disappeared without warning. He had already asked everybody about you, to no avail; he had checked the restroom at the ground floor, he had even waited for people to come out to see if you had simply gone to the bathroom, but you were nowhere to be found. Max’s head was starting to spin. Flinging his head in every direction to search for you clearly wasn’t helping.
He adventured upstairs and, annoyingly enough, it was quite easy to find you: one of the guestroom’s doors was open enough for him to recognize your shoes hanging off the bed. Max immediately pushed the knob and was inevitably left confused by what he saw. You were laying down on the white duvet, staring at the ceiling, without moving a muscle. «Y/n, what are you doing?» Max asked, swallowing as his head pulsed in pain. Instead of answering, a faint breath escaped your lips, and the shadow of a smile appeared on them. «Am I floating?» «Sorry?» Max kneeled down near the bed, in order to hear your mumbles. «Am I floating?» He got lost in the silence that followed, digging in your enlarged pupils, incapable of making sense of the soft words you muttered between unexplainable giggles. «I’m floating alone, Max. Look at me.» «Y/n, you’re…» On a bed, that’s what Max wanted to say; but his words died as soon as tears were springing from the corner of your eyes, crossing your temple. His eyebrows clashed in confusion and alarm, but your deaf laugh, concealing your sobs, worried him even more. «Are you okay? Y/n, what’s wrong?» The lightweight of his thumb swiping your tears came softened to your senses. «I can’t feel it…» «What are you talking about?» Max said, massaging his aching forehead in order to soothe his headache. «I can’t feel it, Max.» «What’s the matter? What aren’t you feeling?» The surrendered and pleading tone he addressed you with broke every wall. «I can’t feel anything.» It was a whisper, but Max didn’t let it slide easily: it played in his mind non-stop, incessant, oppressive, so hard to process it ran him mad. And the only reaction offered after an unmanageable and incomprehensible statement was frustration. «C’mon, let’s go home.» Your teary eyes looked at him for the first time since he had stepped into the room, left confused by the collected order. «Let’s go home, y/n.» he tried to persuade you with a calmer tone this time, gently helping you up into a sitting position. To be honest, you were too shit faced to even properly stand on your own, let alone walk out the house on your feet without Max’s help. His arms felt so warm and secure around you to the point you couldn’t help but scoff a smile while sniffing, going downstairs. And when his hands abandoned your body, you felt lost, like a kid at the store who can’t see her parents anymore around the countless shelves, scared of the unknown faces. «Give me a second and we’ll leave, okay? One second, I’ll be back.»
Max stormed into the large kitchen, now almost emptied due to the intense dancing happening in the living room: that only made his objective easier to accomplish. In a few strides, Max reached the counters and rummaged through the bottles, opened and closed the cabinets in furious motions, quickly scattering glass left and right, before turning towards the poor barman called for the evening and spitting out word of fire against him. «What the fuck did you give to my girlfriend?» He was desperately trying not to leash out on that young boy, visibly terrified at his accusation, but the trail of gin tonics he had downed throughout the night wouldn’t offer much help. «I-I don’t even know who she is…» the bartender answered, shaking. «Don’t fuck with me, you saw us here before the party even started.» Max got closer, boring his eyes into the man’s frightened ones. «She… She came here once and- and she asked if we had red wine, but I told her there wasn’t any.» «You didn’t pour for her any fancy high alcohol content shit you motherfuckers always hide, right?» «No, no, I swear! You can check anywhere, if you want!» «I’ve got no time to waste with you, dude.» Max snorted and shook his head as he walked off the kitchen and frantically searched for you; luckily, he immediately spotted you right where he had left you, lost, by the stairs. Only approaching you and feeling your tender hands gripping his forearms tight, glancing at him with glistening eyes, Max felt his heart cave and hurt for your state. «Can we please go home?» you asked with trembling voice. Max engulfed you in a hug and left a kiss on the side of your head, caressing your back while you quietly sobbed against his chest. «Yes. We’re going home.»
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Max loved being invited to your father’s dinner nights. It wasn’t for his presence, of course: he actually quite despised the annoyed and avoidant look in your eyes, attributable to him. Max didn’t even fall in love with the spectacular mansion your dad would flaunt in front of his clients and partners, finely adorned with the most kitsch style he had witnessed in his life. Your dad’s cars could be appealing to him, though, but the collection definitely wasn’t what he enjoyed the most. If there was anything that those nights could provide the both of you with and that no other circumstance would ever top, it was the intense and inevitable sensual attraction building up throughout the evening between the two of you. The rapid glances thrown at each other, him knowing you couldn’t wait to run away from the set table, you buying into his unnoticeable smirks were the first signals of on-going teasing; then you would both unconsciously filling your glasses a bit more often, drinking smiles and desires away, before the two of you would excuses yourselves early and rush down the hall, under the disappointed but not surprised glance of your father, not leaving the house until you had released a bit of yearning with a sloppy kiss against the car door.
There was an unexplainable thrill coursing through Max’s fingers gripping the steering wheel in speeding back home, anticipating the sweetest ending to the night, breaths overlaying and filling up the car with tension, interrupted by your faint requests of slowing down. He knew none of you wanted the ride to last any second longer. And every time he would receive confirmation by the way you both assaulted each other’s lips as soon as the door clicked open, shutting down any other thought or worry. It was only you and him.
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The teasing had grown unbearable for you that night. Not even being able to savor Max’s touch inside the walls of your cozy apartment could relieve your desire, always begging him to lean closer, to kiss deeper, to give you more of his undivided attention. «Please, Max…» you pleaded in-between the messy kiss. «I need you so bad.» Max was quick to reach behind your back and pull down the zip of your dress, covering every centimeter of the bare skin just exposed with the gesture right as it was displayed before his eager eyes. Fingers running through the locks of his hair, you had never seen him so passionate and utterly dedicated to pleasuring you as much as he could, never stopping the trail of open-mouthed kisses under your collarbone, slowly shifting down to your chest, tantalizing, taking his time. Quiet whines escaped your lips, fruit of dissatisfaction, obliging Max to lift his eyes up and address your unexpected behavior. «Am I doing something wrong?» The uncertainty in his words pained you enough to close the gap and warm his chest with a passionate kiss, while you desperately tried to shake off the feeling of restlessness tingling your body. You could see Max was doing everything just right; his hands were all over you, as much as his plump lips, as much as his eyes searching for your reaction to his touch. You were his only worry, his only care. But you couldn’t feel it. It was too late when you felt yourself slip away and look at the scene from above, over your head, in a timeless space, as an outsider, not in charge of your limbs anymore. You knew your hands were touching him, and that you were supposed to brush his fine strands of hair, the ones you’d get lost staring at while cuddling, but you were met with a stone-cold insensitivity. And every time Max whispered some sort of reassurance – “Do you like it, baby?” – or boldly murmured under his breath an “I’m going to make you feel good”, you gripped him tighter, you held him closer, without getting to be awarded by the warmth of his embrace which you were desperately seeking for. «Max…» There was no way you could prevent your voice from pleading, almost veiled with fear, since the idea of not feeling close to you the person you loved the most made you bare and naked, a shivering mess before the terrifying thought of loneliness. He slowly halted his movements, hovering his head upon yours, sweetly looking down at your furrowed brows. «I’m here.» His hot breath fanned on the crook of your neck, on which he left peppering kisses all over, trailing back down where he was, and you were left with a boiling lake of feelings both blooming in your stomach and in the middle of your chest, overwhelming.
Making love to him, you cried for the first time in front of him after months; he cradled you so softly, wiping tears away from your face pressed against his arm, as you plastered a kiss on it. He didn’t ask you anything, even though he had tried to stop as soon as he had noticed. Your hands pressing him back onto you, your lips whimpering and begging him to carry on had nurtured a caretaking love for you, tender, fragile, vulnerable, but uniquely crafted. It was only natural for the both of you to breathe out “I love you”s against each other’s skin right as you got off, resting tangled up, tired but satisfied, incapable of depriving yourselves of the warm touch. Finding peace staring at his flushed cheeks and at the blondish curve of his eyelashes, you bittersweetly came to terms with the fact that Max was the only one able to drag you out of numbness, lulling you into consciousness, wishing you would feel instead of wanting to drown out the world. And you had never been more scared in your life. There was no such a risk as not being able to perceive his touch, his painfully gentle caresses, his delightful kisses. His undying love. Cupping his cheek, you let another tear cross yours. He was tired, and you had neglected his feelings for a while. You wondered how he was capable of handling everything so well, perfectly dealing with being a Formula One world champion, an amazing partner, a beautiful human being. Compared to him, you felt miserable. Yet, you couldn’t help but wish he’d never notice, so that you could share that love a couple minutes more, nestled against him, completely safe within his hug.
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The water was lukewarm. You wished it still emanated the boiling heat which comforted your soul and distended all your muscles, but you had been sitting still inside the bathtub for long enough to let it cool down. The soap had stopped plopping in bubbles, merged down the water, tinting it whitish. You had run the bath to relax, but tiredness weighed your limbs, resting on the ceramic as if rocks tied them down. Your eyes felt heavy. Nothing in your headspace. Nothing. Peace. «Nah, sorry, I’m not coming.» Max. You heard him talking on the phone. «… No, I’m not a child, you know?» You slowly stirred your fingers in the water, you shifted in your sitting position. «We talked about this already, I told you I’m busy.» Your knees buckled up, pressed against one another, with your palms resting upon them. «So what? If you have a problem with it, it’s your business, not mine.» Listening carefully to the conversation, you began running your soapery hands up and down your arms, rubbing your legs, your nape, your shoulders, ‘til a veil of pink showed through, beneath the bubbles. «I really don’t get what’s the point of this. What’s your problem?» Intensive rubbing needs rinsing: you dived down the water, hiding from chaos, refusing to listen to those words wakening rivulets of unwelcome memories. Lulled by the water, you tried to ignore the knot in your throat, the pressure of your father’s voice pulsing in your head like a drill, your lungs longing for air.
I wish you were a better daughter
A small slip of your brain, and water was crawling inside your nose, falling down your throat. Your hands frantically searched for the edge of the bathtub, gripping it as best as the wet skin could allow, propping you up with an abrupt motion which rocked the water in a violent wave. You coughed uncontrollably, immediately spitting the hate, the sorrow, the fear with the water you had inhaled. But how could you get rid of the fear at the bottom of your lungs, of the disgust at the pit of your stomach? «You okay?» Max knocked at the door. Trying to answer him, you kept coughing.
I didn’t have a kid to have her living at my expenses until I die
You dug your nails in your skin, leaned your forehead between your joined knees. Would you ever grow out of that nightmare? Would you ever live your life with your father completely out of the picture? «I’m coming in.» Why did he warn you? Why did he have to be so sickly respectful of you in any given circumstance? Why hadn’t you met him earlier? «Did you breathe water in?» He ran a hand on your wet hair, caressing it with care as you finally stopped coughing. You simply nodded, head still buried down. «Did you get scared?» You then finally looked at him. How on earth such a lovely and tender human being could blossom from such a traumatic upbringing? A little voice inside of you urged to answer “Yes, I did”: every time your dad had raised his voice against you, every time you had seen disapproval in his stare, every time you had hidden behind the wooden door of your room. You had lived in fear. And it was so difficult to experience such a pure and delicate love after hurt. «Do you want me to rinse your hair with the shower head? It’s still full of soap.» No parts of you opposed his hands moving your shoulders towards his side of the bathtub, so that he could properly see your scalp, while he rinsed off the white dust of memories from your head.
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You had seen the day spiraling right as you had started it. Missed the flight, almost lost your luggage, failed to find the address of the hotel and had to ask Max, busy with media duties, to pick you up. Seeing him drop 16th in qualifying for mechanical issues caused during free practice was the last straw of a bad day. «I told them to check everything and still we had the same fucking issue! I fucking knew it! They were all joking and laughing when I entered the box at the beginning of Q1 and nobody did what they’re paid to do!» Max furiously paced up and down the preparation room, in which he had locked the two of you, trying to calm down. «Maybe they didn’t expect the damage to be that serious, since they haven’t had a lot of time to verify…» He dead stopped, looking at you with mad eyes. «I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, y/n! It’s their damn job! Why the fuck are you defending them?!» You swallowed hard, fingers opening and closing uncontrolled. It was the first time you had seen him getting furious and taking it out on you, something you clearly weren’t ready to face yet. A fire trail of words grew in your chest, fueled by an unknown rage, combined to the uncontrollable twitching of your chin. «Don’t ever talk to me like that again.» you whispered. Max, who had got back to walking back and forth passing a hand through his hair in frustration, turned towards you, taken by surprise. «Don’t ever yell at me again, understood?! I-I’m not someone who’s going to tolerate being screamed at! I’m not that type of person!» Coming down from his adrenaline high, Max’s brows clashed in a soft and regretful expression, slowly getting closer to you. «I would never withstand this kind of treatment, okay?!» His arms engulfed you in a hug full of sorry’s and exasperation, which you held on to. «I’m not weak!» you cried out. Max looked at you, eyes brimming in sadness, and carefully dried tears you didn’t know had been running down your skin. «You’ve been nice to me all day and I disrespected you in return… That was shitty of me. I’m sorry, I’m just- You didn’t deserve this. Nobody does.» Vanished. Your bravery was thrown to the wind by those simple words. Your fears, your anxiety all torn apart like scrap paper: Max transmuted every demon into a beautiful origami, solved, nicely crafted, snatched from chaos. Max pressed a kiss on your cheek and stared at you. «I’m cancelling any plan tonight so that we can stay together, if you’d like to, of course.» An involuntary smile bloomed on your lips. «As if I’d ever decline.»
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Max, despite the effort, couldn’t stray his eyes away from the page. A myriad of questions, doubts and sad truths had invested him and dragged his body down towards the couch, paralyzing him. You didn’t like talking about your dad and he had always respected your choice, since the same went for him; but he had never imagined something deeper, something he both didn’t and did want to know more about was boiling beneath the surface. The thought you had been treated poorly as a daughter made him sick. «Max, can you come cuddle? I can’t sleep without-» He tilted his head towards your sleepy self, who had just walked in on him reading your diary comfortably sat in the living room, undisturbed. Clarity of mind lost in the drinking session of the evening, you bursted crying as soon as Max got up from the sofa and approached you with sorrow painted in his eyes. You didn’t know what he had read, but it was almost as if you did. His reaction was the biggest clue you could be ever given. «You no longer need to deal with him alone.» he planted a kiss on the side of your head. «We’ll face him together.» «I don’t want to face him…» you sobbed, grabbing his shirt tighter. «I’d like to never see him again.» «You don’t owe him a single thing, y/n. Financially providing for you was a duty, not something he can blackmail you with and make you feel guilty about.» Max said, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear. «I promise we’ll have a beautiful life and I’ll help you forget about him. You deserve so much better…» You leaned your wet cheek on his hand cupping your face, carved up by the love you felt for him. «I thought I couldn’t love you more.» you managed to say. Max captured your lips in a quick kiss, born from a raptus of affection he didn’t stop. «Let me love you like you do, then.»
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Finally hereeeeeeee! Thanks for waiting with patience, as always! Huge props and a love shower (?) to whoever will leave a note of feedback ♥ You have no idea how much I appreciate those who do! ♥
If you haven't already, you can check tape b of this series here! Otherwise...
✧ ˚ · . Wish you a blissful day . · ˚✧
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dunkin-deeznuts · 1 year
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Me: “Hey bud don’t waste a portion of your life trying to make spoopdog a thing, thats time in your life you won’t be able to get back”
Spoopdog:
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brookheimer · 3 months
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awards shows are ridiculous and asinine and are everything wrong with the entertainment industry. that is unless my favorites win in which case awards shows are wonderful and objective and are arbiters of merit and justice in a world devoid of true talent recognition
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s1mpl3sp0ng3 · 5 months
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sometimes i watch golden girls and i just tear up remembering everything each cast member did for the queer community
estelle getty lost her nephew to AIDS and moved in with him during the last months of his life to take care of him. she started a foundation that cares for people affected by AIDS that's still there to this day. she saw one of the writers on her show was queer, walked right up to him and said "you're one of us!" and promised to protect him. she put her career on the line to become an outspoken ally of AIDS patients at a time when it would've been career suicide
bea arthur was a staunch gay and trans ally who donated a lot of her time and money to helping homeless lgbt youth. when she died, she left them thousands of dollars to stay afloat after she was gone. she was incredibly socially active in the queer community!
rue mcclanahan was a staunch advocate of marriage rights for gay couples and openly devoted her time and money for the fight for equality. she also openly participated in queer spaces and loved the community with her entire heart. she was intimately aware of gay mens' particular love for her character blanche and she fully embraced it
everybody knows by now about betty white's activism, but i'll say it anyway. not only did she join the fight for marriage equality, but she was a great mother to her lesbian stepdaughter. she participated in anti-bullying campaigns specifically against lgbt youth. she accompanied liberace to events because it wasn't safe for him to be out. she loved us and she fought for us just like the others
all four of them did SO MANY amazing things for us, and it makes me happy that we had people like them -- that we still do in people like dolly parton! we didn't deserve them. i wish i could've met all of them and told them how grateful i am!
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astrolavas · 9 months
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2 years of The Brainrot (happy hunting palismen anniversary)
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smallpapers · 1 year
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thank you for loving me
(Edit: now available as a print!)
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They really gave Disney a couple of nominations in the Golden Globes just because they had to and not because they deserved it. Because how the fuck do you explain fucking Wish being on this list and not Nimona???
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krazieka2 · 9 months
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umiao · 2 months
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let's go lesbians let's go!!!
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so many british actors are so so posh it’s a whole different level of nepo baby like you look them up on wikipedia and not only do their parents have wikipedia articles but their FAMILY has its own wikipedia article and you have to learn what peerage means… so when you give me an actress with a strong northern accent who grew up in a working class family in manchester yes i AM going to be immediately biased toward her
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pinkandgoldensoul · 6 months
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CL#16 || Secret Motives || Oneshot
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If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.
pairing: charles leclerc x female f1 driver!reader plot: nothing in your life came easy, and so did f1: facing hardship in your first year at Alfa Romeo, you are met with a familiar face, Charles'. Supporting each other and spending time together will inevitably bind two souls that seemed meant to be or, as someone could put it, that were predestined. genre: friends to lovers, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: mention of death (not reader's), mentions of grief, dieting and struggles with self-image, car crash, swearing, insecurities If any of the things above might trigger you, please DO NOT INTERACT. Take care of your mental health and stay away from triggers, please ♥ other notes: set in an alternative-not-really-defined 2023 season word count: 19.1k (feel free to use dividers to split the reading into chunks!)
Hope you enjoy it ♥ If you do, please let me know! Thanks in advance to whoever will like, reblog and comment!
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Black. Blank. Silence. Calm. After speed, tension and rush, after the chaos and the endless chasing of time, after the high-pitched sound of the engine pierced in your brain as a usual background noise, mixed to the incessant heartbeats dictating sharp breaths, at last, stillness came. A peaceful void.
The voices of the press, of other people's expectations, of your team’s, of yours, they dissipated under the heat of the Spanish sun and they flew away with the wind's gusts. They were nothing but an agglomeration of words, sounds without shape, content without form, thus lacking meaning. You weren't underwater, but it felt like it: floating, soft, every sensation coming to you muffled, delayed, lightened.
You blinked. Imperceptibly moving your fingers, you listened to the rhythm of your heartbeats slowing down, as adrenaline gradually decreased. Your heart was pulsing harder, compelled to pump more blood in a reduced pace. «...okay? Y/n, are you okay? Can you hear me?» You heard your engineer's voice without listening. He didn't sound that worried, to be honest. You didn't care that much either. «Y/n, radio check.» A warm flush radiated through your cheeks, a tickling feeling formed in your throat, and you let out a choked cry: you were suffocating. «Can you hear me?» You let out a cough, unable to breathe. Was it… it? Was that how it felt like to die? At the thought, your mind emptied once again, enjoying the kaleidoscope of light dots dancing before your eyes in a disorganized pattern.
A sudden yelp of the crowd partly awoke you. You'd had a crash. Your car had smashed against the wall at turn 14, probably at around 120 kph; your hands had immediately left the steering wheel before the impact and were now lying lifeless onto your lap, unable to move and possibly switch the radio on, in case you could talk. But you couldn't. Not a single word would come out of your lips, parted under the balaclava, either to speak or try to breathe.
Right as you gave up to the choking clench, expecting it to hurt, to release the pressure building up in your throat and drift into unconsciousness, you noticed a shadow protecting you from the intense heat of the sun. Something tugged your seatbelt and, as soon as it loosened, your whole chest took the most out of that freedom, spasming in search of air, while panting and coughing. Something turned into a pair of hands grabbing your shoulders and carefully squeezing them, probably to get a reaction out of you. Gasping for air, you finally raised your head and your sight welcomed a bright, deep red suit, occupying your entire vision; some muffled words came from the Ferrari driver and got mixed with your engineer's voice, who kept trying to assess your state. Then, in a moment of radio silence, you captured the message of the man screaming under his helmet. Are you okay? For a second, you felt the impulse sent by your brain which asked your muscles to smile. Dying inside your cockpit after a crash, staring at his sparkling eyes could've been... sweet. Your seat in Alfa Romeo would've never been questioned again; your career in F1 would've come to a stop not due to the media's opinion or the team’s decision; you would've been remembered, politics and discussions aside, female or not. Everything you had been wanting to fix in your life, every bad habit, regret, nostalgia and sadness would disappear. But after giving in to the idea for hundredths of seconds, you immediately swept the thought away: how irrational and terribly stupid to think death could solve anything. And the mere possibility it could be used to enhance the narration of "women cannot drive in F1 and y/n's death is a clear example of it" killed you more than G force ever could. The face of your mother covered in tears while watching the race, sitting on the couch and sniffling with a tissue in hand started haunting you without a break. And watching him, bent over, trying to rescue you, eyes wide in alarm, couldn't help but make you feel miserable and ridiculous for even considering such a scenario.
With a shaking hand, you gestured your difficulties in breathing, bringing it near the throat. FUCK! A yell of frustration from him, another pant of struggle from you. Charles needed to get you out of the car, but didn’t know whether you had trouble walking, if your legs were fine after the shunt towards the barrier, if you would pass out while he was panicking trying to decide what to do. He carefully placed his hands under your armpits, beginning to lift you up; he did it with ease as you matched the movement and his effort with your hands and feet. «Oh dear! We’re so glad to see y/n out of the car!» As you kept breathing erratic and frenzy, Charles frenetically reached under your chin to help you remove the helmet and got rid of your balaclava, so that you could have an easier access to fresh air. «And we can see that Leclerc is taking off y/n’s helmet with quite a bit of rush! Hopefully everything’s okay…»
You inhaled and exhaled quite harshly, brows knitted in the effort and the struggle of the task; Charles’ hands prevented your chest from bending forward and crouching down, keeping you up and steady despite your body’s will to cave in. «Right now, Charles Leclerc is… calling for some help from the marshals, I think.» «SHE NEEDS HELP, come on!» The visor of his helmet was lifted, so that you could see his eyes searching for reassurances, which you were unable to provide. His concern pained you and only made you hyperventilate more, trying to get to talk. «Does your back hurt? Is it your ribs? Your head?» he kept asking with insistence and worry. The lost and shattered look inside your eyes gave a simple answer: You had no idea.
«Yeah, he’s gesturing towards them, he wants them to come closer… And look, he’s talking to her, probably making sure she’s alright.»
«Try breathing slower and deeply, like this. Does it still hurt?» Your fingers gripped tight his arms, reciprocating the hold Charles had on yours.
«It was a huge shunt, and it’s not hard to believe she’ll need to undergo some checking at the medical center.» «Not hard to believe indeed, considering the great crash we witnessed at lap 18 of the Spanish Grand Prix…»
You didn’t notice the medical car had arrived until you saw two doctors coming out and jogging on the gravel towards you and Charles. One of them, against your will, moved you away from Charles’ reassuring grab and began talking to you; while his words blurred in the heat and merged with the loud cheers of the crowd, your eyes were fixed upon the Ferrari driver in front of you, who was busy discussing with the other doctor.
You vainly tried to focus on his suit, on the mark the balaclava had gently pressed onto his skin, on his lips moving to articulate sounds and sentences you failed to grasp: his sight cradled you, calmed you down and helped you slowly regaining control over your breath, as you noticed your body being guided towards the ambulance which had just arrived, reluctantly letting go of Charles’ presence. # «Miss, could you please tell me your name?» You crossed your arms, visibly annoyed. «I’m y/n, I’m okay and I know I’ve had a crash.» you replied, annoyed.
The doctor flipped a page of the results from the exams they had run and then sighed, almost amused at your stubbornness. «Miss, from the data the race control has sent us, you’ve had a 17G impact, and the driver who aided you reported you had problems regaining your breath right after the shunt. You might feel fine right now due to relatively high levels of adrenaline, but it is not something meant to be underestimated.» he smiled politely. «May I go on?» You lightly nodded, pensive. You had no measure of comparison when it came to G-force in accidents, but it had definitely been the worst you had got into. No questions. «Do you remember the dynamic of the crash?» You hesitated, staring into the void in search of those moments; as the scene unfolded before your eyes, you began speaking. «I was behind Cha- I mean, Leclerc. I think he made a mistake at turn 13 and I was quicker than him in the last corner, so I wanted to overtake him before the main straight.» Unsure whether you had to continue or stop the report, you glanced at the doctor, who simply waited, silent. «Uhm… Yeah. Since I thought Charles would keep the outer line, I tried to overtake him on the inside. It didn’t work, obviously.» you snorted, sarcastic and let down by your own move. What a stupid choice.
«I shouldn’t have been so daring and optimistic.» you added. «If it helps, Leclerc didn’t seem upset at you at all about that move.» the doctor smiled in reassurance. Reasoning on his words, your eyes went wide, since only at those it struck you. You had taken Charles out of the race. For some unexplainable cause, you hadn’t considered it; seeing him helping you out felt too good to be true, a fairytale dream in which Charles had pulled over and deliberately stopped driving his race to rescue you. Of course, you had dragged him into your mistake, potentially causing damage to his car and putting his life at risk as well. What a reckless, inconsiderate move.
«Is he okay??» you asked, urge laced in your tone. «Yes. His car stopped before impacting against the barriers because of the angle in which you two touched.» the doctor calmly explained. «He was a little bit slower than you as he entered the corner and he spun a little, so your trajectories towards the wall were different.» With lost eyes, you stared once again at the void. It was your third crash of the season. At the Albert Park’s circuit, a collision at the restart had ruined your race. In Monaco, well… It had been your mistake, in qualifying, and it had prevented you from starting in the grid on Sunday. And now Montmelò. The worst shunt out of the three, which would cost a fortune to the team. You closed your eyes, defeated. You knew it would be tough, you’d always known, ‘cause it had always been.
«So, now you’ll be taken to the nearest hospital just for some more routine exams we couldn’t take here, but you should be fine.» the doctor said, standing up. «Take care, miss.» You shook the hand he had offered you, a tad confused, and turning around you were met by your assistant’s worried face. She was in her first year at Alfa Romeo as well; you hadn’t had the time to bond with her deeply, but she probably was the only one you fully trusted in the whole team. Which wasn’t ideal. # «So? Any news?» «They told me they’re taking her to the hospital for further checks, but she seems to be fine.» «Are you sure? She had serious problems breathing…» «Well, all the drivers are breathless after a huge shunt. But you know this better than I do.» Charles sighed at his manager’s words.
He had walked back to the hospitality, got changed and contacted Nicholas Todt right after, in search of news from the primary source. Then, strolling towards the media pen for the routine mid-race interviews after a crash occurred, he had spent the last twenty minutes insistently asking himself what had caused such a contact: he needed to look at some on boards to get it clear, but he wanted to talk it out with you, still worried about your conditions and confused by your driving behavior. He didn’t expect you to try for an overtake there. He wouldn’t expect any driver to. It just… didn’t make sense, for a driver like you.
When he saw you arriving at the pen with your assistant, Charles couldn’t help but leave hanging the journalist who had just begun introducing her question.       His approach took you off guard, but you deeply inhaled, definitely not shocked to have him searching for explanations. «I thought you were doing some other checks at the hospital. Are you alright?» he asked, barely audible. «Yes, it was just… uhm… routine stuff. You know, for the deceleration of the impact.» «Thank God.» he let out, in a sigh, looking elsewhere. «Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your race… And put you in danger, of course… It- I thought there was a gap since you were going a bit slower than me, but it was nonetheless a terrible idea, and-» «Don’t worry about my race, I was struggling massively with the tires anyway.» Charles smiled, half trying to calm you down, half downplaying his frustration. «But you’re right, I made a mistake. I should’ve paid more attention to you. You know, I’m not used to rookies going at the speed of light and not having any mercy.» His gentleman smile sparked some light inside of you as well, and you naturally mimicked him. Something… something about the look in his eyes reminded of a distant memory you couldn’t pinpoint. You just shrugged it off: your assistant gently touched your shoulder, suggesting it was time to feed journalists with well-crafted lies. ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼ Ice cream wrapped around his fingers, he stood next to the fence watching Arthur’s kart speeding past him, waiting for him to jump off the seat and let him hit drive to the limit once again. It was Sunday, but it had rained throughout the night, so the track was green - little to no grip available for the small tires to hold on to - and, because of it, empty. No one had dared to show up in such conditions, except for, that is, two families: Leclerc's and yours. You had never properly introduced yourself to each other before that day, but you were well aware of the phenomenal performances of the fifteen years old guy eating ice-cream with his suit hanging off, ruffled hair, focused on the action. You had raced once against Arthur, his younger brother, but stupidly enough you didn't expect them to be related. Seeing the entire family at the track was unusual, indeed.
«How did the tires feel?» your father asked you. «Good, but…» «But?» your father prompted. «…but some corners are very slippery.» Undisturbed, your eyes didn't fall upon your dad's face once, lost in contemplation. It was only natural for you to miss the other question he addressed, since you were still staring at the white-suited boy, a hand gripping the metallic mesh of the fence. «Y/n?» «Uh?» «Are you listening?» he raised a brow, skeptical. «Sorry. What was the question?» you shrugged. Your dad, subtly, glanced at the point you had been staring, immediately noticing the spark of your interest. «I asked if… if you want to have a snack. It's almost lunch time.» he asked, glancing at his watch. «Yes! I'm hungry!»
You both came back with a sandwich in hand, chit chatting about the upcoming race and your latest performances. Before you could make it back to your van, heavy bullets of rain hit your skin and head: the dark clouds covering the track had turned into a waterfall without any warning. You both ran to your kart, trying to cover the seat so it wouldn't get soaked, putting two umbrellas over it, but depriving yourselves of repair. «Let's go in the trunk!» The air was humid and thick. You sat next to your dad, staring at the rain, him with crossed legs, you with a cheek resting on one of raised knees. He looked at you and laughed at your antics. «Don't be so sad, y/n. You put in a lot of laps yesterday.» «But I wanted to do more. Now we're stuck here and we can't do anything.» «That's not true. We can… enjoy the moment. Look up there, the clouds cover the treetops.» You turned your head towards the point he was showing you, but your eyes were soon caught by a figure walking towards the two of you, under a red umbrella. «Do you need help with the kart?» the man asked, with a thick French accent. You stared at your dad, only to see him indifferent to the offer. «No, thanks, we're good.» You almost rolled your eyes. He was a proud man. He had sacrificed a lot to make you enter the karting world and didn't want you to be considered less of a serious competitor because of money and facilities: you already had to face the prejudices of being a girl. He didn’t like getting help from others, since he had always provided you with everything, and wasn’t willing to give in, at all. «Uhm… I think it would be better to put the kart under our gazebo.» the man said, pointing at it. «It isn't big, but it's better than nothing.» While your father pondered the proposal, you enthusiastically smiled and thanked the man, running towards the kart and starting to push the cart. As you both placed the kart next to theirs, the man - Arthur's father - got near your once again. «We have some ice-cream, if you're hungry.» Your eyes sparkled, and your father knew there was no way of stopping you. Hervé, that was his name, called someone in French words and spoke words you were unable to understand. Your dad first smiled at you, enjoying the smile lighting up your face, then looked back at Hervé Leclerc. «Thanks for… all of this. But… Why…?» Hervé interrupted him. «I know what it feels like to give up everything for your child's dream. I respect you and your daughter a lot. We don't have a lot either, but I'm happy to share it with you.» Your father, stunned, at a loss of words, didn't get the chance to thank the man again, as Arthur and his brothers stormed with a box of ice-cream, yelling in thrill and joy as they chased each other.
A bit unsure, you waited for Arthur to serve himself first, then got near and looked at the flavors, indecisive. «Hazelnut is the best.» you heard behind you. Turning your head, you crossed a pair of big, bright, dreamy green eyes. Your heart was flinging towards them, and you felt so enchanted you wanted to show to everybody such a beautiful sight. «Don't you like it?» he asked, noticing your lost expression. «No, I love it!» you shied away, starting to fill your cup. You both sat down at a small table as Hervé and your father talked; you awkwardly smiled whenever that mysterious Leclerc's eyes would meet yours. «What's your name?» he suddenly asked, probably worn out by the silence. You played with the plastic spoon out of nervousness, flattening a curl of ice cream before answering. «Y/n. And yours?» you shyly said. «Charles.»
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«Can I begin? Perfect. So, I think the first topic on the list that we need to tackle is today’s crash…»
Your lips twitched in a sarcastic smile filled with tension and hatred. «Y/n, you know this is your third crash this year and our budget-» «Thanks for asking how I’m doing and checking up on me at the medical center. Glad to see you place more value in money rather than in someone’s life.» As all the engineers slowly turned their heads to glance over at your crossed arms, your eyes pierced the wooden desk, deafening silence. «I’m pretty sure your assistant was there.» «So what? Do you think that’s an excuse? Even Charles, who drives for Ferrari, treated me better than my own team!»
You saw Alunni Bravi, Alfa’s team principal, snorting in annoyance. «Speaking of! If you two have to talk all lovey-dovey, please don’t do it in front of cameras… We’re full of problems as it is…» he said, rubbing his temples to soothe a heavy headache. «I… thought he was going to confront me about the crash.» you lowered your chin. He sighed, hid his face in your hands. «Y/n, listen… You know what we both need: results. The team needs points and the least damage possible, and you need that yourself, to prove you deserve your seat in F1. You see, we are heading toward the same direction, so why don’t we join forces instead of clashing against each other?» «Do you think I crashed on purpose?!» you asked, bewildered. «No, but you can’t afford to be too aggressive, otherwise you’ll get today’s result. It puts at risk your and other drivers’ safety, your team’s finances and gives the mechanics an awful amount of extra work.» The thought of the mechanics staying up late, not respecting the curfew, without receiving any raise for it reminded you of your dad doing the same back in the karting days, always working for you, with you. You swallowed hard your pride. Shifting on your seat to find a more comfortable position, you cleared your voice. «I’ll do better.» The team principal lightly lifted the corner of his lips. «I’m sure you will, y/n.»
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Push. You’re worthy. Stronger. You deserve it. Until. You fought for this. You. It makes you feel alive. Make it.
The gym’s mirror reflected your mechanical, precise, controlled movements; you followed them with the sight, eyes and thoughts running wild across the room. The burn igniting your muscles, the sweat glowing in pearls under the neon lights, the skin wrapped inside loose-fitting clothes felt like heaven upon your body. «Okay, that’s it!» At your coach’s voice, you abruptly turned around. «What?» you asked, panting. «We’re done, you did all the reps.» she plainly said. «Already?» you asked, picking up from the ground your water bottle and taking a sip. «We’ve been here for two hours, y/n… Aren’t you tired?» she laughed at you. You shrugged, unable to perceive the weight of exhaustion. «I feel fine.» you replied. «Right, Miss Fine, let’s do a bit of stretching.»
After your coach had given you info about the diet and the workout plan for the next day, you waited for her to leave the gym before changing into a clean outfit. You removed the oversized shirt you always used and looked down at the waistband of your leggings, running the gap between the cloth and your skin with the thumb. You closed your eyes, both tasting the satisfaction of the moment and remotely despising the need for the achievement. But you couldn’t hide it: you were happy you had lost some more weight. You had been working so hard on improving your performance and proving you were putting your maximum effort into it.
It was sick, you felt it: you carried out the exercises like a machine, engaging your muscles and your core to extract all the potential benefits from the workout, convinced that it would automatically lead to better results. You struggled to define it, but it was such a self-consuming delight. ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼ Being fifteen was difficult. Low self-esteem, identity crises instead of identity building, paranoia, confusion, hormones taking over, fear of the future, broken illusions. Things nobody at that age is programmed to deal with it anyway.
However, being a fifteen-year-old girl competing against pimply guys proved itself to be even more challenging than teenage already managed: more so, if those underdeveloped brains couldn’t spot anything that made you a girl to their eyes. Apart from social isolation and lack of friendships and acquaintances during karting competitions, that is. You had cut your hair short so that it would be easier to put your helmet on and no strand would get in the way; you were as tall as other drivers were, in some cases even taller; and you were thin, lean, light as a feather, dancing on your kart with grace. Clearly, they expected something different: they wanted to see more than a flat chest under the fire suit, more than a nonexistent bun; perhaps a soft and lost stare, the insecurity of someone who doesn’t belong the sport, the ingenuity of the newbie, the incapability of being a serious competitor. You let them down and proved them wrong, one by one. You spared nobody, killed them with obstinate tenacity, flashing smiles only whenever you stepped on the highest stair of the podium. Unluckily, they had another reason to crack jokes about you. Behind the fence, cheering for you, helping as much as possible with the kart setups, the tires, the engine, there was your mother. In the wide multitude of fathers, uncles and big brothers, your mother was the only woman getting her hands dirty and oily to help you out. Mistrust and envy were the inevitable dues to pay, every race, every time you two entered the track holding hands. # «There are too many people.» Charles said, grumbling. «C’mon, you’re doing it for Arthur!» «He’s a lucky brother.» he sighed. Lorenzo and Charles were walking towards the heart of the small paddock and searched for their younger sibling; an impossible task, since the entire place was packed with teens they were navigating through. Slowly moving past people, Charles couldn’t help but overhear a piece of conversation. «Did you see her mom?» «Yeah, they’re both ridiculous!» «Why, what’s wrong with them?» «Arthur!» Charles called, recognizing his brother’s voice. «Finally, here you are.» Without paying attention to the hand resting on his shoulder, the blonde driver still looked astonished at his mates. «Why does her mother come to the track with her?» he asked. «Because her father died.» Charles pieced the conversation back together and blinked a couple of times, making sense of it. As a reflex, like he already knew, he immediately spotted you in the middle of the crowd, holding your cup, hugging your mother. He struggled to make out your face, with the new haircut, but he still could tell it was you, the same girl eating ice-cream and often racing with Arthur, the same driver his father had told him about. He remembered you sitting in your dad’s lap, laughing with him, under the gazebo, surrounded by the sound of the pouring rain, as he spied on the two of you from inside the van, too scared to talk to you any further and ruin the special moment between a father and his daughter. A sea of people separating you, a sidereal space of loneliness and time creating an unbreakable wall: maybe you didn’t even remember who he was. However, Charles searched for thoughts of comfort to offer to you telepathically, not really able to find much; he didn’t know what he really meant to lose a parent and didn’t want to dwell too much on it.
Still, a few years later, looking at some pictures taken on that rainy afternoon, watching your fathers half hugging and smiling to the camera, the two of you sat behind them, being reminded of hidden memories and fears, forcing tears to run inside without showing, getting a taste of the same bitter loss’ cocktail you had tasted, sitting back onto the couch and staring at the void, he would.
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«Alfa Romeo has announced some major changes inside the team. In the last couple of weeks some leaks hinted at the possibility of y/n y/l/n being replaced mid-year, during the summer break.»
«I don’t think there’s anything wrong with women in Formula One, but… they need to meet certain standards, you know? And I’m not quite sure y/n is doing that.»
«She's not going to stay in the sport too long without getting results... It's a simple equation: results equal money which equals contract.»
«A lot of drivers would die to have her seat and I’m sure Alfa Romeo has started looking around to see if someone has the right profile… Because let’s face it, it doesn’t seem like y/n does.»
You put down your phone and slowly stirred a cup of coffee the team had offered you. Tiredness crawled in every hidden angle of your body. News like those were filling up the internet since Barcelona; and as if luck hasn’t been abundant enough, you’d had yet another mechanical failure, the second in the span of three races. Some malevolent voices implied they were due to the previous crashes you’d had. You truly wanted to get angry, but you didn’t care anymore. You felt defeated. It felt so miserable to be following the race from the box, sitting there, helpless, either willing to scream or cry, watching the world go round in circles, without you. After all, that feeling wasn’t new to you. ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼ The first time was tough. Arriving at the track, taking the kart out of the van, setting everything up; ignoring the foreign stares, resting your hands upon the steering wheel, driving the first lap. It was beyond rough. You weren’t as focused as you wanted to: you made a lot of corrections, went wide multiple times, missed the apex a couple of times. You inevitably felt frustrated by your own lack of pace and performance. That was only practice for what was to come; the first race was even harder to handle. A burden down your shoulders and chest made it difficult to breathe, your heart struggled pumping your adrenaline-fueled blood fast enough. You didn’t want to let him down. It was the secret promise you’d made with yourself without even knowing, something you’d always kept silent to others and to your own conscience.
After endless laps of chasing, constantly turning back to see how close your rivals were, examining the gaps and choosing different lines, you crossed the start and finish line and you felt hot tears wetting your skin: you had won the race. It was a strange type of happiness, a conflicting one, which you would get familiar with over time. You quickly wiped your cheeks, jumping out the kart: you just remembered running towards the podium, overwhelmed by that new brimming feeling pulsing inside of you, not capable of determining whether it caused tears to flow in joy or sadness. Proudly holding the cup you had been handed, you lifted it to the bright blue sky, and you looked at him.
With the little trophy in your hand and the helmet hanging off your fingers, you walked to the van and sat in the passenger seat, wrapped by silence. Lost gazing inside the golden reflection of the cup, you cried. Head tilted back, eyes shut in pain, you held your sobs in as much as you could.
It was tough, hitting the track for the first time after your father had passed away; but what hurt the most was that trophy, that unexpected win, which definitely meant you would have to – and could – go on without him, doing what you had always done. Your promise, your secret motive, you’d live for it: as if he watched you from the grandstands, followed you with his careful eyes, cheering for you, and driving you back home after every race, while you peacefully drifted away next to him. ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼ You sat on a bench inside the paddock as it emptied of life, people leaving and walking around you as industrious ants crowding the space. «Y/n!» At the call, you naturally turned around: it was easy to spot Charles, still rocking Ferrari merch, approaching you. «Hi, Charles.» «Hi.» he said, sitting next to you and looking at the setting sun.
You secretly wondered what had brought him there, absorbed, in silence. He seemed peaceful, but you knew his race hadn't been particularly rewarding because of a grid penalty at the start, and you could almost see disappointment and dissatisfaction creating turmoil inside his irises. A small realization hit you, and it raised a pinch of embarrassment in you as it did: because, since Charles was enchanted by the sunset and you were intent on reading his expressive eyes, you were both caught staring at two beautiful sights.
«Your pace was really good.» he let you know. «Are you saying this because you struggled to overtake me after your pit stop?» you asked, a bit amused. «Well...» At his hesitation, you both laughed. «You had pace and your defending was annoyingly good.» he finished with a smile. «Without the mechanical failure, it could've been an easy P6 for you.» «But I had a mechanical failure, Charles. It doesn't matter what could've been, if it hasn't happened.» you bitterly remarked, staring back at the sky. «It does matter, instead.» he looked at you. «You made a lot of progress since the beginning of the year and I'm sure you'll score your first points very soon.» «If I'm not out by mid-season.» At your lapidary comment, Charles blinked, thinking, then looked at you again. «The team needs you. I know Zhou and he's a good driver, but in terms of pace... you're better.» «But he brings the car home and I don't.» «You've always out qualified him.» he reminded you. «How do you know?» you asked, shocked. You hadn’t even noticed it yourself, how could he know? He shrugged. «Overheard a conversation.»
Charles waited a few seconds before speaking up again, still thinking. «You've worked hard to get here. Don't bring yourself down because of what other people say.» You sighed and faced the sky, a shiver running down your spine as a gust of night breeze caressed your cheek. «They're trying to drown me, Charles.» you sadly reflected out loud, dropping your head down. Charles, looking at your hand gripping the bench, put his hand upon yours. «You know how to swim, y/n. I think nobody else in the grid knows the pressure of the sport better than you do, and since you made it this far it would be stupid to let go right now.» On his features, you read a feeling you didn’t expect: regret. It was all over him, in the way he searched for words, wetted his lips, glanced around, then stared back at you. «You can count on me. For anything, really.» he added. Regret was soon replaced by comfort; the weight of his palm's skin onto yours radiated a wave of calm, quiet, peace. And as the sun dived into the horizon, offering its last rays of orange gold, on that bench isolated from chaos, you felt safe.
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As you crossed the start and finish line, your eyes flicked towards the billboard in the pitlane. A rush of excitement freed the breath you had been holding all along: the race was over. «P9! Good job!» «Y/n, congrats on your first points. Had a strong pace all weekend, well done!» «Thank you, thank you, guys.»
Switching off the radio, you screamed under your helmet: in joy and disbelief, because you finally got to the place you deserved to be; in frustration, because you knew the strategy had concealed the true potential of your form and the feeling you had found with the car, making it hard to fully appreciate the results without fantasizing about what could've been. Nonetheless, thanks to the adrenaline and the G-forces loosening their grip, you felt a small weight being lifted off your shoulders: you had achieved your first milestone in F1 and nobody could contest it. Nobody could take those points away from you.
Arriving at the pitlane, the team engineers seemed to react lukewarm to the performance; the mechanics, though, engulfed you in a group hug and clapped at you, visibly satisfied and content with yours and their work as well.
«Y/n! How does it feel to score your first points in F1?» «Well, of course.» you smiled, a bit nervous at the unusually welcoming question. «I’m satisfied with today’s race, but… I think there is more work to do. Our pace deserved more and better results are definitely within our reach.» «So hungry for points after tasting them for the first time!» the journalist joked, laughing. As you tried to shy off embarrassment with a smile, holding onto the barricade a bit tighter, you felt a soft touch brushing your back, halfway between a greeting and a request of permission; the light weight lingered a few seconds, before a figure dressed up in red reluctantly positioned next to you to be interviewed. His smile only made you smile bigger and redder. «Good job!» Charles spoke in a soft tone, his fingers still vaguely tracing circles on your back, unbeknownst to the cameras facing the two of you. «You did a good job too, with George. Some fair and hard racing!» you referred to a scene you had been able to see on the screens throughout the race. «Tell me about it.» he laughed. «But what did I say? Was I wrong about your first points?» he added, subtly tickling your back with his fingertips.
Lost in the bliss of the interaction, flustered because of the heat and the cameras pointing at you, the redness of your face lit up brighter as the journalist spoke. «What’s that, Charles?» she asked, intrigued by his words. «Did you tell her she would score points in this race?» He mildly smiled, getting closer to the fence – and to you – looking down to collect his thoughts. «No, I didn’t.» he laughed. «But I was sure she would end up in the positions that matters pretty soon and… here she is!» His body involuntarily leaned over to you to answer the question, combined with the kind and gentle tone he was delivering compliments with, made you glance elsewhere and forced you to suppress a smile. «So did you guys talk about it?» the journalist teased again. «We bumped into each other in the paddock and I told her, yeah.» «You seem to trust her skills a lot.» «I do. I mean, I’ve seen her race in karting and in minor formulas a couple times and I could see it with my own eyes. She was well-known for her talent and hard work, and now she’s proving it in one of the toughest and most competitive motorsport championships of the world. To be honest, I’m not surprised and I’m happy for her because she clearly deserves it.» «Y/n, how do you feel about these words?» the journalist finally addressed you once again, waiting for your answer with a grin. «Grateful. Usually people are complaining about my performances…» you laughed, a bit uptight. «So… hearing appreciative words from a driver I highly respect and look up to means a lot.»
Charles couldn’t help but grin in delight at your words: he had involuntarily kind of followed your career up to Formula One, and the idea you had possibly taken him as a point of reference flattered him deeply. He had always known you would make it. ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼ Fidgeting with his Ray Ban sunglasses, Charles walked inside the paddock alongside Pierre. «The weather is so nice here.» «It’s Brazil, what do you expect?» the Frenchman snorted. «I’m just saying.» Charles replied, putting his glasses on. Not paying attention to the cameras taking pictures and videos of them as they casually strolled by, Pierre suddenly awoke from his silence and spoke. «I forgot to ask you something.» «What is it?» «You know the girl who races in F2 with Arthur?» Charles hummed, looking back at him. «Yeah, y/n. What about her?» At his best friend’s confidence, Pierre raised his brows. «Do you know her that well? I don’t even remember her last name.» «Well, didn’t expect much more than that from you.» The inevitable jokingly taps and protests Charles deserved for that comment caused laughter between the two of them. «So? What about y/n?» Charles asked, going back to the topic. «They say she’s racing for Alfa Romeo next year.» «Well, she’s leading the championship right now.» Charles said, matter-of-factly. «Yeah, but do you understand how big the news is? A woman in F1 after so many years…» Pierre lowered his head, in thought. «Alfa must be in a difficult situation if they’re doing this.» «Why?» Charles quickly inquired. «Because sponsors will court her, which means a lot of brand deals… and money to the team.»
Charles knitted his eyebrows together and walked looking at his shoes. It wasn’t possible that a talent like you would only get hired because of money. He had seen you drive, win against his brother and a lot of other good drivers, he had seen your determination every time he had celebrated one of Arthur’s podiums, because you were always in the top three. On the other hand, Charles couldn’t say he was a stranger to the financial difficulties Alfa Romeo was facing: the lack of upgrades, the never-ending waltz with sponsors and actionists, the upcoming renewal as Sauber and then Audi. Alfa danced in a sea full of uncertainty, so it probably represented the only team in the position to gamble and provide a seat for the first female driver after such a long time. Once again, his father’s words of appreciation towards you resurfaced: Charles hoped the rumor to be true, because he was sure you deserved it. # «Thank you, Esteban. Charles, I’m coming back to you: can you share with us your thoughts regarding the news too? We know your brother is racing in F2 as well and we’d like to have your piece of mind.» He raised the microphone, smiling to himself, sure he would be asked about it as soon as he had heard the question. «I’ve attended and watched some races because of my brother, as you’ve mentioned, but I think numbers speak for themselves. She’s leading the championship and from what I know she’s always performed brilliantly in minor formulas too.» «Right. We know that you and y/n share the same agent, Nicholas Todt. Were you ever introduced to one another by him?» Charles frowned at the follow-up question. «Uhm, no, we never met through him.» «Okay, thank you very much. Moving on to the next question…»
As Albon was addressed by the journalist, Pierre, sitting next to him, raised a brow and gave Charles a inquiring look, perceiving a lack of clarity in your answer. The Monegasque simply glanced over him and pretended not to see his confusion, keeping to himself that distant but lifeful memory of you. ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼ «And this is the end of the tour.» your assistant said, gesturing with her hands to the hospitality hall. «Thanks, it looks… fresh.» you commented, still looking around. Exiting the building, you followed her steps, going towards the media pen for some brief interviews of that Wednesday. Your first ever week in F1.
Before you could notice, your assistant waved at a girl dressed in red, focused on her phone; greeting her as well, the two approached one another and engaged in a conversation. «Hi.» As you heard that unforeseen greeting, you finally noticed Charles, whose assistant was caught talking with yours. It was the first time you were seeing him after such a long time: the rubber smell, the oily hands, karts speeding on the track for hours. A pang of nostalgia hit your stomach like a punch, paired with those green eyes you’d never been able to forget and a tiny smile onto his lips. «H-hi!» you only managed to say. «I’m sorry I didn’t congratulate you before, but I thought I’d do it once I saw you on track. Really happy for you.» «Oh, thank you.» The contrast between the deep conversation running right next to you and the silence full of untold memories sharpened the veil of embarrassment trapping you: you both couldn’t stop glancing at each other briefly before diverting gaze as soon as you got noticed. The moment your assistants seemed to be over the intense chatter, you almost sighed in relief. «See you soon, y/n!» Charles greeted, walking away. With a small hand gesture, you reciprocated his kindness with awkwardness. It was hard to hide it: receiving such a pleasing treatment from another driver warmed your heart, as much as the thought of his young face and the few moments spent together did.
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Sitting onto a leather couch, pressing your knees together, you peeked at the jewelry exposed onto the crystal table coffee in front of you. Lost in contemplation, you immediately raised your head as a pair of heels echoed through the room. «So… This is the winter collection we’d like to promote.» the woman said, sitting in front of you. «We’d like you to pose and take pictures with the bracelets first and then with the entire parure on. Then, if there is the chance, you’ll be joined by one of our biggest promoters for some overview photos of both the male and female collection.» «Of course.» you nodded.
You would’ve never thought being a female F1 driver could have perks… But it did. And one of them was that an endless number of brands wanted to be promoted by you. At first you had been reluctant at the thought of spending part of your summer break going through sponsors activities and promos, but at the sight of the building location chosen for the shoot and the fine jewels laying before your eyes, the laziness left room to placid enjoyment of the moment. At least you were sponsoring some good products. # «Raise the arm a bit higher, please… Perfect! Beautiful!» Enjoying the breeze onto the balcony, you glanced over at the sea behind you, caressing your arms’ shivering skin. The light reflecting upon the water made a mesmerizing scenery to stare at, joy filling the eyes. The blissful haze got suddenly interrupted by a bunch of steps, shuffling and chatter: it all quickly marched towards you, invading the space of the balcony and disturbing your peace. In confusion, you scanned the faces of the newcomers, only to be met by the graceful figure of Charles. A rush of electricity linked you both as you made eye contact. «Y/n, this is the person I was talking about earlier, Charles Leclerc.» said the woman who had given you instructions at the beginning of the shoot. Charles couldn’t help but laugh a little. «Oh, don’t worry, she knows.» he told her. «Oh, really?» she gaped. «We’re… we’re both F1 drivers.» you said, nervously chuckling. «Right! I’m so sorry! I feel embarrassed now… Well, I see no introductions are needed, then.» she blushed heavily. «It’s okay, there’s no need to apologize.» he reassured her.
He swiftly moved next to you and started whispering without looking at you, a courtesy smile plastered on his lips all throughout as he joined you scanning the surroundings and the staff moving around erratic. «I didn’t know you were a sponsor as well.» «Didn’t expect to find you here either.» you raised brows, to display surprise. Charles simply leaned his forearm onto the handrail of the balcony and gazed inside the living area, still smirking. «Well, let’s show the world how to do this properly.» One person from the staff came back to you with the jewels you had to wear, offering Charles some as well. # «Last but not least… We’d like to have a picture with this necklace.» As it was handed to you, you stared at it in awe: your eyes brimmed with the Swarovski’s reflection of the fine piece, delicate and bright as a snow crystal under the sun. «It’s beautiful.» Charles said, stealing the words you had in mind. «It is.» you remarked. Seeing your hands open the necklace and bringing it closer to your nape, Charles immediately halted your movements touching your hands, gently stopping them. «What… What if we take the picture while I put the necklace for her?» he asked, addressing the staff. Your wide eyes read excitement and appreciation in his proposal.
Without even acknowledging the fact those movements were mere acting for the shoot, you sincerely enjoyed the moment, getting surprised by Charles’ tenderness while brushing your hair away, while you were looking down at the charm and admiring it between your fingers, unconsciously smiling. You couldn’t help but quickly turn your head and look at him, too fast to think of how close that would bring your faces, your lips a few inches away. Green, gold and pink heavenly mixed on his features as colors on a canvas, taking over your senses. «Amazing! That was awesome. Thanks!» the photographer said, getting the attention of the both of you. With a silent sign of end of activities, while the staff moved around to bring all the equipment back inside, you turned around ending up between Charles arms, still spinning around the shining charm. «Do you like it?» he murmured, fingers brushing your forearms. «It’s… It’s beautiful, really.» you replied, eyes down on it. «And you? What do you think?» you asked, smiling. «It looks absolutely perfect on you.» Flustered, since your question wanted to refer to the collection and not on the way the necklace fitted you, you mentally thanked the sponsor manager walking up to you. «Well, thank you for your time. You did an extraordinary job and I’m sure the launch of the collection will be a success!» With a thanking smile on, you didn’t expect to hear the words Charles said right after. «Can she keep the necklace?» Almost choking on your own saliva, your eyes wide opened in shock; the manager hadn’t anticipated that either, at a loss of words. «I can buy it, of course.» Charles quickly added, afraid her puzzlement was caused by the impossibility of gifting for free the jewel. «No, there’s no need to! If… if you like it that much, we’re more than happy to gift it! There’s nothing better than sponsors who love our products.»
After the weird conversation, you both stared at her walking back inside the apartment, still standing next to each other on the balcony. «Why did you do it?» you looked up at him and asked. «Because I wanted to ask you something and I need to hear a yes.» he chuckled, while you mouthed a “What?”. «No, I actually think it looks good on you, so I thought you should have it.» «What’s the question?» you quickly let out, in order to shoo away his flattering comment which made you blush. «Why don’t you join me for the rest of the summer? To work out, go to the beach, spend time together, you know.» «I can’t believe you’ve bribed me with a necklace you didn’t even pay for.» you laughed. «So? Did I hurt your pride?» Charles asked, subtly encircling your waist. «Yes, and I’d like to avenge…» you said. «But unluckily I’ll need to come along with you if I want to.» «Oh, that’s bad news.» Charles raised his brows, mirroring your playful grin. «That sounds like a plan, then.» «It does.»
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Sunkissed, you enjoyed the rays tickling onto your skin, eyes shut due to the light, propped onto your hands. Waves, iodine and freedom rocking you back and forth like a baby inside a cradle, your lips naturally curved upward, in bliss. «Hey, y/n!» Turning your head in reaction to the call, you noticed it was one of Charles’ close friends. «Do you want to play table tennis with us?» «Of course!» you chirped, quickly getting up from the deck chair you were sitting on. «Who is winning?» you asked, when you came close to him. «We’ve just started, but Charles is already losing somehow.» he laughed. «Good job!» you joined him.
The inside of the yacht was finely crafted, emanating comfort and luxury, but it didn’t feel cold: decorations and clutter clearly characterized it, added a personal and unmistakable touch that made it even more welcoming. Walking to reach the guys playing on the opposite end of the boat, you were caught by a picture on a shelf, which hit you like a freight train full of memories, nostalgia and tenderness all at once: looking at it, you struggled to recognize your father’s face, realized the sound of his voice was so hard to recall. You quickly diverted your eyes from the happy stare of your dad’s, focusing on two teens in the background, sitting onto plastic chairs: you were eating ice cream with a leg huddled and the other touching the ground, while Charles sat leg-crossed, looking at you.
You couldn’t believe time had flown by so fast, so destructive, so insensitive and so careless in pulling strings that crossed the years, only to bring you in that yacht and contemplate the beauty of destiny. «Good memories, huh?» Charles’ voice surprised you, making you turn your head abruptly to glance. «Came here not to feel the burn of defeat?» you asked, teasingly. «You wish. I’m winning, I think that’s obvious.» he said, overconfident. After the quick exchange, you both looked back at the photograph, incapable of ignoring it for too long. «I didn’t know they took a picture that day.» you said, more to yourself than really talking to him. «Arthur took it. And this is why we’re also in it, even though it should’ve been just them.» Charles said, unable to hold a smile at his brother’s poor skills. «Do you think it is possible to make a copy of it?» you asked, after a couple of seconds. «I think so, yes. Do you want it?» You hesitated, then nodded towards him. «I’d like to gift it to my mom, she really likes looking at old pictures. But cut us out, I’d prefer the photo with just the two of them.» you said, pointing at the younger versions of yourself. «What?! We’re so cute, why do you want us to be cut out?» Charles asked, infecting you with his laugh. «You can make a separate picture with the cutout.» you joked. «I will, for sure. I mean, we look too good.» You chuckled at his words. «Me wearing a suit dirty with engine oil and you eating ice cream like you care about nothing else.» «On plastic chairs.» you added. «On plastic chairs.» Charles remarked, nodding and widening eyes at the umpteenth funny detail. «But the fact that it’s ridiculous makes it interesting.» «I can’t believe the only photo we have together has me eating in it.» you laughed. «We can always take new pictures.» As you felt Charles’ eyes on you, you immediately searched for them, locking stares, a bit surprised by his offer. «Charles, where are you?» someone shouted from outside. «We should go.» you awkwardly said. «Yep.» he immediately turned around on his feet, embarrassed as much as you were. # You hadn’t played table tennis a lot before, but being Charles’ teammate didn’t help increasing your winning chances. You miserably lost. «I couldn’t see anything, I had the sun in my eyes!» you tried to protest. «Your complaints are music to our ears.» «Guys, come on!» Charles pleaded in frustration towards his friends. «Nope, you promised before starting the match.» «I promised nothing, I wasn’t even there at the beginning!» you contested. «But you joined, so now you’re in this together.» You threw a desperate look at Charles, who simply covered his face with his hands and scoffed with a smile. «I think we don’t have a choice, y/n…» The idea of jumping in the water fully clothed and going around all wet until dinner made you uncomfortable and annoyed already, but you hadn’t time to ponder the dare further as Charles quickly splashed into the sea. Carefully getting close to the edge, you looked down the boat: you had never feared heights, however the blue expanse below you seemed an endless abyss, the yacht being far and far away from the coast. «Are you scared?» Charles’ friends asked, half-way amused and confused by your reticence. «Of course not.» you tried to play it cool. Charles, moving his arms to stay afloat, could read the hesitation blocking you. «I’ll catch you, don’t worry.» he shouted.
The impact with the water was softened by the waterfall of bubbles following your body and lifting you up towards the surface. Before you were able to notice, resurfacing, your body slid onto Charles’, who had swum next to the point you had fallen. The friction of your clothes brushing against each other seemed to slow you down in re-emerging: you clearly felt his skin caressing yours under the soft texture of his shirt, his fingers quickly searching for your body gliding on his. When you came to the surface, gasping for air, his hands were already firm around your waist, and you couldn’t tell if you were breathless out of effort, fear or because of the unexpected and sudden closeness with Charles' striking stare. «Are you okay?» he asked you with a husky tone. You knew he didn’t mean to do that, that probably his voice had dropped in order not to be heard – as if the rocking sound of the water wasn’t enough to hide your breaths – but his words, his presence, the unexpected intimacy of the moment made you crave to drown back down. The contrast between the warmth he radiated and the ice-cold water surrounding you dazed you, your head going in tilt. «Yeah, I’m good.» you frantically nodded, still holding tight on to him. «Let’s go, then.»
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Charles’ friends had a trip planned out for the week following your adventures on the yacht in Sardinia, so they left; you and Charles, though, kept hanging out, going back to Monaco.
The days you had with him were pure fun, shading momentarily your uncertainties and doubts regarding your future in F1; and if not bright enough to put them aside, Charles was always receptive to your needs, willing to discuss them and listen, since you were both navigating the same environment. You hoped that spending time with him could help you, somehow. # «Is it that bad?» he inquired, unsure of his cooking skills. «No, it’s pretty good.» Charles tasted it and hummed in delight. «Finally! Something that doesn’t taste like death.»
A lazy movie night had suddenly turned into testing Charles’ abilities in the kitchen: he wanted to order some food, you joked he could cook instead, he took it as a challenge and he decided it was time to finally improve at it. You had teased him all along, questioning his choices, his measurements, the ingredients he was using… and you both laughed throughout the process, until you sat down with steaming dishes. Charles saw you slowly moving the fork around the plate. «Aren't you hungry?» he asked, snorting with a laugh. «Not... not really.» His amusement turned into a serious expression, surprised at your lifeless response after all the laughter you had shared just some minutes earlier. «Is everything okay?» he inquired, a veil of worry weighing upon his brows. «Yeah, I've just lost a bit of appetite because of the new diet I'm following.» You looked down as you spoke, and he noticed. As soon as the topic was brought to the table, Charles subtly clenched his jaw a bit, poked his inner cheek with the tongue, then parted his lips as if to say something. He refrained the words he was about to use, opting for some cautious ones. «I see. I know I’m not the one in charge of it and shouldn’t… interfere, but you're the lightest driver on the grid, y/n. I don't think that's needed to improve your performance.» «It's not just about the weight, I'm trying to work on my strength as well and I... I had to readjust my diet a bit.» «Fine.» he said, shaking his head. The lies adorning the truth made it feel like a whole bunch of bullshit: deep down, you knew you were going way too strict about it, that it was nobody’s but your idea, though you thought that was, indeed, the only way things would get better, the only way you would get better, the only way people could see the best in you. The only way to prove you were worthy. «I don’t know what the diet involves, but as a guest of mine, you have to taste once again the first decent dish I’ve cooked in a very long time and deeply enjoy it.» Charles rediscovered playful tone managed to pull out a shy smile from you. # You both agreed on working out together, to make it more fun - and consequently see each other more. There was an intimate complicity between the two of you, a murmured comfort in the moments you shared: smiles, fleeting exchanges of glances, jokes and laughter. Neither of you could describe it, but in each other's company your personalities matched, merged as one. The fear, the weight of expectations, the voices and malice of the people around you would lose meaning, set aside for as long as you could stare at one another.
«Here we are.» he announced, coming off the locker room. «So classy! » you laughed, pointing at Charles' shorts. «Stylish, right?» he said, looking at them and laughing as well. «Isn't your shirt too big?» «I like being comfy.» you simply said. «I see.» he kindly smiled.
Throughout the workout, you did a few circuits, alternating at machines, adding a bit of challenge and variety to what would’ve been a quite repetitive activity, if done alone. Charles had a lot of fun, enjoying your presence, peeking at you during some exercises and smiling to himself. «Time to stretch!» Andrea said. You cackled at Charles protesting pleads, while sitting on the floor. «Turn on your side and hold your knee, like this.» your coach instructed you. Charles, told to do the same, pointing his head toward your lying body. The oversized shirt you wore had risen a bit in the movement, revealing a portion of your skin and showing some ribs. Charles quickly tried to divert gaze, not wanting to be caught in contemplation, a bit flustered by it.
«We're done, guys! You can go change!» Andrea said, with a clap of hands. «It was fun.» Charles stated, searching for confirmation. «Yeah!» you replied, a bit taken aback by his sudden comment. «Maybe... We can do it more often, whenever we have the chance...?» You turned to face him before entering the female locker room and pulled a small smile. «Of course!» Charles grinned as well as he very slowly headed to the door next to yours. # You opened your bag, searching for your clean shirt, then took off the one you had on. You halted. Don't, you said to yourself. But you did; you gave in to the quick impulse of reaching the mirror of the room and checking yourself out. It seemed... fine. And the idea killed you, because it still wasn't enough, it still didn't help your performance, it still didn't look as good as you imagined it to.
You turned to take a look at your profile: sucking your stomach in, you pulled the skin above your bellybutton to make it even flatter, hands gripping under your bra, to see what you wanted to see, what others wanted to see, the unreachable goal you had been chasing for years, setting yourself up for failure. So skinny, and still not successful on track. So skinny, and still everyone despised you.
As you watched, tantalized, your ribs showing, both proud and disgusted of what you had achieved after years of obsessive discipline, you didn't notice a silhouette appearing in the reflection of the mirror. «Y/n.» You gasped. Facing the mirror once again, you avoided looking at him, vainly covering the sight with your arms. You tried to ignore it. «What are you doing?» But you couldn't: the fear he would start thinking lowly of you, that he could be ashamed of what you were doing froze your blood.
Charles had been eaten by self-doubt for a while, but had finally decided to ask you if you wanted to stay at his place until the end of the summer break, since he had been enjoying your company a ton; during the small walk from his locker room to yours, he had been rehearsing the words he needed to say in order not to freak you out or be rejected, so he definitely wasn’t paying attention while entering. He didn’t expect to be met with the sight of your almost bare chest; and above all, under the loose fire suit or a t-shirt, he had never imagined to see such a thin, small-waisted and fragile looking body. Charles got closer with caution as you stood still, walking with hesitance, not entirely sure of what the real situation concealed beneath its surface. But those ribs, the same he had clearly seen while you were stretching, were marked in his irises, fear and confusion taking over him. «Please, look at me.» he pleaded, soft. As those words left his mouth, your mask fell off, dragging tears with it, and Charles swallowed hard as a realization started to set in. «What's this, y/n?» he whispered, hoping you would tell him off, somehow, maybe reassuring him it was all a dream, prompting an explanation that he failed to find. But you cried hard and you couldn't offer any word of comfort. Charles engulfed you in a hug, feeling his heart race faster to follow the thread of his thoughts, eyes scattered around the room in search of answers, while his fingers caressed your hair through the weeping. «Why are you doing this to yourself?» Words died against your vocal folds before they could turn into sound. Your weeps were low, inaudible at times, desperate. «It’s not enough.» you breathed. A sting hit Charles’ chest. «I… I don’t know what to do… It’s never enough, Charles.» As your voice cracked, new tears fell down to fill your abyss. «Enough for what? Enough for who?» Holding your face upward, he awaited your answer. But you froze. What were you doing all of this for? If you knew it was wrong, if you felt it was wrong, then you certainly weren’t doing it for you. Was it for your team? To prove your effort, your dedication, to show that you cared about the sport above anything, above yourself as well? Was it for the press to notice you deserved that seat, that opportunity?
And then, finally, like lightning cutting through the air and reaching land, shattering your entire world, a realization struck: it had started way before entering F1. The sense of control, impulsive discipline, always aiming for unreachable perfection had been your self-destructive coping mechanism for your father’s loss. That promise you had made to yourself, to never disappoint him, never let him down, prove yourself worthy of the love he had given you broke before your eyes like glass. The oppressing fear of not being enough, of not repaying the immense sacrifices he had done for you, the idea of all his life being wasted to chase your dream had triggered the guilt you’d been living with for years.
Letting it all go against Charles’ shoulder, holding onto him like an anchor, scared of being suddenly left broken and alone in such a vulnerable moment only made his hug brace you with a firmer grip, hand caressing your hair. «It’s not your fault.» he whispered to your ear, like a lullaby. «Whatever it is, it wasn’t your fault.» Loosening the hold a bit in order to look at you, he softly wiped tears off your cheek. «We’ll solve it, I promise. You’ll never have to feel like this again or do this to yourself.» «I didn’t mean to do it.» you sobbed, shaking your head in denial. «It’s okay, y/n.» Charles pulled you back into the hug. «I’m not leaving you alone.»
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You woke up early, tiredness deep inside your bones. The initial plan was to go back home and spend more time with your mom, but after the day at the gym Charles had insisted you to stop by and stay at his apartment for a little while. You had hated seeing him so heartbroken and gutted for you, since it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of you; still, he had said multiple times he wanted to help you out, that he had ways, that he knew people, proving with facts that he genuinely cared. You quickly got up from bed and headed to the kitchen to have a tasteless breakfast, bitter thoughts taking over as you opened the cabinet. The cliff of uncertainty had always been your environment since the beginning, but you had never felt so close to falling as you did in that moment. You had never been that high either, so it was only natural to be afraid of stumbling down in such a position.
Putting the moka pot onto the stove, you then walked towards the window, catching a glimpse of the waking world, a thin layer of fog hugging the skyline. Your phone vibrating onto the table distracted you from contemplating. Seeing a big “Mom” written on the screen didn’t surprise you. «Hi, mom.» you greeted, with a smile. «Hi, dear! How are you doing?» You lightly nodded to yourself. «Good, I’m relaxing a bit before the final rush.» Your mom simply hummed, leaving the end silent for a few seconds. You hadn’t told her why you had refused to come back home. It was true you had simply accepted Charles’ offer, but on the other hand you were quite relieved you didn’t have to fake calm and inner peace with your mom despite being in a stressful situation. «Y/n, how is it really going? You know you can tell me anything.» Her regretful tone urged you to provide reassurances. «It’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?» «I… I’ve heard about your seat being at risk and… I don’t like to be nosy and I know that you want to be the only one worrying and being responsible for everything, but I can’t help worrying, y/n. You and your father have worked so hard for this-» «It’s just rumors, mom, don’t worry about it.» you interrupted her. «I’ve talked with the team and they’ve reassured me about the renewal of the contract.» Lie. «Really?! And you didn’t tell me?!» she almost screamed in joy. «I wanted to wait a bit because… because there’s actually a bigger team interested and Nicholas is negotiating.» Lies. Nothing but lies. «Oh darling, I’m… I’m so happy for you. I was sure people would notice your talent! You deserve all of it! Oh, I’m so glad…» «Mom, there’s no need to cry…» you said, tears forming in your eyes as well. «Of course, right.» you heard her sniff. «But thinking of everything you and dad did back then and seeing where you are now… It makes me emotional, you know?.» «Mom…» you kindly scolded her. «Okay, I’ll stop! I have to go anyway, the shop is about to open.» «Love you, mom.» «Love you more! Bye, y/n!» As you hung up, words finally started to weigh down on you, sinking your heart like rocks. You had no reason to play with your mother’s feelings only to postpone a disappointment that you couldn’t avoid anyway.
When did you become so shamelessly cruel? Which sick part of you could only imagine Alfa Romeo was willing to renew your contract and at the same time another team was striving for having you on board next season? Not even your wildest fantasy could be that delusional. How many other people did you want to let down? Why did you keep setting impossible expectations and standards? Where did your hunger of perfection stem?
The thud of a mug being placed onto the table made you turn around. Charles had woken up to the sound of your voice and followed it toward the kitchen, unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation, and he had tried not to interrupt or make himself noticeable. After hanging up, he saw your hand reaching your temples, and he knew right away how you were feeling. Because he had done the same exact thing with his father. He knew, better than anybody else. But at the same time, you knew as well: for once in his life, Charles didn’t feel alone in his regrets, in his doubts and struggles, and could relate to someone else’s experiences and fears. The tension between the two of you had always been an invisible string pulling you close, uncovered but present, binding lives that still had to unfold and show their similarities.
Taking a mug from the cabinet in order to make himself noticed, Charles had waited for you to stare at him. You didn’t know he had been there all along, but the truth was already emerging from his expression, sweetly scolding you, as he moved a few steps towards the stove. «You know you don’t need to protect her from everything, right?» Charles said, pouring some coffee for himself. «It seems like the only option, at the moment.» You got close and served some coffee for yourself as well. «It seems, but it never is.» Charles sighed, opening another cabinet. «Do you want biscuits?»
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You turned your head while walking in fast-paced steps, trying to escape his grab. Your laugh sounded like heaven, punctuated with light rain drops sliding onto Charles' tanned skin. Running to reach you, he fell in love with every detail of the moment: the chase, the heart filling up of pure joy, your teasing steps, as you stopped to let him catch up a little, only to sprint again away from him.
With the sand becoming more compact under your feet thanks to the gentle rain, Charles was gaining pace advantage over you, until he finally managed to stop the hunt, gripping your wrist; you both almost fell as you halted, laughing uncontrollably and senseless. Your breaths were heavy, but through your smiling lips they came out as a rhythmed symphony, eyes locked, matching stares brimming with happiness. Charles' hands roamed onto your arms, while yours rested upon his chest.  It felt pure, magical. Timeless. Charles was the first to break the silence, looking up to the grey clouds. «We should go home.» «Should we?» you asked, enchanted by the falling drops. «I really like it here.» I do too, Charles thought to himself. «We'll get ill, if we don't. But don't worry, I have an idea for when we come back home.» His words enlightened you. «Really? What is it?» «Follow me.» he said, taking your hand into his and locking fingers, while a smile lit his face.
Passing a hand through your damp hair, you eyed Charles entering the kitchen, away from your sight, so you decided to go change your clothes. Reponing the clothes back in the wardrobe right after, you saw Charles approaching, armed with two spoons, a can and a mischievous grin. «Is it ice-cream?» you asked, surprised. «How can it be a summer holiday without ice-cream?» «You’re right.» you smiled. Before you knew it, you were sitting upon your king-sized bed, crossed legs like two kids, bending over the can placed between the two of you. «Isn't it going to wet the comforter?» you asked. Charles hummed, in thought. «I'll keep it for us, then.» he said, grabbing it and taking off the lid. Without warning, he took the first spoon of it, leaving you speechless, but getting to taste Charles' smile while he watched your reaction. «Hey, bring it here!» you said, moving near with the spoon. Stuffing a mouthful of ice-cream, you were soon surprised by the flavor. «It's hazelnut.» you thought out loud. He grinned, looking down at the can like a little kid being caught red-handed, while he took another spoon of it. «You remember, right?» The sound of the rain falling down, you two sitting in front of the other, hazelnut ice-cream, lingering eyes. «I do.» Diving the spoon back again, you only took a few millimeters of ice-cream, observing it before quickly licking it away, in thought. And Charles noticed. «Don't you like it?» «It’s the best hazel-nut ice-cream I’ve ever tried, but… We shouldn't be eating so much of it.» «But today is cheat day.» he raised a brow, sure to win with a counterattack.
Since the night he had caught you staring at your fragile body and breaking down inside his arms, the wheel of change had been set into motion: Charles had promised to do anything to help you, and he kept up with the promise. You had dumped the coach who was supposed to follow and guide you and Andrea, Charles’ athletic trainer and dear friend, had suggested you a new one whom you had liked way better just at first glance. Without even realizing it, as you spent more and more time with Charles, you began opening up to him about it and started noticing thoughts patterns you were utterly oblivious to beforehand. His presence brought comfort, trust, support and clarity in your life, as much as fears regarding your future in F1 couldn’t be subsided completely. But Charles made life so easy. He could turn ice-cream on a rainy day into the most perfect and appealing way to spend time together. The idea he had thought through it, that he knew you’d be concerned about the diet and had chosen your cheat day on purpose so that you wouldn’t have to worry, so that you could both enjoy the moment, sparkled something inside of you, a kind gratefulness, a warm joy. You would’ve crawled closer to him, cuddled with him ‘til the daylight, either laughing or saying nothing, so that all your doubts would move away like rainy clouds. «You’re right.» you said, taking another small spoon of it. «Geez, it’s too good.» you complained, humming. Charles chuckled at your heartbroken expression, ice-cream melting in your mouth.
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Spa never spared itself when it came to unpredictability. The few times you had raced there when you competed in minor formulas, chaos had taken over the results, crashes and crazy overtakes being the main characters of event-packed GPs.
The forecast had announced a small chance of rain throughout the weekend, pushing every team to choose a low downforce set up; indeed, in both free practices and qualifying only a few drizzles of rain sprayed the track, nothing crazy or unforeseen, and you had managed to earn a decent position to start at for the race. However, as you had learned over the years, Spa never ceased to amaze, playing the unexpected. # The rain falling down onto the dark asphalt, making your medium tires slide throughout lap twenty-four, after a lasting and on-going, strenuous defending against the DRS train which had formed behind you, felt like pure violence. «In sector two it's pouring.» you warned your engineer. «Copy.» «What's the forecast??» you encouraged, hoping to get them to consider the situation carefully. And get them to box, possibly. «It should rain for the next twenty minutes.»
Laps chalked up, wrapping around the tires, making them even more slippery, as every driver in front and behind you disappeared inside the pit lane and left you alone on the track, struggling with grip. «Can we box?» you asked, almost with a pleading tone. «Negative, we'd like to extend this stint.» How? Are they stupid? The tires were already quite worn out and in order to stay on track with the rain you were driving inevitably slower than everyone else, hence becoming prey of undercuts. «Guys, we're losing time! It's raining too much!» Unheard. Neglected. Nobody answered. You sighed, frustrated. «Thank you.» # The pale, yellow light of the panels installed around the track, reflecting through the thick layer of pouring water, struck Charles, who started gently braking, only to hear Xavi speak to him through the radio right after. «Safety car deployed, safety car deployed! Keep the delta positive.» Charles exhaled, relaxing a bit, as well as slowing down the car. «What happened?» he asked, more out of habit than really meaning it. As he carefully drove through Pouhon, his question was automatically answered: a car was smashed against the barriers, but he couldn’t even tell whose team the car was, due to the heavy rain. «Fuck, who is it?» Charles asked his engineer, thinking how bad the impact must have been, considering how fast that specific corner was. «I-it's y/n.» Charles didn't hear. His ears could suddenly capture the sound of the waterfall of rain crashing against the track, the engine and the power unit revving behind him, the cheers of the fans around the circuit. A piercing fear rummaged inside his bones, his stomach, crawling up his heart and clenching it, unable to process the information. Not in Spa. Anywhere, but there. Anyone, but you.
«Is she okay? Did she get out? Is she hurt?» «I will let you know.» his engineer answered, as calm as he could possibly be. Charles urgently pressed the radio button once again. «No, Xavi, I need to know! Please.» «Copy, she's still in the car.» «Is there any team radio or...?» «Not at the moment, but I'll keep you updated.»
Charles stared intently at the red lights of the cars in front appearing and disappearing before his eyes through the rain. He wanted to disconnect his brain, to forget everything, to focus on the race; but there was no way he could. # «Are you okay?» your engineer said, crackled. Breathing in and out your mouth, heavy, tired, full of fear, you looked around you, unable to see anything due to the rain. You pressed the radio button to answer, but you noticed the small activating light didn't lit up in the process. The radio was gone. Still breathing erratically, you bursted out crying. Unheard. Why did they leave you on slicks, aware of the danger? Neglected. The umpteenth race thrown to the wind, when you were fighting for good and well-deserved points. Frustrated. Your cries ricocheted inside your helmet, hoping someone would hear you, hoping someone would care, hoping efforts could be rewarded, sooner or later. # «She's out of the car, she seems to be okay.» «Was she still on inters?» Charles asked his engineer, as he drove into the pitlane after the race had been red flagged. «No, she was on mediums.» Mechanics placing a gazebo upon the car to shelter him from the rain, Charles reasoned Xavi’s words, trying to make sense of them. Everyone had stopped to put intermediate tires and, right before the safety car’s deployment, a lot of drivers already had boxed for full wets. How could she possibly drive on slicks with those conditions? What sick strategy was that? No, it could only be a joke. «Mediums? Are you sure?» Charles double-checked, hoping his engineer had got confused. «Yes, y/n hasn’t pitted since the race start.» Charles’ chest filled up with a wave of rage and deep frustration, so strong he thought he wouldn’t be able to control himself and would get out the cockpit, running towards Alfa Romeo’s garage in order to ask them what their plan was, if it was an attempt to kill you or if they were fucking blind and couldn’t see the track’s conditions. He couldn’t bear it at all; not after what had happened in Spa’s rainy days, not after losing already two of his friends on track. And Charles, while drops of rain were hitting the gazebo, indifferent to the mechanics’ movement around the car, sitting still with a downpour of feelings sliding off his hands, couldn’t even process that he had just risked losing you as well. ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼ The fresh smell of grass and soil itched your nose, sharp and nauseous, fueling the tears gathering above your waterline. The sun was hidden behind the soft veil of clouds, casting a feeble light on the field. A valley of grey marbles cut open new wounds. Staring at it, you recalled your mother asking you to choose a picture you liked, but you immediately regretted seeing it plastered upon the grave: the happy memory behind it would've been forever merged with mourning, grief. Death.
Birds chirped from high above a tree, drowning out your mother's weeps.  How do I keep them quiet?, you wondered. How to fade out the inner noise, the chaos, the pain flowing out of your eyes? You walked out. Indifferent to the eyes pointing at you, indifferent to your mom crying louder, indifferent to her sorrow, you marched towards the gate out of Hell. How were you supposed to watch your father being buried? Your dad, the one who taught you how to walk, how to race, how to love? How could you do that? How did people cope with it? How did your mother keep her composure, holding the handkerchief close to her nose so that no feeling would run out? How didn't she scream from the bottom of her lungs, losing her voice, scratching her skin with the nails, tugging at her hair while doing so? Why was everyone seamlessly indifferent to him? Why did everyone stand his death like anything normal, a simple news to be heard and forgotten?  Did anyone but you love him at all? How come you were the only one devastated by it? Why did it amplify, ricocheting inside your soul, doubling, growing stronger and more unbearable?
Birds answered your sobs with a graceful melody, as a sudden ray of sun reached your shaking shoulder. ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼  ҉  ҉  ҉  ҉ ✼ You managed to hold your tears before the cameras, pride poking your eyes. You wouldn't give in to provocations and feed the journalists with whatever they were trying to gain from you; Charles had told you a bit about his own press experiences, he had advised you and you had agreed with each of his reflections, hence followed his suggestion. You were stronger than that, and that was something you had learned from him: he had shown and proved it to you, how you didn’t need other’s approval and validation but your own.
Still, on the verge of falling down like glass and helplessly breaking in thousands of pieces, held back by anxiety and fear, you frantically looked left and right at the media pen in search of one person only. You had waited for him until the end of the race, your assistant long gone after your interviews, but you had felt incapable of facing the pouring rain and the walk of shame twice.
You had tried to enjoy the race from a small screen inside the pen but, to pretty much everyone’s dismay, Charles had been forced out of the track after the restart caused by your crash and had ended the race tenth after running third all along. It wasn’t fair.
As soon as he stormed inside the interviews’ area, Charles halted his steps abruptly at your sight, almost about to leave the journalists hanging and bring you far away from worries and guilt. His assistant’s hand, though, reluctantly convinced him to first get done with his duties, but not without  throwing a last glance at you, who still hadn’t noticed him and were searching for his appearance. Once you did, you never lost sight of him, holding onto his frustrated body language, his shrugs full of disappointment. And then it came sudden. His hurried steps, his pained eyes, the pair of arms skillfully grabbing your waist, anchoring light, firm but not too tight: it made your world crumble and shatter once for all.
You both stayed silent, as tears reached your twitching chin and Charles wetted his lips, frowning, frustration visible through his tensed features. In a matter of seconds, he was already holding your hand, guiding you far away from the chaos, dragging you out of the suffocating atmosphere. # Charles flung his room’s door open and left your hand in order to lock it. Founding yourself in a safe place, alone, you sobbed louder, letting your brows clash upward, face crumpling. As he turned and saw you, a pang to his chest, he waited for you to crush inside his embrace. What can I do?, he asked himself. What was there to say? How could he erase mistakes from the script of your life, of his own? How could he make it beautiful and happy so that no tears, no sorrow had to be shed inside your souls? «I gave everything.» you cried. «I know.» Charles said to himself, caressing your cheek. You drank in his touch, thirsty for love, but those words didn’t empty the box of sadness trapped beneath your chest. It didn't feel enough to you. «I gave everything for this, Charles.» you tried to say, voice cracking. «I…» At the sudden thought of your father, you stopped talking and cried harder, filling a deafening silence. «I know.» Charles struggled to prevent his thoughts and breaths from running, so he tried to point all his attention upon you; putting strands of hair back in place, wiping tears away, keeping your face upward and fighting against its natural tendency to drop down. But the more he looked at you, the more his own thresholds were being knocked over. «My father...» you bit your lip. «No, it's okay, y/n.» Charles immediately pulled you back into a hug. «It's okay, don't think about it.» He couldn't listen to it. He couldn't bear hearing from you to the thoughts he was trying to subside in his own mind. Every word was a stab, a crack through the wall, willing to create a breach. However, you couldn’t surrender and suffocate in his hold everything you needed to say, so you rebelled and loosened the grip. «It's not fair.» «Y/n...» he almost pleaded. «I don't deserve it. You don't deserve it, Charles! You...» you sniffed and sobbed before proceeding.  «You are worth so much more than that.» You saw his irises wavering. Then, finally, a lonely tear slowly began travelling towards the side of his nose, nestling onto his skin. «I don't know what to say.» In the way his voice dropped and trembled, you knew that was the last straw.
You sat onto the couch, both at the same time, with slow movements, hands cupping each other’s faces. You were so close you couldn't tell whether the tears falling onto the leathered couch were his or yours; there was something intrinsically intimate and desperate in crying that close, in receiving each other's sobs, foreheads touching, noses brushing.  There was nothing else to be said, words wouldn’t fulfill the purpose: a stronger bond, a deeper sharing replaced unsatisfying talking. Crying had never tasted so sweet and purifying. You didn't simply feel understood: you felt felt. It was two bodies and one soul, one shared fate. And as one, you both leaned in, lips connecting softly. As everything in your life, joy had chosen its place to spring amidst the storm, nurtured by the rain falling down, lacing sorrow and tears. «I love you.» Charles said. «I love you.» you said back, still crying. «I love, y/n.» Charles breathed, leaving a kiss onto the corner of your mouth. «I love you...» he kept repeating, as a prayer, peppering kisses all over your face and then sealing his words onto your lips once more, hands holding your face as the dearest and most fragile flower of the world. «I love you so much.» you whispered. A smile crossed his face broken by sadness and mended it, like trails of gold gluing splinters of a vase.
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«We shouldn't do it here.» you said, breathless. Charles leaned in and stole another kiss from your lips, which you were completely unable to resist, hands unconsciously pulling him even closer. As he broke the contact painstakingly slowly, about to smirk, Charles stopped only a few centimeters away from your face. «Sure? You seem to like it.» You jokingly patted his shoulder as you both smiled at each other, getting your bodies the farthest they had been in ten minutes. Sat upon a chest of drawers belonging to Charles’ preparation room, you stared at him, tracing with the sight his perfect features, the fireproof shirt draping him and clinging onto his skin, fingers playing with his bracelets, while you twisted the charm of the necklace he had gifted you, and you then gazed at his rosy lips, so bright and tempting. He joined your hand and caressed the charm, only to close the gap between you two once again.
You had never made out with anyone so sweetly, so tenderly, going at a gentle pace, careful of vulnerabilities and wounds, lust being replaced by a soft yearning. A bloom of butterflies spread all over your body whenever Charles' hands unexpectedly moved, making you discover angles of skin you didn't even know you had, seeking refuge in the comforting warmth of his kisses. «We need to go...» you tried to dissuade him after he began leaving quick pecks from the corner of your mouth down to your neck. «Just five more minutes.» he moaned, still caught in his tantalizing kisses. «My mom is waiting for me, Charles...» you laughed. «Mine is too.» he briefly replied, without letting his lips stray from your skin. «Another reason to go greet them.» Charles looked at you, inhaling as to refrain from kissing you again. «Fine.» he sighed. «Let's go. I also have a gift for you.» «Really?» Charles wiped your cheek as your whole face lit in joy. «Yes. But let's get out of here quickly, please.» he pleaded, smiling. # «There you are!» your mom exclaimed, gesturing towards you and Charles walking in, a shy smile as you stood a little bit too close to him. «I thought you had forgotten about us.» Pascale teased, following with the sight his son, who reached a bag abandoned on the floor and approached the three of you once again. «Early Christmas!» Charles handed a package to your mom, who opened her eyes wide, one to Pascale and, lastly, one to you. «That’s so nice of you! Can I open it??» your mom asked, thrilled. «Sure!» Charles smiled. You watched her unwrapping the paper with excitement, gaping as soon as she recognized the jacket your father wore in the photograph she was holding. «When did you take this picture?» Pascale joyfully asked, staring at the same framed photo your mom had. «Must’ve been a long time ago.» your mom said, smiling, but voice low. «Thank you so very much, Charles!» «It was y/n’s idea to print a copy for you.» he added, willing to point out the thoughtfulness was all yours. Blushing a bit, you looked up at him, fluttered. «C’mon, open yours.» Charles gently encouraged you, speaking in a lower tone. But there was no surprise: it was, indeed, the cut-out picture you had talked about, with you two only. You had expected it to be funny, a photo you two would laugh at; however, as Charles’ hand joined yours in holding the frame and stared at the picture with you, out of the blue you sensed a soft and delicate aura you hadn’t perceived the first time, as if Arthur had caught you in an intimate moment no one should’ve seen or disturbed, inside a bubble of innocence and sweetness.
Pascale and your mother felt the same way looking at you two being lost in gaze, both holding the frame, so close to each other, and smiling like two idiots. «Can we see it?» Pascale asked after an awkwardly long silence. The spell being broken, you both tilted your head up at the question. «Of course!» you stuttered, handing it over. Your mom couldn’t help but flip her eyes between you and Charles, searching for the invisible string tying the two of you. «Who would’ve thought you would meet again…» Pascale commented, handing the frame back to you. Those words warmed Charles’ heart up, as memories of the last months played in his head: it was more than simply meeting again. It was bonding, connecting on a deeper level without really knowing why, the same way you had done that rainy day; taking care of each other, supporting through hardships and enjoying little, special moments together. It didn’t feel real. And deep down, recalling his feelings on that first time you met, he had known something was different about you from the beginning. He definitely hadn’t seen the beautiful ending coming, both falling in love with each other. But he loved every second of it. # As you walked back to the hotel in your mother’s company, she looked back at the pictures Charles had given you. «You seem really happy, y/n.» A bit taken aback by the statement, you glanced at her, trying to read into her words. «I am.» you smiled, genuinely content. «Is it because of Charles?» she asked. You diverted the gaze, pressing your lips together in an attempt to hide the grin that was about to light up your face. You had never felt so comfortable around anyone, protected by the harshness of the sport, free to be yourself, loving and loved. It didn’t feel real. For the first time in years, your mother didn’t fear leaving you deal alone with your life in the majority of your trips all over the world: she didn’t have to silently check over and worry about your health, both physical and mental, because she clearly saw happiness written inside your eyes, and she had acknowledged you weren’t alone. «Maybe.» you rushed, with a mischievous grin, shrugging your shoulders. «Does he make you feel good?» At the question, your father immediately came to mind: you overlayed the feelings you had from happy memories in his company with some of the ones you’d had with Charles, and a suffused bliss permeated the both of them, almost blurring into each other. You smiled, joyfully nostalgic. «Yes, he does.»
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When you received the call on Saturday evening, the bubble of happiness you had been trying to live in for a while plopped before your eyes. In silence, staring at the void, you replayed Bravi’s words in your head over and over again, in search of the deeper meaning hidden beyond those. Talking about the contract the day before a race, and not any, but Monza, which was pretty much home for the team, put you on the edge more than it would’ve normally. It must be serious, you thought.
Exiting the hotel, you saw Charles still caught signing and spending time with fans after the stellar pole position he had taken in the afternoon; you tried not to get noticed, which you managed to do successfully, and sneaked out heading to the track. # «Hi, y/n. Please, sit down.» You never stopped looking at him, watching every movement, fathoming the desk for signals and signs onto eventual sheets of paper that offered clues. «There’s a race tomorrow.» «I know. What about it?» he asked, baffled. You deeply inhaled. «You shouldn’t make huge decisions before a race, since it could affect the results of it.» «Do you think I would do that if I knew it could deny us the chance to confirm the P5 you conquered in qualifying today?» «I don’t know.» you shrugged. Bravi backed down onto the chair and reached a drawer, picking up a folder from it and placing it in front of you. «Audi is scoping the surroundings to find drivers suitable for the team and have them experienced and ready for its debut in the 2026 season. As you can imagine, it’s hard to sign contracts with drivers who are still under other teams and whose futures are still uncertain, so… they decided to take a look inside their own garden and, apart from the mistakes you’ve done due to inexperience, they were pleasantly impressed by your performance as a rookie.» Gently smiling at your loss of words, Alessandro kept talking. «They would offer a three-years contract, so that you would be part of the team throughout the transition to Audi as well and would be driving, of course, in 2026. To be fair, the contract looks more like a 1+2, since they still need to evaluate you next year… But it’s an incredible offer nonetheless, y/n.» He moved the folder towards you with his fingertips. «You can examine the contract with Todt, but please note that you have two weeks to either sign or refuse the offer.» Here it was. The passport to your dreams, the chance of your life being renewed in ways you had never even dared to imagine. What had you done to deserve it? You stopped that trail of thoughts immediately: you had worked so hard, you had been on the edge for months, reaping success but failures as well, partly dictated by the stress of the situation you found yourself in. Still, you had learned from it, you had improved, and everybody knew it, Audi knew it. It was time to let go of doubts, to judge and see yourself the same way others did, without dwelling on the negatives. What did you need to do in order to prove you deserved it? How could you turn that news into grateful motivation? There was only one answer. «We’ll have it.» you said. «We’ll have that P5.» # «Good morn- fuck, it’s 9.20.» Charles growled, one hand still wrapped around your waist, the other one checking the time on his phone. «Good morning to you too.» you chirped, turning around to face him and greet him with a quick peck on the lips. You saw Charles slightly frowning with a smile. «You seem really happy.» «I am.» you admitted, looking down. Adjusting a strand of your hair, he took the opportunity to lean in and kiss you; then, tender, he brushed the tips of your noses in a slowly intimate awakening gesture. «Is it for the race?» he asked. You raised your eyes up, in thought, then shook your head with a pout. «Is it… because of me?» Charles smirked before bursting in a loud laugh, downplaying his own suggestion. «Partly.» you answered, coquettish. «Then what is it?» he asked, wrapping his arms around your body and bringing it closer to him, still grinning. You diverted your gaze, smiling both at the thought of Audi’s offer and Charles’ curiosity. «I can’t tell you yet.» Disappointed but playful, Charles gently loosened his hold on you. «Why not?» «It’s not official.» you giggled.
He studied your expression with challenging eyes, then suddenly got on top of you, placing his hands at the sides of your head, so that you were trapped down between his detective stare and the pillow. «So, now… What’s this unofficial thing that’s making you so giggly and happy?» «Charles, I haven’t even talked with Nicholas about it…» As he widened his eyes in surprise, only in that moment, you realized you had just slipped up mentioning you two’s manager. «Did Alfa renew you??» Charles urged, now more serious. «Kind of.» you replied, nonchalant. «Audi offered me a three-years contract. But, you know, they still have the chance to drop me at the end of next year, so…» «And did you sign?» Charles asked. «No, as I told you I still need to read the contract and evaluate it. But let’s be real, I don’t think I’m getting a better offer in two weeks…» you laughed. «I still can’t believe they’ve chosen me.» «They did it because you deserve it. You’re talented, hard-working and you managed to achieve results the team hasn’t seen in years.» he said. «Also, despite some stupid journalists, fans support you and love you because they can see how much passion you put into driving, and everybody knows you are so…» «So?» you waited for him to end the sentence. «… Lovable.» «This doesn’t seem like a very technical comment, Mr Leclerc.» you laughed, patting his chest. «Was I supposed to be technical?» he asked, slowly bending down to slowly press his lips at the base of your jaw, right under the ear. «No, you weren’t, but still.» you said, caressing his hair as he pulled away.
He took a few seconds to stare at you, trying to read your expression. «Does it add pressure for today’s race?» he asked, his tone low, gentle, almost careful. «No.» you answered, lost in thought. «They made the offer before today’s results, so that just motivates me even more for the race.» «I’m so happy for you.» he added with a smile, getting close to give you a proper kiss. «And for us.» Confused, you raised a brow as he settled back to your side. «Waking up with you before free practice, warming up together ahead of qualifying… Making out to get ready for the race…» As he ended the list smugly, you pat his shoulder, earning his heaven laughter. «Travelling the world with you and sharing the passion that brought us together. Doing life with you, going at the same pace. Quite literally.» At the pun, you couldn’t help but cackle. «Don’t laugh, you’re quick with that little Alfa.» he pointed out. «Little Alfa? Are we so insignificant to you?» you joked, still laughing. «Of course not.»
You laid facing yourselves, both your pair of hands brushing, tracing with featherlike weight each other’s features, insatiable of touching, of closeness, of intimacy. No words were needed: silence was enough for you to communicate and bond, while everything else cluttered a background you didn’t even pay attention to. You had never experienced anything like it, and it was the best feeling you’d ever had. «Should we get up?» you whispered, scared to break the dreamy atmosphere. «We still have a bit of time.» Charles said, caressing your forearm. «Okay.» you smiled, completely content with cuddling in bed for a little bit more. «Okay.» he murmured. # «Safety car in this lap, y/n.» «Copy.» Waving on the straight before the Parabolica in order to put your front tires into temperature, you mentally assessed the situation. Rolling start. Four laps ‘til the end. Still P5.
You’d been extremely lucky the safety car had been deployed: you had stopped to put hard tires quite early in the race and your rear had been slipping for the last couple of laps, facilitating the comeback of Russel, who had been behind you all along, but at a safe distance. Among the sea of information your engineer had provided, one thought prevailed: let’s bring it home. # Smoke.  All you were able to see was a whitish cloud of burned rubber, which entered your nostrils and made you inhale the smell of fear, danger but, most importantly, of victory. You quickly realized Perez had suffered a huge lock up braking towards turn 1: he ended up into Carlos’ rear, which caused the Spaniard to strike Verstappen as well, who was taking the outer side of the chicane to oppose Charles at the inside. An absolute carnage you didn’t expect, and that you managed to avoid.
Driving through Curva Grande, you checked your mirrors waiting for one of those cars to appear once again, to no avail. «Russel behind, at 1.5» your engineer warned. «What about the mess in turn one?» you asked, breathing heavily. «They are in the middle of the group, but they all have damage, so they’re either stopping or retiring. No need to worry about them.» «No red flag?» you questioned, scared of how big the risk would be for you if another restart was needed. «No, they managed to keep going, it’s okay.» your engineer tried to reassure you. But you couldn’t believe it. Charles’ car was ahead of you, leading the race, and you followed pretty close, despite clearly not having the same pace as the Ferrari did, in second place. # Time had taught Charles there were different tastes of happiness. To be fair, the one he had tried the most had the pinch of bitterness and loss in it, a much-demanded karmic price but probably not a sufficient reward for suffering. Whenever sadness laced joy, tangling its dark tails around the golden rush, feelings doubled and echoed louder inside Charles’ chest, a nostalgic symphony resonating all over, marking memories with the indelible sign, every time. But not that day.
He crossed the finish line waving in delight to celebrate his win in Monza, fans roaring strong enough to rock the world, a rude red awakening of passion. It felt right, deserved, earned: shared with the explosive energy of Tifosi. And shared with you.
Looking in his mirrors and seeing your Alfa made his beating heart swell in excitement and thrill, unable to fully process what was happening. Charles, being himself, would’ve loved fighting on track for the lead, in Monza, but he knew as well that his pace advantage was unfair and such a fantasy was unrealistic. Though, through the lap of honor, waving at the grandstands, he frantically searched for your car and slowed down in order to proceed side by side, grinning with his whole eyes, raising a thumb towards you with might. It felt like happiness lacing happiness, gold upon gold, far from being sickening, burning brighter than the sun.
Down the pitlane, he got out, standing on the nose of the car, throwing a fist to the sky as a loud roar followed his gesture in cheer. He ran, faster than he could, and threw himself inside the mechanics’ embrace and pats, sharing the rush and the adrenaline after achieving the dream win. His name, like a chant, echoed through the crowd, numbing his senses and unlocking the secret drawer of emotions to open and overflow, pour down as warm rain nurturing the soil of his heart. «Charles, here! Please, Charles!» the photographers asked for his attention. In vain. He had turned his head behind, searching for you, and he had found you: still sitting inside the cockpit, visor opened, hands reaching your eyes. It took nothing else for his feet to carry him next to you and lean down, touching your shoulder with love, and he smiled. You were shedding tears of happiness. «Congratulations for your first podium. You were amazing.» he tried to let you know through the helmet. You stared at him, incapable of speaking. You wanted to congratulate him as well, you needed to express your love and affection and pride so much, yet felt speechless. So, instead of talking, you started unfastening your helmet, and Charles involuntarily mirrored your movements. And as your balaclava freed your hair from its protection and you stood up gripping the halo with one hand, you did the only thing you were able to do: you pulled Charles close into a kiss. Your intention was for it to be quick, a simple and fast peck placed onto his lips in sign of gratitude; though, you didn’t feel surprised as you felt his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up, deepening a kiss which was meant to be brief.
You both didn’t pay attention to the loud whistles, you were too lost into each other’s embrace; foreheads tenderly touching, rosy cheeks after an intense race, you two couldn’t help but grin, catching breaths. «I love you.» you whispered. «I love you more.» he replied, not as whispered, almost aiming to be heard, willing to let the entire world know. And he showed. Offering his hand to help you get out the cockpit, after you had just put down your feet to the ground, adrenaline still running high, Charles lifted you off bride-style and twirled around, both giggling. Wiping off a tear and chuckling at the same time, you held your arms around his neck when Charles reached the interviews’ area and brought you back down.
Russel was still ecstatic and thrilled narrating his race while you and Charles faced each other, silently exchanging affectionate stares and speaking a few words. «I’m so happy for you, gosh… You won, Charles!» you said, unable to contain excitement. «It was hard, but it feels so good.» he exhaled, shutting his eyes in a tired and relieved motion. «And you don’t even know how special it is to share this win with you on the podium as well.» he added, caressing your cheek.
Up from your podium step, the sea of people flooding the track, the flags, the giant prancing horse pulsing in front of you was the scenery of a movie playing all years as a ritual, but you felt like it was the first time ever seeing it: the afternoons spent on the couch watching F1 with your father suddenly disappeared, leaving room for astonishment and the childish curiosity of toddlers before the amazing simplicity of the things. Once you were handed the cup, feeling everybody’s eyes on you, especially Charles’ next to you, you raised the trophy to the sky, the crowd cheering for you. Among the choir of chants, voices, screaming Charles’ name, in that ocean of faces, in the clouds above the track, everything reminded you of your dad, and you could hear him cheering in joy for you.
Champagne already flying up in the air and drenching confetti falling down, Charles knew exactly what you were thinking as soon as he caught you scanning your surroundings, a bit lost in the overflowing feelings. He raised the champagne bottle forward, waiting for yours to join in a celebration toast. Off guard, Charles started spraying champagne all over you, engaging in an endless war nobody could enter or halt, no chance to interfere or dissuade you. You had your secret motives to celebrate; and you would both keep dancing under liquid gold until your arms got tired of holding, until your eyes got tired of staring, until your lips got tired of kissing. Until your hearts got tired of loving.
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I'm really sorry if there are typos or mistakes, but it was really hard to revise such a long fic. Hope you'll be understanding 🥺 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! ♥ I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO! HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧
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