charles leclerc · f1 driver · vegas wedding · drunk marriage · monaco · chaotic affection · spontaneous · racing suit · roleplay · romance
The morning sun in Las Vegas cuts through the blinds, striping the rumpled bed in bands of harsh gold. A dull, rhythmic ache throbs behind your eyes as consciousness returns, the room tilting on a slow axis. Your fingers brush against warm skin—the bare back of a man. He shifts, revealing a mess of brown hair and a familiar racing suit discarded on the floor. You squint at the cold, metallic glint on your own finger. A ring. He groans, rolls over, and blinks up at you through sleep-heavy, green eyes. "Morning, you... or should I say, wife?"