faceless ~ charles leclerc x reader

P1: the mask... take it off

Bold Italics are the past.

Normal italics are thoughts or radio messages

Word count: 2520

Pls vote and share! I work hard and it means a lot! <3

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Come on y/n!  you told yourself. You could feel the car beneath you hum as you broke smoothly into the corner, speeding up once again on the straight. Repeating these movements over and over like clockwork, as you did laps around the track, maintaining your position in first.

Throttle.

Break.

Turn.

Repeat.

Driving in a car as nice as a Red Bull felt euphoric, the car was sleek and fast. You glided across the pavement with the perfect amount of traction, you could overtake in your sleep.

"Nice work 66, you've lapped the back of the grid. Tsunoda coming up on your right at P20." your race engineer informed.

Clicking on your voice changer and the radio you responded, "Roger, thanks Rick,"

You lapped multiple people, continuing to feel at ease behind the wheel, your race could not be going better and you were well on your way to pulling ahead of your competition in the championship standings.

But you see, that was kind of a stressor...

Your boyfriend Charles had no fucking clue you were racing, hell he didn't even know you had ever stepped foot near a car before you met him. When you got the call from Christian Horner that he wanted you on the team you were beyond ecstatic, but of course, being the first woman in Formula One, there were some hesitations.

You had never had a huge social media presence and the thought of interviews made you nervous. Not to mention the massive fan population of Formula One that you felt already stalked you enough after meeting Charles.

Voicing your concerns with your new team principal was not a problem, and to be honest it sounded like he agreed with everything you had to say. Making you feel confident about your choice, even if you had nerves going into this alone and keeping it from your boyfriend.

"I completely understand y/n," Christian said over the phone. "I think if we send you out into the media, the drivers and them will eat you alive, not saying you couldn't handle it but that is a lot of unnecessary pressure."

"Yes," you replied. "And I want to be taken seriously, I believe people not knowing I'm a woman might just make my life a whole lot easier."

"And this is why I picked you y/n, you're serious about your work and are smart about it. I think this year is going to work out just fine."

You and Christian whipped up the plan to create a mysterious persona. You would use a voice-altering device at all times, people called you 66, no interviews or media were ever allowed, and absolutely no one could know your real identity. Not even your teammate Max, who had clearly been fuming since Horner started to favor your superior driving skills on the track, without even having a name.

"Box, box," Rick quipped, pulling you out of your thoughts, that sounded about right. You were about to take the second pit of your two-stop strategy. Replacing your worn-out hards with fresh medium tires that would last you until the end of the race and warm up perfectly for fastest lap attempts.

You turned the last corner before the entrance to the pit wall came into view, slowing the car, you took a clean park just outside your garage. After a quick few bumps up and down your car was released again, rolling down the pit lane and back out into the race. That must have been the fastest pit stop of your life. You speed past a Ferarri to maintain your previous spot in first.