FORMULA 1 IMAGINES | CHARLES LECLERC, LANDO NORRIS

sixteen* - charles leclerc

SYNOPSIS: In an attempt at saving your relationship, you get Charles' car number tattooed on a very special part of your body. But — is this really going to make a toxic boyfriend turn good once and for all?

WARNINGS: toxic relationship (lies, cheating, jealousy), mentions of alcohol, smut (oral, f receiving)

"He's gonna love it," Camilla lulled, clearly intoxicated, as you lay down next to the tattoo artist, exposing your hipbone to him. "If that's not making him love you once and for all then he can go to hell," she added, flipping through the magazines in hopes of finding the perfect tattoo for herself.

"You know, Y/N, sometimes I wish you and Charles weren't that toxic. I mean, look at you, you're getting his fucking number tattooed on a pretty private part of your body, knowing your relationship will never last as long as that thing," your other friend Marie tried to reason.

She was the mom friend after all, being wasted herself but still able to make smart decisions. But it was two against one and she knew you were stubborn. Especially when it came to Charles.

"Marie, shut the fuck up. I'm getting this tattoo, and my best friend Nicolas here," you pointed to the tattoo artist preparing all his tools — a complete stranger —, "is husband material for giving me what I want." Your words didn't even make sense at this point, so you were glad you were sober enough to actually remember Charles' car number.

16. You'd been looking out for the red car with that particular number during almost the races pretty inconsistently for the past two years. That's how long Charles and you had been dating. Well, "dating". His empty promises, lies, and cheating streaks turned a healthy relationship into an on-again-off-again addiction for the both of you.

He clearly couldn't let go of you, considering how he'd always come back to you, promise he'd never hurt you again until he would end up doing the same shit all over again just two weeks later; — but neither could you.

Knowing full well he had always taken advantage of your naivety, you decided over and over again to give him just one more chance. Even going as far as to getting his car number tattooed on your hip, hoping it'd make him realize you were the best thing he could possibly get. What a weak attempt at saving an already fucked up relationship.

"You like the placement like that?" Nicolas asked you, handing you a mirror to inspect the little number the tattoo stencil had left on your skin. It was pretty small, very delicate, almost unnoticeable even. But it was there, and you liked it. "It's perfect."

Three weeks had passed since you'd gotten the tattoo. It healed well, but had yet to be revealed. Things between you and Charles weren't going well lately. In fact, you hadn't even spoken in over a week. You didn't worry too much about it, though, knowing your extreme jealousy had probably caused him to blow off some steam by getting his dick wet elsewhere.

He'll come back eventually, you told yourself. He still loves me. And speaking of the devil, your phone rang. It was him.

"Hello?" Your voice sounded irritated enough to let him know you were still pissed. "I miss you, baby," was all he said. All he had to say. Because he knew what you'd say next. "Fine, I'm home."

His hands were all over your body as soon as he'd entered your apartment. The anger left inside of you and the sex deprivation made your hormones go insane, and your mind hazy. Charles was all you wanted and — most importantly — all you needed in this moment.

"I missed you so much, baby." His husky voice already made you clench around air as his lips went back to exploring your skin. From the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, then down to your neck, to which you immediately gave him even more access. You'd missed his kisses, even though you knew those lips had been exploring another girl's body while you were left to yourself for weeks.