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Summary: This is the story of how Charles Leclerc finds love, and brings down an entire corrupt organisation, but that's just the background plot. Not really though. Come for the plot, stay for the rookies.
Warning(s): Mild Language, Drivers being idiots, plotting schemes, the FIA is shit? But we've been known about that. Driver shenanigans. Y/N will be introduced next chapter actually.
Part 1 ~Series Masterlist~
"I'm in the business of misery, let's take it from the top."
Charles didn’t know why he agreed to this.
Probably because Carlos texted “mandatory group therapy at Lando's, bring snacks or fuck off” and then followed it with a thumbs-up emoji.
And Charles, being the responsible, curious idiot he was, thought "yes, therapy sounds lovely."
Instead, he found himself in the middle of a Monaco flat that smelled suspiciously spring rolls, and something that could only be described as “boy.”
Carlos was already there, legs stretched across Lando’s coffee table like he paid the mortgage.
Alex had brought a six-pack of something suspiciously non-alcoholic, which Max was side-eyeing like it had personally insulted his mother.
“So,” Lando said, flopping onto the couch beside Charles, “have you heard of this fucking absurdity they’re actually pushing forward with now?”
Max, who had his entire upper body halfway into the fridge, let out a groan. “You mean the swearing thing? Godverdomme. Bunch of fuckers," he poked his head out the fridge, "Lando! There’s no Red Bull in here. I hate this place.”
Lando didn’t even look up. “We don’t carry Red Bull in this house. This is a Monster Energy zone.”
“Fuck you, mate.” Max slammed the fridge door and grabbed a questionable-looking apple. “Hope your sink clogs.”
"Eat shit, Max"
Charles rubbed his face. “So we get fined for swearing ? Like... for real? Real money?”
“Real our money,” Alex chimed in. “Forty grand for a ‘fuck.’ Eighty if you say it while looking too sexy.”
Carlos snorted. “I’d be broke by lunch.”
“Cabrón,” Lando wheezed, “you’d be fined just for existing with that hair.”
That was when Charles looked over. Carlos’ hair really was… suspiciously shiny. Glossy, not greasy. Regal, almost. Did it move in the light? Was that a beam of sunshine catching it just so? It was giving shampoo commercial in the best, most infuriating way.
Carlos noticed him staring. Flicked his head just slightly, like a slow-mo ad.
“Don’t even try, mate. It’s genetics. L'Oréal Paris tried to bottle this, saying it was them.” He smirked.
“They failed. Obviously. No shampoo can handle this kind of fabulous.”
Alex nearly spit his drink. “Don’t let George hear you say that. He’ll sob into his Dyson.”
Carlos scoffed. “George can do all the Dyson-sponsored TikToks he wants. But this,” he gestured dramatically to his hair,
“this is art.”
“More like black magic,” Charles muttered.
Why did it feel like he was in an alternate reality?
Then, slightly louder, “Do you think they’d fine me if I told the FIA to go fuck themselves in song?”
“They’d probably double it,” Lando said. “Add royalties.”
“FIA peuvent aller se faire foutre,” Charles said, with all the elegance of a penguin.
“That’s the spirit!” Alex raised his glass. “European flair with a hint of rage.”
Max bit into his sad apple and frowned. “Seriously, where is the money going? Like... forty grand? For saying what 'shit'?”
He looked around. “That’s a new set of tires. That’s a Rolex. That’s a very, very expensive escort in Amsterdam.”
"....................."
Max shrugged. “What? I googled.”
“They never tell us anything,” Charles muttered. “All these fines. These ‘regulations.’ And not once do they show us receipts.”
There was a pause. Then, deadpan, Charles added, “Gosh, I wish we could just, you know, secretly pay someone to find out what the fuck they’re doing with our money.”
That got murmurs of agreement. Alex said something about shady Swiss bank accounts.
Then the Thai muttered, “bet they’re using it for private jet charters and...uh..body wax. Yes.”
Lando, unusually quiet, sat forward.
He looked at all of them, dead serious—well, as serious as Lando Norris could look while wearing socks with little racecars on them.
“I actually might know someone who can help us.”
Everyone froze. Even Max stopped chewing.
“You’re not joking,” Charles said, brow raised.
“No,” Lando said, eyes gleaming. “Not even a little bit.”
“Who?” Alex asked, suddenly intrigued.
Lando just grinned like the cat that swallowed the paddock. “Let’s just say… they’ve got the skills. And zero respect for authority.”
Charles leaned forward. “Are they hot?”
“Obviously,” Lando said. “I don’t work with amateurs.”
Max pointed the apple core at him. “If they get us arrested, I’m blaming you.”
“You’re Dutch. You’ll probably be the one who gets us in jail.”
"Why are you being racist towards me, oh my god"
"Shut up guys" Carlos groans.
Charles, for his part, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. This was insane. Utterly idiotic. Deeply illegal, maybe.
But also…
"I'm in" He says as he looks around at the faces of the drivers around him, all slowly starting to smile.
If I didn't know what was going on, I'd think it was creepy if they started smiling at me at the same time.
"Want a monster, Max?"
"Fuck off, Norris"
"I've got a monster, it's in my pa—"
"CARLOS!"
_________________________
From his window seat near the front of the jet, Charles Leclerc glanced over at the quietest part of the plane—a square foot of peace occupied by Jack Doohan, fully unconscious, hoodie over his face, and completely unaffected by the circus onboard.
Unfortunately, the rest of the jet was a violently different experience.
“I can literally just ask him,” Max growled, shoving a Red Bull can into the cupholder like it personally offended him. “He works for me. I pay him.”
“Ugh, you’re such a Libra,” Lando groaned, sprawled across his seat sideways, his feet on Carlos' lap, like a particularly irritating cat.
“That’s not the point, Maxie. It’s my secret mission. You get to be the muscle.”
“I’m literally a four-time world champion.”
“And yet you’ve got the mystery-solving skills of a wet paper towel.”
Max threw an empty redbull can at him. Lando caught it and aimed it perfectly at a bin, all while grinning at Max.
Max thinks if he kills Lando right now, everyone in the jet would be considered an accomplice and he wouldn't be alone in prison.
But the rookies have such bright futures ahead. His brain whispered to him. It sounded like GP.
So he just leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, trying to calm down.
één...twee..drie
Nearby, Oscar was curled up by the window, fast asleep like an angel in a hoodie.
Alex was standing in the aisle infront of his seat, camera up, trying desperately to snap embarrassing shots of Oscar sleeping—but George, unfortunately, was in the background of every shot, adjusting his own angles and muttering under his breath.
“Why do I look like a melted Victorian candle in every photo?” George scowled at his reflection in the mirror of his phone.
“Maybe you just have that vibe,” Alex said cheerfully. “Haunted British antique. Sort of works for you.”
“Oh, shut it.”
Meanwhile, the rookies had claimed the back half of the jet like a boarding school on wheels.
Kimi Antonelli and Ollie Bearman had found the mini wine bar and were crouched in front of it like they were preparing for battle.
Gabriel Bortoleto stood behind them, arms crossed, clearly helping—though his version of help might’ve just been reading the French labels out loud and offering strong opinions on corks.
“Guys, I’m just saying, this Bordeaux is probably older than us,” Gabriel murmured.
“Perfect,” Kimi said, yanking on the wine fridge handle like it had wronged him in a past life, it wouldn't budge.
Ollie opened another fridge and blinked at the vast array of redbull cans in it, "this bitch empty, just redbull," he turned to Kimi, "keep going, whatever is in there, it's sure to be iconic"
“It's sure to be Illegal,” muttered Liam Lawson from nearby, but he was distracted—he and Isack Hadjar were both gazing around the jet like tourists on a class trip. “I think this jet is bigger than my first apartment.”
“Mate, I think this jet is bigger than my entire family tree,” Isack replied.
Max sighed loudly, watching them from the aisle with arms crossed. “This is the first time my jet has ever felt so.… full.”
Lando didn’t even glance up from his phone. “That’s because you have no friends.”
“Fuck you, Lando.”
“See, this is why you don’t get invited to things.”
“You’re in my jet!”
“Yeah, and somehow still regretting letting you convince me to take it.”
Next to a silently cursing Max, Charles was doing his best not to lose his mind while getting absolutely obliterated by Carlos at chess.
“I don’t even know why you try anymore,” Carlos said smugly, adjusting a bishop with entirely too much confidence.
“You're not even that good,” Charles muttered, glaring at the board like it had personally insulted his family. “You just talk so much I forget what my next move is.”
“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” Carlos cooed in a faux-dramatic voice, it reminded Charles of that one clip with Kris and Kylie Jenner.
“You already said that to Alex.”
Carlos smirked. “Are you jealous?”
Charles made a noise that was definitely not a denial and absolutely not a pout, then turned his attention toward Oscar, still asleep, and Alex, who was trying to get a picture of him,
but kept being photobombed by George adjusting his jawline and moving his hand through his hair.
“You’re ruining the shot with your hair, George,” Alex whined.
“My hair is the shot!” George snapped.
From the back, Ollie raised his voice over the chaos. “Guys! I can’t believe we’re actually doing this! Like, full-blown operation.”
The rookies nodded solemnly around him like this was the Avengers assembling.
“I heard about the driver strike,” Isack whispered reverently.
“Same,” Liam said. “Absolute carnage.”
The older drivers exchanged glances across the cabin.
Silent, knowing. They hadn’t meant to bring the rookies.
In fact, they'd specifically tried not to tell them. But somehow, all five of them had been at the airport when the group arrived—already packed, caffeinated, and suspiciously ready.
They probably have a group chat.
“Just how bad can it be?” Max muttered to no one in particular.
Which, in their language, meant incredibly bad. Catastrophic. Delicious.
Charles leaned toward Lando, still scowling from his chess loss, and asked, “This person we’re staying with... do they at least have air conditioning?”
Lando just smiled, far too pleased with himself.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Charles blinked. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Me?” Lando said. “Never.”
Max leaned over. “Can we please just land already. I swear if I don’t get on land soon, I’ll throw Lando out the door.”
“You wouldn’t,” the brit said, grinning. “You love me too much.”
Max growled. “I’d aim for the rocks.”
From the back of the jet came a loud crash.
“WHO GAVE KIMI A CORKSCREW?” someone yelled.
Charles closed his eyes.
This was fine. This was normal. It's only been two hours since the sunrise. This is normal.
This was definitely going to blow up on their faces.
________________________
The plane landed with a subtle bump and an ominous silence.
It wasn’t the silence of anticipation, or awe, or respect.
It was the silence of what the fuck is this.
Charles looked out the window, squinting against the blinding daylight.
Grass. Dirt. More grass. A single squirrel, maybe. And in the far, far distance—what looked like a manor? Or possibly a haunted vineyard. It was hard to say.
“Did we crash into a farm?” Max’s voice cut through the cabin, sharp and offended.
“Is this someone's private field? Where are the buildings? Where are the people? Why does it smell like hay?” That sounded like Alex.
Charles blinked. “I think there’s an estate over there.” He pointed vaguely, like that would solve anything.
Carlos leaned over Charles’s shoulder. “Big house. Very big. Like… murder-for-inheritance-big.”
“Definitely too big,” Max muttered. “It’s like, really far, a full day of walking maybe.”
“You didn’t even bring extra snacks!” Isack groaned, dragging his hoodie over his head like a defeated blanket ghost.
“My phone won’t load anything!” Liam added.
“Do you guys… not have Wi-Fi?” Gabriel asked, looking horrified, like someone had just said “dial-up internet.”
“Lando,” Carlos said calmly, turning in his seat, “you didn’t get us a driver’s lounge receiver?”
“You didn’t even ask for it, and because we’re not at a normal airport,” Lando said cheerfully. “We’re on a secret mission."
Then he frowned at everyone. “God, you’re all so entitled.”
Max looked like he was ready to commit violence. “You kidnapped me from my home and flew me to a huge barn estate.”
“It's not a barn,” Lando sniffed, perking up. “Oh! Look, the van's here.”
Everyone turned.
A huge black van rumbled down the dirt road, kicking up dust like it had emerged from the void. It was the kind of van that looked suspicious in a very Netflix docuseries sort of way.
Lando, inexplicably cheerful, clapped his hands. “Alright! Group up! Bags—well, don’t bother, they’ll get delivered. Everyone count off.”
He started pointing as the drivers started moving towards the exit. “Max, Jack, Carlos—rookies with Carlos please—they're you go Kimi —Carlos hold on to Ollie, he looks a bit peaky—Isack, Gabriel, Alex, George, Charles—” he hesitated.
Someone cleared their throat.
“Uh… guys?” said Liam awkwardly from the back. “I think Oscar’s still asleep.”
There was a beat of silence.
Carlos blinked. “We were going to leave a man behind.”
“Typical,” Max grunted. “McLaren drivers. Useless.”
“I’m right here,” Lando said.
“Exactly, I'm not talking about Oscar.”
"Gosh Max, you're so rude to me."
Jack yawned so hard his jaw cracked. Isack stumbled into Gabriel, who stumbled into Kimi, who was holding a bottle of Max’s $800 wine like it was a sippy cup.
Ollie was giggling at nothing.
Charles gave them all a long, quiet stare.
They were flushed. Sweaty. Slightly glassy-eyed. He could practically see the wine fumes floating around them like ghosts of bad decisions. Some of them more drunk than the others.
He pressed his fingers to his temples.
If one of these kids died of alcohol poisoning on his watch, he’d have to personally call their parents. Explaining things in English to Isack Hadjar’s French-Algerian mother? He shuddered. He didn’t have the range.
But then he looked again.
They were… fine. A little wobbly. Very jetlagged. Possibly wine-poisoned. But alive.
“Surprisingly resilient,” he murmured.
“I once saw Kimi eat a whole jalapeño pepper at a press event,” George, whispered. “He’s built different.”
“Do we get Oscar or just—leave him?” Liam asked, visibly considering it.
“Oh my god,” Alex groaned. “We are the worst people.”
“I’ll get him,” Max said, turning back toward the jet.
“Wait,” Charles called. "Give him a bottle of water. And maybe tim tams, they're in my bag. He gets violent when he wakes up hungry.”
“I’m awake,” Oscar’s voice mumbled faintly from behind them, blanket around his shoulders like a sleepy gremlin.
“Jesus,” Max jumped. “Where did you come from?”
“Dreamland,” Oscar muttered. “Why is the ground moving?”
“It’s...not,” George said.
Oscar blinked. “Oh.”
The van honked.
Lando gestured like he was conducting an orchestra. “Alright, children. Into the mystery van. We’re going to meet someone very special.”
“Is it Santa?” Ollie asked, slightly slurring.
“I hope it’s a doctor,” Isack said.
“Or a therapist,” Gabriel muttered.
“Can I lie down?” Jack asked no one in particular.
Max pushed past everyone. “I swear to god, if this place we're staying at, doesn't have Redbull I’m suing you, Lando.”
Charles stepped off the jet last, the warm sun hitting him like a slap in the face. Dirt underfoot. Weird smells. A probably-haunted manor in the distance.
He sighed.
Carlos stood next to him, yawning. “So, do we trust this van?”
“No,” Charles said immediately. “But I’m too tired to care.”
Lando stood infront of all the drivers, and beamed at them.
“Welcome to phase two, bitches!”
Charles closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.
_______________________
Vrrrroooom.
The van jerked forward, spitting up gravel, and took off down the path like it had somewhere much more important to be.
Charles watched it vanish down the road with a rising sense of unease. “He just—he just left.”
“He LEFT?” Lando echoed, stepping out and raising his hands dramatically.
“I mean, yeah, obviously he left. That was the plan.”
“Wait, what do you mean that was the plan?” Carlos asked, frowning.
“I told him to drop us off and go. Y’know. In case someone was following us.”
“Following us?” Charles turned so fast he nearly pulled something. “Why would someone be following us? Lando what the actual fu—”
“I don’t know,” Lando shrugged. “Felt dramatic. Adds to the vibes.”
“Vibes?” Alex said, voice cracking. “We’re eleven drivers, some of whom are legally still teenagers, abandoned outside a giant murder mansion with no Wi-Fi or food, and your priority is vibes?”
The silence that followed was broken only by the distant sound of someone’s stomach growling. Possibly Isack’s. Or Charles’, Hard to say.
The wind picked up. The ivy rustled.
The manor stood still and silent before them. Waiting.
Charles shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and sighed.
“Fucking brilliant,” he muttered. “This is how horror movies start. And we’re the dumbass cast.”
"You think they will make a documentary about us if we go missing?" It was one of the rookies, one who didn't sound so drunk, so maybe Jack or Liam.
Charles wasn't sure anymore.
He groaned out loud again.
It wasn't even noon yet.
___________________________________________
Thank you for reading!
If you liked this part, please leave a like, a comment and a reblog!
I wrote this before I got into the accident, and now I've decided this is going to be my coping muse. I'm doing better now, getting the electroshock therapy and I have gained a weird obsession with yogurt of all things. Love you all.
Also, for anyone who didn't see the post, the Taglist is closed (Don't want to make another one, I'm way too tired for all of that)
As an alternate option, You can follow the tag "Julie's F1 rambles" this tag will only have my works.
GUYS PLEASE I WAS READING AN ISACK HADJER FANFIC LAST NIGHT AND NOW I CANT FIND IT IN MY REPOSTS AND LIKES PLEASE HELP ME!!!! UNDERGROUND BOXER ISACK!!!! HELP MEEE PLEASE ILL BE FOREVER GRATEFUL 🙏🙏🙏🙏
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
only saying this then going to bed because i only woke up because i was hungry but VCARB are slaying and i am so happy for both of them !!!!!!! isack for his great position (he deserves it because he’s good and because of what happened in australia) and yuki because he deserves it after all this time. both are great drivers and are (hopefully) going to do well this sunday 😚
