ᯓwho☆: 𝒞harles x reader (fluff, angst x drabble) ᯓwhat☆: charles promises to win at monza for you, but when he crashes and spirals on the radio, the cameras catch your lips trembling. when he finally reaches you in the garage, he rushes to apologize, and all you want is to know he’s safe. ᯓwc☆: 865 ᯓa/n☆: yesss got to writing againn lessgooo!! this is a very short one w no actual banner but hey atleast i wrote yaya graziee mille per l'attesa, ti amo!
you should’ve never let him promise.
the night before monza, he was pacing the motorhome like his nerves were made of electricity, running a hand through his hair every three seconds. you were sitting on the small couch, knees pulled to your chest, just watching him burn holes into the carpet.
when he finally stopped in front of you, he cupped your jaw so gently it nearly broke your heart.
“i want to win for you tomorrow,” he whispered, forehead touching yours. “for your home. for your people. for us.”
you shook your head, soft. “charles, you don’t need to promise me anything.”
but he just smiled — that hopeful, reckless smile he only gets before a race he believes in.
“i want to,” he said.
you should’ve known then. promises at monza never end softly.
and the next day, the world tilts.
lap 27. you’re standing with the engineers, hands clasped behind your back like you’re trying to hold yourself together physically.
and then — metal skids. gravel flies. the ferrari spins.
your breath exits your body like someone punched it out of you.
for a moment, everything is muffled. like your ears stop working.
and then his voice bursts through the radio, raw, violent, ruined.
“fuck! fuck, i’m so stupid— why did i do that— i fucked up, i’m sorry— i’m so fucking sorry—”
he’s almost shouting, voice cracking, panic bleeding through every syllable. it’s not anger. it’s self-destruction. it’s the sound of a man who thinks one mistake erased every good thing he’s ever done.
the camera finds you instantly.
your face looks still, emotionless, unreadable but your eyes, god, your eyes are shaking to every screen to make sure you we like your body can’t keep the flood down any longer.
the world sees heartbreak. but all you feel is fear. fear that he’s hurt. that the crash took more than points.
the second you see him climb out of the car, legs shaking, hands still gripping the steering wheel like he didn’t realize he let go, you finally breathe again. only barely.
when he returns to the garage, he rips the helmet off like it’s suffocating him. his eyes are glassy, frantic, searching.
and then he spots you.
he freezes. like his body just stops knowing how to function. “amour…” his voice cracks on the word. “i— i’m so sorry…”
he takes a step toward you, then stops halfway, hands lifting and falling back down like he’s scared of touching you, scared he’ll make everything worse. “i promised— i said i’d win— and i just— i ruined it, i ruined everything, i—”
“charles.” your voice is barely a whisper.
his jaw clenches, shoulders shaking with guilt he doesn't know how to carry. he tries again, voice breaking open. “i disappointed you. i disappointed your family. i disappointed—”
you close the distance before he can finish, grabbing his face in both hands. his breath catches hard in his throat, like he didn’t expect you to touch him at all.
“look at me,” you murmur.
his eyes flick to yours, terrified. shattered.
“i don’t care about the promise,” you say quietly.
you feel him inhale like a drowning man.
“i don’t care about the win. or monza. or the points. i only care about you. are you hurt?”
he swallows, hard. “no. i’m okay. just… stupid.”
“don’t say that,” you whisper.
you don’t even realize you’re crying until his thumb catches a tear running down your cheek. the moment he sees it — really sees it — his expression collapses.
“amour…” his voice is a whisper, barely formed. “don’t cry, please. i— i crumble completely when you cry.”
he sounds devastated. like your tears physically break him.
he finally pulls you into his chest, arms curling around you with a kind of desperate gentleness, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear between blinks.
and that’s when you fall apart.
your hands fist into the fireproof layer he’s half-wearing, your forehead pressed against his shoulder as sobs shake through you — soft, quiet, but enough to make his breath hitch in panic.
“i was so scared,” you whisper, voice shaking. “i thought you were hurt. i didn’t care about the race, charles. i just needed you to get out of that car.”
his arms tighten around you immediately, hugging you like he’s trying to hold your fear himself.
“i’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “i’m here, i’m here, i’m here.”
you feel him shaking too — not from the crash, but from guilt melting into relief.
“i don’t care if you win,” you say into his chest. “i care if you come back.”
he pulls back just enough to cradle your face, his eyes red and shining but finally, finally softening.
“i love you,” he breathes, thumb brushing your tear-stained cheek. “i’m so sorry i scared you.”
you shake your head. “just stay safe. that’s all i want.”
charles leans in, forehead pressed to yours, breath warm and trembling.
“i’ll always come back to you,” he whispers.
and somehow, even after a crash, even after the heartbreak, even after the promise shattered on lap 27. that feels like the only win that ever mattered.
