#Charles Leclerc one shot

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

this by far is one of the most amazing stories i've ever read, it's 9am and i'm in tears from how cute this was and the fact that it ended, this honestly is such an adorable little story and yes, i have already reblogged but it's so good that it deserves two, absolutely beautiful masterpiece <3

Wildest Dreams

Charles Leclerc x pop star!Reader

Summary: you seem to have it all — a successful singing career, complete with a sold out world tour and countless adoring admirers — until an out of control fan sends everything crashing down. With no end to your panic attacks and anxiety in sight, your management team decides to send you to Monaco, where they hope the stringent privacy laws will give you space to recover in peace. What no one can anticipate is that along the way you’ll find love in the form of a piano-playing Formula 1 driver who helps you remember what it means to find joy in your music again

Warnings: descriptions of an aggressive fan interaction and panic attacks

The bass thumps through the stadium, vibrating up through your bones, and the lights are so blinding you can barely make out the sea of fans screaming your name. You’re smiling, though. At least, it feels like you are. Your muscles know how to hit their marks even when your mind isn’t entirely there.

You reach for the microphone stand, letting the chorus carry your voice, a glittering sound that hovers above the crowd. The audience swells, their energy feeding into yours. It’s always like this. As exhausting as it gets, performing feels like standing at the edge of an open window — terrifying, thrilling, and impossible to look away from.

“Sing it with me!” You shout, holding the mic out to the crowd.

They scream back the lyrics. Thousands of voices, cracked and messy, but earnest. For a second, you think you could stay here forever, suspended in this moment.

And then it happens.

The music stutters. Just a second — barely noticeable. You catch the band faltering behind you. Drums off beat. Guitar missing a note. A glitch in a perfect machine.

At first, you think it’s nothing. Someone tripped on a cable. Someone fumbled. It’s a live show. Things happen. But then, the corner of your vision snags on something that shouldn’t be there — movement from the side of the stage.

He comes from nowhere, a shadow slipping past the edge of the lights, fast and jagged like an animal.

You freeze.

He’s on the stage. He’s on the stage.

It takes a second too long for your brain to register it. The security guards stationed by the barrier scramble too late. The man — wild-eyed, his face twisted with something you can’t name — launches himself toward you, a sharp glint of metal flashing in his hand.

A scream catches in your throat, choking on the shock. You’re paralyzed for a second, the space between you and him folding too fast to react.

And then he’s there.

He grabs your arm, fingers like claws, and jerks you forward.

“No-” It comes out as a gasp, not a command, and suddenly the whole world tilts sideways. The microphone drops from your hand, clattering against the stage floor, and you hear the audience roar in confusion. Cheers turn into screams — panicked and raw.

You struggle — instinct kicking in before fear takes over. “Get off me!”

You twist in his grip, adrenaline making your muscles feel like they’re tearing. The man’s breath is hot against your ear as he says something — words tumbling too fast and fractured to understand. His free hand still clutches the knife, too close to your skin.

This is when everything breaks.

There’s a blur of black uniforms, and the weight of him is yanked off you so fast you stumble backward, landing hard on your hands and knees. The crowd’s screams crest into something deafening. Security tackles the man to the ground, and for a second all you can hear is the thud of bodies hitting the stage, fists pounding into flesh.

“Get him out — get him OUT!” Someone shouts.

You press your hands to your ears, everything tilting too sharp, too loud. The lights feel like knives cutting into your skull. Your breath comes in shallow bursts, like you’re breathing through a straw. You try to stand, but your legs give out.

Your heart’s racing so fast it feels like it might punch out of your chest.

“He … he just-” Your voice cracks. You can’t even finish the sentence.

A stage manager rushes toward you, wide-eyed. “Are you okay? Y/N, look at me — are you hurt?”

You shake your head violently, even though you’re not sure if you mean it. Are you okay? What does that even mean right now?

The man is dragged off the stage, kicking and snarling. You see his face for a brief second — twisted into something feral, like he thinks you belong to him. Like he’s owed you. The sight makes your stomach twist, and you have to look away before you throw up.

Someone shoves a water bottle into your hands. You can’t remember who. Your hands shake so badly the water spills down your wrist.

“Should we stop the show?” The stage manager asks, but it’s not really a question. It’s an out. A lifeline dangled in front of you, waiting for you to take it.

But you don’t know what to say. If you stop the show, you’ll have to explain what just happened. If you keep going, you might pass out before you finish the set. There’s no right answer.

The crowd is still buzzing, restless and electric, as if waiting for you to reassure them this was all part of the performance. Like maybe the crazed fan was just another surprise.

“I-” Your voice catches, brittle and weak. “I don’t know.”

Someone touches your shoulder — too light to be comforting, too heavy to ignore. “Y/N, if you need to end it, we can. No one would blame you.”

Wouldn’t they, though? Wouldn’t they pick this apart on social media, frame-by-frame, asking why you couldn’t just handle it?

Your throat feels like it’s closing up. The lights are too hot, the noise too much. It feels like the whole world is leaning in, waiting for you to crumble.

And then it happens.

You break.

It’s not a dramatic collapse. There’s no scream, no cinematic fall to the floor. It’s quieter than that — just a slow unraveling, thread by thread, until all that’s left is the mess underneath.

You drop the water bottle.

Your knees hit the stage again.

And then you cry.

It’s not the pretty kind of crying, either. It’s ugly — snot and hiccuping sobs that make your chest hurt. You bury your face in your hands, trying to hide from the audience, from the cameras, from yourself. But there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape the weight pressing down on your ribs.

You hear someone — maybe the stage manager — swear under their breath. “Shit. We’re cutting it. Get the lights down. Now.”

The stage goes dark in an instant, but the damage is done.

You know what comes next. The headlines. The viral clips. The think pieces dissecting every second of this moment, every tear, every breath you couldn’t catch.

“Y/N?” Someone asks softly, crouching beside you.

You can’t even lift your head. Your chest is heaving, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. All you can think is I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Not again.

“I’m so sorry,” the voice says, closer now. You feel a hand on your arm — gentle, not prying. “We’ll get you out of here, okay? Just breathe. You’re safe.”

But you’re not safe. Not really.

Because the fan wasn’t the first. And you know he won’t be the last.

The sobs come faster, ripping out of you in jagged bursts. You’re vaguely aware of someone wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, as if that could hold you together.

The crowd is still out there — restless, confused. Waiting.

And all you can do is cry.

***

The blinds are drawn tight, shutting out the morning light, but the world outside is still there. You can feel it pressing against the windows, thick and suffocating, like it’s waiting for you to crack them open and let it all pour in.

You sit on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, wrapped in a throw blanket you barely remember being given. Your body feels like it doesn’t belong to you — like you’re a puppet someone left slumped in a chair.

Voices hum and swell around you, muffled but relentless. They’ve been at it for hours. Your family. Your manager. The people who care about you, supposedly. They’ve all flown in, clutching their opinions like lifeboats.

“She needs professional help,” someone says sharply. It’s your manager, Grace. She paces the length of the penthouse suite, heels clacking against the marble floor with every angry step.

“She doesn’t need rehab!” Your mother snaps from somewhere near the kitchen. You can hear the frustration in her voice, brittle and sharp. “She’s not a drug addict. Why are you acting like she is?”

“She’s traumatized,” your sister chimes in. “Putting her in rehab would only make things worse.”

“And what do you suggest?” Grace fires back, hands on her hips. “She stays here and … what? Pretends everything’s fine?”

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the voices bouncing off every surface, sharp and loud. You press your forehead against your knees, trying to disappear inside yourself. It doesn’t work.

“Look at her,” Grace says, her voice low but pointed. “She hasn’t spoken all morning. This isn’t just about last night. This has been building for months. You all know it.”

You flinch, just slightly, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the room.

“Don’t talk about her like she’s not here,” your sister warns, her voice tight with anger.

“Well, she’s not exactly engaging with us, is she?” Grace retorts, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m doing my job. I care about her. But you can’t expect me to pretend that this-” She gestures toward you, slumped on the couch like a ghost. “-is sustainable. She’s not fine. And none of you want to admit it.”

“Don’t make this about you,” your mother snaps. “We are not sending her to some clinic to be paraded around like she’s broken. That would destroy her.”

“Destroy her?” Grace barks out a bitter laugh. “What do you think this is doing to her right now? She had a public breakdown on stage in front of thousands of people! Do you have any idea what’s waiting for her online?”

“Enough!” Your father’s voice cuts through the noise like a whip. He’s been silent for most of the conversation, standing stiff by the window, arms crossed. Now he steps forward, pinching the bridge of his nose like the argument is physically hurting him. “Stop fighting. This isn’t helping.”

For a moment, there’s blessed quiet. Just the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft tick of a clock somewhere in the room.

“Rehab isn’t the answer,” your mother says again, this time softer but no less firm. “She’s not some Hollywood cliché who needs detoxing. She’s our daughter. She’s traumatized. That’s not the same thing.”

Grace blows out a breath, frustration curling off her in waves. “Then what? What’s the plan? Because if you think this just goes away with time, you’re fooling yourselves. She can’t even step outside without getting mobbed by cameras. She needs space.”

The word hangs heavy in the air. Space. You cling to it like a lifeline.

Your sister sits down on the armrest of the couch beside you, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder. “Do you want to go somewhere?” She asks gently. “Just to get away for a bit? Somewhere quiet?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The thought of leaving this room — of facing the outside world — makes your chest tighten like a vise. But staying here feels just as unbearable.

Grace watches you carefully, arms crossed over her chest. “Look,” she says, her tone shifting from sharp to calculated. “If you won’t consider rehab, fine. But you need to go somewhere. Somewhere you can breathe without a camera in your face.”

Your mother gives her a skeptical glance. “And where exactly do you suggest?”

“Monaco,” Grace says without hesitation. “Strictest privacy laws in the world. Paparazzi can’t follow her there — not without getting arrested. No one can film her, no one can take her picture. It’s safe.”

That feels like a promise you’re not sure you can believe in.

Your father raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “And you just happen to know this because …”

Grace gives him a tight smile. “Because this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like this.”

“Monaco?” Your sister echoes, frowning. “What is she supposed to do there? Sit in some fancy hotel and wait to feel better?”

“Exactly,” Grace says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “She rests. She doesn’t have to be on all the time. No performances, no interviews, no one breathing down her neck. Just … time to get her head straight.”

Your mother looks unconvinced. “She needs more than a vacation.”

“She needs a break,” Grace counters, her voice firm but not unkind. “And right now, Monaco is the only place I can guarantee she’ll get one.”

The room falls into another uneasy silence, everyone waiting for someone else to make the next move.

Grace sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I know you all want what’s best for her. I do too. But pretending this is something she can just push through isn’t going to work. If she stays here, the pressure will crush her. We’ve all seen it happen before.”

Your father shifts uncomfortably, like he hates that she’s making sense.

Finally, Grace looks at you, her expression softening for the first time all morning. “What do you think?” She asks quietly. “Do you want to go?”

It feels like everyone in the room is holding their breath, waiting for your answer.

But you don’t have one. You can’t think beyond the next minute, the next breath. The world feels too big, too loud, too sharp. You don’t know what you want. You don’t know if you even care.

Your sister squeezes your shoulder gently. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she murmurs.

But Grace shakes her head. “No. She does. The longer we wait, the harder this gets. This-” she gestures around the room, frustration leaking into her voice again. “-isn’t working. She’s drowning, and none of you seem to see it.”

Your mother bristles. “Don’t you dare-”

“She needs to get out of here,” Grace says, cutting her off. “Before it’s too late.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the finality of them settling over the room like a weight.

And for the first time all morning, you feel something other than numbness. It’s small, barely noticeable — a flicker of something that might be relief. Because maybe, just maybe, getting away — really away — is exactly what you need.

Grace leans forward, her expression soft but determined. “Monaco,” she says again, like she’s offering you a lifeline. “What do you say?”

***

The jet touches down with a soft bump on the runway at Nice Côte d’Azur Airport, and you jolt awake from a sleep so light it barely counted. The low hum of the engines winds down, and the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom.

“Welcome to Nice. Local time is 11:42 AM. Weather is clear, 22 degrees Celsius. Please remain seated until we’ve come to a full stop.”

You sit up slowly, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your bones. Your mouth feels dry, and there’s an ache deep in your chest that hasn’t left since the night everything went wrong. The cabin is dim, but even the weak sunlight filtering through the windows feels too bright.

Grace is already on her feet, tugging her bag from the overhead compartment. She glances down at you, scanning your face like she’s trying to gauge how much of you is actually here. “You good?”

You nod, even though the answer is no. It’s always no. But that’s the answer everyone expects, so you give it.

“Let’s move, then,” Grace says, her voice clipped but not unkind. She’s been running on fumes, too, trying to stay two steps ahead of everything — flights, accommodations, press rumors. She’s doing her best. You know that.

But it doesn’t make any of this easier.

You reach for the sunglasses perched on your lap and slide them on. They’re oversized, swallowing half your face, and the tinted lenses turn the world into a duller, slightly safer version of itself. It’s a fragile kind of armor, but it’s all you have.

The plane door hisses open, and the warm Mediterranean air slips inside. It smells like saltwater and jet fuel, a strange combination that makes your stomach flip.

“Okay, let’s go,” Grace says, nodding toward the exit. “Straight to the car. No stopping.”

You stand slowly, clutching the strap of your bag like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Every movement feels heavy, like you’re swimming through molasses. You follow Grace down the narrow steps of the jet, keeping your head low, as if shrinking into yourself will make you invisible.

The tarmac is bright and blinding, and your skin prickles with the heat. A sleek black car waits just a few feet away, engine humming softly, driver standing at the ready.

But then you see it.

Beyond the airport fence, just far enough away to be contained but close enough to be seen, a cluster of people is gathered. Fans. Some are holding signs with your name scrawled across them in glittering ink. Others have their phones up, cameras trained on the plane like they knew you were coming.

Your heart stops, just for a second.

And then it starts again — too fast, too loud, slamming against your ribcage.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” you whisper, but your voice is barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

Grace follows your gaze and swears under her breath. “Ignore them. They can’t get to you.”

But it doesn’t matter. They’re still there. Their eyes are on you, their phones are on you, and suddenly the ground feels like it’s shifting beneath your feet.

Your breath catches in your throat, sharp and painful.

“It’s okay,” Grace says quickly, stepping closer to you. “They’re behind a fence. You’re fine.”

But you’re not fine. The fence isn’t enough. The sunglasses aren’t enough. Nothing feels like enough.

Your vision blurs at the edges, and your lungs feel like they’ve shrunk, leaving no room for air. The noise in your head gets louder — memories slamming into you all at once: the man’s grip on your arm, the microphone hitting the stage, the screams from the crowd.

You can’t do this. You can’t do this.

“Y/N.” Grace’s voice cuts through the static in your brain, sharp and insistent. “Look at me. You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe.”

You shake your head, gasping for breath that won’t come. The world tilts sideways, and for a second, you think you might pass out right here on the tarmac.

“I can’t — I can’t-” Your voice breaks, and panic claws its way up your throat, sharp and relentless.

“Okay, okay.” Grace moves fast, slipping between you and the fence, blocking your line of sight to the fans. “Breathe. Just focus on me.”

The driver approaches, concern etched into his features, but Grace waves him off. “Give us a minute.”

You clutch the edge of the car door, knuckles white, trying to find something solid to hold onto. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, and tears sting your eyes, hot and unwelcome.

“Listen to me,” Grace says firmly, crouching just enough to be at eye level. “You’re not on stage. You’re not there. You’re here. And nothing bad is going to happen.”

The words are meant to ground you, but they float past like smoke. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shut out the world. Trying to make yourself smaller.

Grace’s hand lands gently on your arm, not pulling, just there. “In through your nose,” she says softly, like she’s guiding a child. “Come on. You’ve got this.”

You suck in a shaky breath, and it catches halfway, but it’s better than nothing.

“Good. Now out through your mouth. Slow. That’s it.”

The air comes out in a stutter, but you follow her lead. In. Out. The panic is still there, sharp and insistent, but the edges start to blur just enough to make it bearable.

“See? You’re doing it,” Grace murmurs. “Just a little more.”

Another breath. And another. The tarmac stops spinning, and the pounding in your chest eases, just slightly. You’re still shaking, but the panic isn’t quite as sharp anymore.

“There we go,” Grace says, relief softening her voice. “You’re okay.”

You nod, even though you don’t quite believe it.

“Let’s get in the car, yeah?” She says gently, her hand still resting on your arm. “We’ll be at the apartment soon. No one can get to you there.”

The thought of the apartment — a place with walls, with locks — feels like the only lifeline you have.

You let Grace guide you into the car, sliding into the cool leather seat. The door shuts behind you with a reassuring click, and the tinted windows turn the world outside into a blur. The fans are still there, but they’re just shapes now — distant and meaningless.

The driver slips behind the wheel, and the car glides forward smoothly, leaving the airport behind.

You lean your head against the window, the cool glass soothing against your skin. Your hands are still trembling, and your chest still aches, but at least you’re moving. At least you’re away from the fence.

Grace settles into the seat beside you, pulling out her phone and firing off a quick text, probably to your team. “You did good,” she says without looking up.

You don’t answer. You don’t feel like you did good. You feel like you barely survived.

The car glides onto the highway, the Mediterranean stretching out in the distance, sparkling under the sun. It should be beautiful, but all you can think about is how far you are from home.

The apartment in Monaco is supposed to be a refuge — a place where no one can reach you. But you know better than anyone that no place is ever truly safe. The fear follows you, no matter where you go.

“Almost there,” Grace murmurs, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “You’re going to be okay.”

You rest your head back against the seat and close your eyes, trying to believe her.

But the truth is, you don’t know if okay is something you’ll ever feel again.

***

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating. Days have blurred together, each one stretched thin and lifeless. Grace left three days ago — urgent work stuff, she had said, promising she would be back soon. But her absence hangs heavy in the air, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Too many thoughts.

You sit curled on the couch, scrolling through the same apps again and again, looking for something — anything — to hold your attention. But everything feels distant. Even messages from your family feel like they’re coming from a world you can’t reach. They’re checking in every day, sure, but no amount of emojis or reassurances will change the fact that they’re thousands of miles away.

And you? You’re here. Alone. In this rented apartment with towering walls of glass and not much else.

Your stomach growls, and the noise breaks the heavy quiet in the room. You groan softly and curl deeper into yourself, trying to ignore it. But then a sudden, vivid craving hits you.

It’s not just hunger. It’s that craving — the one you haven’t thought about in years.

Your mom’s pasta. Specifically, that simple tomato-and-garlic spaghetti she used to make on weeknights when you’d come home from school. You can practically smell it — fresh basil, lots of olive oil, that rich comfort of home cooked into every bite.

The craving grips you so hard that for a moment, it’s the only thing you can think about.

The thing is, ordering it wouldn’t be the same. Even if a fancy Monaco restaurant could somehow recreate it, it wouldn’t taste like hers. And you’re desperate for that — something familiar, something safe. Something to anchor you.

You sit up slowly, chewing your lip.

You could go out. Just this once.

Your mind drifts to the last time you were out in public — those fans at the airport fence, the panic that had swallowed you whole. But you remind yourself: this is Monaco. There are laws here. Strict ones. No paparazzi, no public filming.

You’ll be fine. Right?

You slide off the couch and move toward the mirror by the front door, hesitating only a second before putting on your sunglasses. The oversized lenses feel like a flimsy shield, but you pull on a baseball cap anyway, tucking your hair up underneath it.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. It’s not much of a disguise, but it’ll have to do.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Just in and out. Quick.”

The grocery store isn’t far — just a few blocks from the apartment. You clutch a reusable tote as you step out the door, heart thumping a little too hard in your chest.

The streets of Monaco are bright and clean, the kind of picturesque perfection that should calm you. But every step feels heavier than the last, like you’re wading into unknown waters. You focus on the task ahead — pasta, garlic, tomatoes, basil. Nothing complicated.

You tell yourself it’ll be easy.

But the city feels too open. The sky, too wide. You pull the brim of your cap lower, keeping your head down as you pass luxury boutiques and sunlit cafés.

Finally, you spot the grocery store. Relief trickles through you. Just a little further.

The automatic doors slide open with a soft *hiss*, and the cool air inside wraps around you like a small mercy. You exhale.

You grab a basket and move quickly down the aisles, avoiding eye contact with the handful of people browsing nearby. It feels like you’re being watched, but you know it’s just paranoia clinging to you from the airport incident.

You find the pasta easily enough. Next, olive oil. Then a bundle of fresh basil. You reach for the tomatoes — ripe and bright — and drop them into your basket with care. It’s almost done. Almost over.

Then you hear it.

“Wait … is that-”

Your heart stops.

You keep your head down and turn away, hoping — praying — that they’ll second-guess themselves. But the whispering spreads like wildfire.

“It’s her. I swear it’s her!”

A couple of girls with phones raised approach from the next aisle. You catch their reflection in the shiny packaging of a can of beans, and panic prickles at the base of your spine.

They’re already snapping photos.

Your heart slams against your ribs as you whip around, heading for the checkout.

“Y/N! Oh my God!”

The name cuts through the air, loud and clear, and suddenly it’s like the whole store shifts focus. Shoppers turn. Heads swivel.

Your breath catches, and a wave of dizziness crashes over you.

You make it to the front of the store, but by now, more people have noticed you. Some are pulling out their phones. Others are whispering, excitement buzzing in the air.

They’re not paparazzi, but it doesn’t matter.

You bolt out of the store, leaving the basket behind.

The sun feels blinding as you hit the street, and the sound of footsteps follows you — people moving fast to catch up, phones aimed like weapons.

“Y/N, can we get a selfie?” Someone calls out, too cheerful, too loud.

The walls close in, and you can’t breathe.

You need to get away. Now.

You turn down a narrow street, heart pounding in your ears. But the footsteps are still there. Someone’s still following.

You push forward, scanning the street for an escape, but everything looks too open, too exposed. You spot an alleyway, leafy and shaded, and veer toward it without thinking.

Your feet hit the cobblestones hard, and the cool shadows swallow you whole. But you keep running, legs burning, lungs screaming for air.

The alley twists and turns, and you don’t know where you’re going — you just know you have to get away.

And then-

You slam into something solid.

Or someone.

The impact knocks the air out of you, and you stumble backward, heart racing, sunglasses slipping down your nose.

Strong hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall.

“Whoa,” a voice says, low and surprised. “Easy.”

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of what just happened.

The man’s chest rises and falls under your hands, and for a second, all you can hear is the sound of both your breaths, mingling in the stillness of the alley.

His hands steady you gently, warm through the fabric of your jacket. For a moment, everything blurs — the edges of the alley, the sounds from the street behind you, your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. All you can feel is the solid presence in front of you.

“You okay?” The man asks, voice low and careful, like he’s speaking to a frightened animal.

You shake your head without meaning to. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your chest feels like it’s wrapped in iron bands, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“Hey, hey,” the man says quickly, tilting his head to look at you under the brim of your cap. His voice stays calm, soothing. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You try, but it’s no use. The air won’t come.

He shifts, crouching slightly so that he’s eye-level with you. “Alright,” he murmurs. “We’re going to sit down, yeah? It’ll be easier.”

You don’t resist as he gently lowers you both to the ground, sitting cross-legged on the cobblestones. His hands stay on your arms, not holding you down, just there — anchoring you.

“You’re alright,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “It’s just your body playing tricks on you. We’ll get through this.”

The kindness in his tone is almost unbearable, and you bite down on your lip, hard, trying to keep from breaking down completely. Your sunglasses slip down your nose, but you’re too shaken to care.

“Okay,” the man says softly, “listen to me. Look at me. In through your nose, real slow.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to get a grip on yourself, but the panic is relentless, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“Hey, open your eyes,” the man urges gently. “Just focus on me. Can you do that?”

Something about his voice — steady, grounded — makes you listen. You force your eyes open, though it takes everything in you.

“There you go,” he says, smiling slightly, like you’ve already done something right. His eyes are warm and kind, crinkling at the edges. “Now, breathe with me, okay? In through your nose.”

He inhales deeply, showing you how, and you try to mimic him. The breath catches halfway, ragged and shaky, but it’s something.

“Good,” he murmurs, still calm. “Now out through your mouth. Slowly.”

You exhale, and it stutters on the way out, but the pressure in your chest eases just a bit.

“There we go,” the man says. “Again. In through your nose. Nice and slow.”

You follow his lead again, and this time, it feels a little easier. The world isn’t spinning quite as fast, and the ground doesn’t feel like it’s going to drop out from under you.

He keeps breathing with you, slow and steady, until the worst of it passes. The iron bands around your chest loosen, and you can finally get a full breath.

“See?” He says softly, still sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “You’re doing it.”

A lump rises in your throat, and you swallow hard, trying to keep it down. It’s been so long since someone’s been this gentle with you.

The man leans back a little, giving you space but not leaving. “I know it feels horrible,” he says, his voice low and empathetic. “But it won’t last forever. I promise.”

You nod weakly, swiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Sorry,” you manage, your voice hoarse and barely audible.

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head, brushing it off like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve been there.”

You glance at him, surprised. “You have?”

“Yeah.” He offers a small, knowing smile, though there’s a flicker of something sad in his eyes. “When I was younger. My godfather died in an accident, and I didn’t really know how to deal with it. For a while, I used to get these panic attacks out of nowhere. Thought I was going crazy.”

His admission catches you off guard, and for a moment, the world feels a little quieter. Less threatening.

“I get it,” he continues, his voice soft but sure. “It feels like you’re drowning and there’s no way out. But there is. You just have to breathe through it, even when it feels impossible.”

You blink, still trying to process everything — his story, the way he’s sitting here with you on the dirty cobblestones, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Does it ever … go away?” You ask quietly, not sure if you really want to hear the answer.

He tilts his head, considering. “It gets better,” he says after a moment. “But it takes time. And it helps when you’re not going through it alone.”

Something tightens in your chest again — not panic this time, but something softer. Loneliness, maybe. Or the weight of everything that’s happened, pressing down on you all at once.

The man watches you carefully, as if he can sense the shift in your mood. “What’s your name?” He asks gently.

You hesitate for a second, unsure whether you want to tell him. But there’s something about him — something genuine — that makes you trust him, if only a little.

“Y/N,” you whisper.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling again. “I’m Charles.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell, and you’re too drained to think about it. All you know is that, for the first time in days, you don’t feel completely lost.

Charles shifts slightly, adjusting his position on the cobblestones. “Mind if I ask what happened? Why were you running?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and something inside you shifts, loosens, like a knot finally starting to untangle. You’ve been holding everything in for so long, clenching your teeth and forcing yourself to get through each moment without falling apart, but now the dam cracks wide open. It’s like the words have been waiting, boiling under the surface, desperate for release.

You inhale sharply, eyes stinging. “I-” Your voice wobbles, but you press on. “I’m a singer. I was on tour …”

The words spill out, halting at first, but Charles stays quiet, his gaze steady, listening without a flicker of impatience.

“It started during one of the shows,” you continue, hands trembling as you clasp them in your lap. “Everything was going fine — until it wasn’t. This … this fan rushed the stage, and I just froze. Completely froze. He was coming straight at me, and I couldn’t even-” Your breath catches, and you press a fist to your mouth, as if you can shove the memory back down.

Charles shifts a little, making sure you’re still steady on the ground, but he doesn’t say anything. He just listens.

“They tackled him before he got too close, but I … I lost it.” Your throat tightens painfully. “I started screaming, couldn’t stop. They had to cut the mic — God, it was all over the internet the next day.” You laugh, but it’s a thin, brittle sound. “Every headline called it a breakdown. Which — yeah, it kind of was, I guess.”

Charles’ face stays calm, focused. There’s no pity in his expression, only quiet understanding. That makes it easier to keep going.

“I thought it’d get better after that, but it didn’t.” You shake your head, feeling like you’re unraveling as you speak. “The panic attacks just kept coming every time I thought about performing again. I felt trapped. And then the airport happened …”

You glance away, biting down on your lip so hard it stings. “I saw all the fans lined up by the fence, taking pictures, and I just — I couldn’t breathe. Everything caved in again.” Your voice is cracking now, raw and exhausted. “It’s been like that every day since. I can’t sleep, I can’t leave my apartment without thinking someone’s going to-” You choke on the words.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just shifts a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. That quiet presence grounds you, keeps you from spiraling too far.

“And now I’m here,” you murmur, gesturing vaguely around you. “In Monaco. Supposed to be getting better, but … I’m not. I feel like I’m drowning. And today …” You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, voice dropping to a whisper. “I just wanted to make some stupid pasta.”

The tears hit before you can stop them, hot and unstoppable. “I needed it,” you manage between sobs. “My mom used to make it for me — simple tomato and garlic spaghetti — and I just … I really wanted it. I thought if I could make it, maybe I’d feel normal again. Just for a little bit.”

You press your palms to your face, trying to stem the tide of tears, but they keep coming. “But I left everything back at the store. All the ingredients. I ran out, and now I can’t go back, and I just-”

The weight of everything — the panic, the isolation, the craving for something familiar — crashes over you, and all you can do is cry.

Charles stays quiet for a moment, letting you ride out the wave of emotion. Then, softly, he says, “Hey.”

You sniffle, peeking at him from behind your hands.

“I think,” Charles says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I have everything you need for that pasta at my place.”

You blink at him, thrown off by the sudden shift in the conversation. “What?”

He nods, still smiling gently. “Yeah. Tomatoes, garlic, spaghetti, olive oil — pretty sure I’ve got all of it.”

You stare at him, overwhelmed and disoriented by how easily he’s offering exactly what you need. “You don’t have to-”

“Come on,” Charles says, standing and offering you his hand. “We’ll make it together. I’ve been told I’m not too bad in the kitchen.”

The kindness in his voice cracks something open in you again, but this time it’s not panic — it’s something softer. Hope, maybe.

You hesitate for just a second before slipping your hand into his. His grip is warm, solid. Steady.

He pulls you gently to your feet, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of something like relief.

“Pasta for dinner?” Charles says, still holding your hand as he tilts his head toward the end of the alley. “What do you think?”

You manage a shaky smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

Charles’ smile deepens, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you’re not drowning after all.

***

Charles’ apartment is tucked on a quiet street, close to the harbor but far from the chaos of the main city. He leads you up a narrow stairwell, his hand lingering lightly on your back, a reassuring presence. You’re still jittery, the weight of what happened earlier pressing down on you, but Charles seems calm — like nothing fazes him. It’s comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open with a casual, “Make yourself at home.”

Before you can even take a step inside, a blur of cream-colored fur bolts toward you, yipping excitedly. A small dachshund launches itself at Charles’ legs first, wagging its whole body like his happiness can’t be contained.

“Hey, Leo,” Charles says, crouching down to ruffle the little dog’s ears. Leo’s tail thumps wildly, and he licks Charles’ chin enthusiastically.

Then the dog turns to you, nose twitching as he sniffs curiously before deciding you’re a friend. With a delighted bark, he jumps against your shins, demanding attention.

“Leo,” Charles laughs, scooping him up before the dog can trip over himself. “You’re too excited, baby.” He holds the squirming dachshund in his arms, scratching behind his ears. “This is Y/N. Be nice, okay?”

Leo wriggles in Charles’ grip, tongue darting out toward your face, eager for kisses. Despite everything — despite the panic, the exhaustion — you can’t help but smile. Something about Leo’s pure, boundless joy is infectious.

“Can I?” You ask, holding out your hands, and Charles grins, passing the little dog over.

Leo practically melts into your arms, licking your cheek with enthusiasm. You laugh softly, a sound that surprises even you — it’s been a while since you’ve felt light enough to laugh.

“He likes you,” Charles says, his eyes warm as he watches the interaction.

“I think I like him too,” you admit, pressing your nose to Leo’s soft fur.

Charles steps aside, gesturing for you to come further in. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

You follow him inside, cradling Leo as the dog rests his head contentedly against your shoulder. Charles’ apartment is bright and modern, with big windows that let in the soft afternoon light. It’s stylish but not showy — comfortable, lived-in.

As you step deeper into the space, your eyes catch on something: a row of helmets lining one wall, polished and carefully displayed on shelves. Nearby, there’s a stack of racing tires leaning against the wall, and framed photographs of what looks like racecars.

You glance around, taking it all in. “What’s with all the helmets?”

Charles glances over his shoulder, an amused smile playing at his lips. “Ah, that.” He gestures to the shelves. “I’m an F1 driver.”

You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Wait … like Formula 1?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I drive for Ferrari.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning as you try to reconcile the man who just helped you through a panic attack with the image of a world-famous racing driver. You don’t follow motorsports — your life has always revolved around music — but even you know Ferrari.

“Wow,” you manage, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I, um, I had no idea.”

Charles laughs, and the sound is warm, not mocking. “That’s okay,” he says, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal. “You’ve had other things on your mind.”

You feel your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I probably should’ve known. You must think I live under a rock.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Honestly? It’s kind of nice. Most people freak out when they find out what I do.” He tilts his head, studying you with a playful glint in his eyes. “But you? You’re just worried about your pasta.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “I really am.”

Charles grins, clearly pleased to have lightened the mood. “Come on,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if I actually have everything we need.”

He leads you through the apartment, Leo trotting happily at your feet. The kitchen is open and modern, with sleek countertops and a large island in the middle. It’s the kind of kitchen that looks like it belongs to someone who knows what they’re doing — though you suspect Charles probably doesn’t get much time to cook.

He moves easily through the space, opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients. “Alright,” he says, setting down a few items on the counter. “We’ve got tomatoes, garlic, olive oil … and spaghetti.” He turns to you, raising a brow. “How’s that sound?”

“Perfect,” you say, feeling a little lighter already.

Charles smiles, his expression softening as he watches you. “Good. Then let’s make some pasta.”

***

After dinner, you help Charles rinse the dishes, working side by side at the sink. It feels strangely domestic, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the quiet kitchen, water running over plates, Leo curled up at your feet. Charles hums to himself as he scrubs a pan, and you catch yourself smiling — not because you have to, but because you want to.

When everything is clean and put away, Charles nudges you gently with his elbow. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s relax a bit.”

He leads you into the living room, a cozy space with deep couches and big windows that overlook the marina. The soft hum of the city outside filters through the glass, mingling with the sound of Leo’s paws clicking across the floor.

As you settle onto the couch, something catches your eye: a sleek black piano tucked into the corner of the room, polished to a shine. You sit up a little straighter, curiosity piqued.

“You play?” You ask, nodding toward it.

Charles follows your gaze and smiles. “Yeah, a little. Nothing professional, but I like to mess around when I have time.”

You lean forward, intrigued. “Can you play something for me?”

Charles tilts his head, considering, then shrugs. “Sure. Why not?” He crosses the room, sits down at the bench, and runs his fingers lightly over the keys, warming them up with a few random notes.

You stay on the couch for a moment, watching the way his hands move — deft and confident, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Then he glances back at you, a playful gleam in his eye.

“Do you know Coldplay?” He asks.

You nod, a flicker of excitement rising in your chest. “Yeah, of course.”

He smiles and turns back to the piano, pressing a few familiar chords. The soft, haunting opening of “The Scientist” fills the room, the notes flowing effortlessly from his fingers.

You feel the first swell of emotion as the melody settles around you like a blanket, warm and comforting. Charles plays with quiet intensity, his head tilted slightly to the side, lost in the music.

Then the lyrics drift into your mind unbidden, and before you can second-guess yourself, you open your mouth to sing.

“Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry. You don't know how lovely you are …”

Your voice is soft at first, hesitant, but the music pulls you in, makes you forget the tension knotted in your chest. Charles glances at you from the corner of his eye, and something shifts in his expression — like the light inside him just got a little brighter.

You keep singing, your voice growing stronger with each line.

“I had to find you, tell you I need you. Tell you I set you apart …”

Charles grins as you get more comfortable, his fingers dancing across the keys with a little more flair now. He slows the tempo slightly, matching the rise and fall of your voice perfectly.

Without thinking, you slide off the couch and move toward him, sitting down on the bench beside him. The wood creaks under your weight, but neither of you seem to notice.

“Nobody said it was easy …”

Your voice wavers slightly on the word easy, the emotions threading through your tone without you meaning them to. Charles doesn’t say anything — he just keeps playing, like the music is his way of holding space for you.

When you hit the next line together-

“No one ever said it would be this hard …”

-it’s like the air between you thickens, heavy with unspoken things.

You finish the verse in perfect harmony, your voice blending with the soft notes of the piano. And for a moment, everything else — the anxiety, the exhaustion, the noise in your head — fades away.

When the last chord drifts into silence, you realize you’re smiling, a real, unguarded smile.

Charles leans back slightly, his hands resting on the keys as he turns to you. “You have a beautiful voice,” he says quietly.

You feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. “Thanks,” you murmur. “That was … nice.”

“Yeah,” Charles agrees, his eyes sparkling with something you can’t quite place. “It was.”

For a moment, neither of you move. The room feels suspended in time, like the music has cast some kind of spell over everything.

Then Leo trots over, pressing his nose against your leg, and the spell breaks. You laugh softly, reaching down to scratch behind his ears.

Charles watches you for a moment longer, then nudges you lightly with his shoulder. “So,” he says, his voice teasing, “any plans for tomorrow?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Not really.”

“Well,” Charles says, drawing out the word like he’s building up to something. “I was thinking of taking the yacht out for a bit. Maybe you’d want to come?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “You have a yacht?”

He grins, unapologetic. “I do. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, though. Just something to get away from everything for a few hours.”

The idea of spending a day on the water — away from prying eyes, away from the noise in your head — sounds almost too good to be true.

“Are you sure I won’t be intruding?” You ask, though you already know your answer.

Charles shakes his head, his expression sincere. “Not at all. It’ll be fun. Leo will come too,” he adds with a playful wink.

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “Alright,” you say. “I’m in.”

***

The yacht rocks gently as you step aboard, the crisp breeze off the Mediterranean whipping through your hair. The sun glints off the water, dazzling and endless, and Leo is already scampering ahead, his tiny paws tapping happily on the deck. Charles follows closely behind, carrying a cooler and a bottle of wine under one arm like this is just another day for him.

“Welcome aboard,” Charles says with a grin, setting down the cooler. He gives the yacht's railing a quick pat. “It’s not a superyacht or anything, but she does the job.”

You laugh softly, shielding your eyes against the sun. “It’s more than enough.”

The yacht isn't enormous, but it’s sleek and beautiful, just like everything else Charles seems to surround himself with. A couple of cushioned sunbeds are arranged at the front, and there’s a small dining area shaded under a canopy. Leo wastes no time climbing onto the sunbed, claiming it like a king, tail wagging furiously.

Charles catches your look and shrugs with an easy smile. “He thinks he owns the place.”

“Clearly,” you say, grinning, feeling lighter than you have in days. It’s hard not to, with the sun on your skin and the promise of a peaceful day out at sea.

Charles casts off the ropes with practiced ease and starts the engine. You sit cross-legged near the bow, letting the wind ruffle your hair as the boat glides out into the open water. For a while, neither of you speaks — you just sit in companionable silence, watching Monaco’s coastline grow smaller behind you, the glittering city shrinking into the horizon.

Eventually, Charles kills the engine and drops anchor somewhere far from shore, where the water is crystal clear and the world feels blissfully quiet.

He turns to you, leaning casually against the railing. “So,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do you swim?”

You raise an eyebrow, already suspicious. “Yeah … why?”

Charles grins, and before you can react, he lunges toward you. “You look hot. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Charles, no!” You shriek, scrambling backward, but it's too late. He hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you effortlessly off the deck.

“Don’t you dare!” You shout, laughing despite yourself.

“Dare?” He echoes, grinning wickedly. “Oh, I dare.”

Then he throws you over the side of the yacht.

You hit the water with a loud splash, the coolness shocking your skin. For a moment, everything is muffled — just the sound of bubbles rushing past your ears and the soft sway of the sea surrounding you. You surface quickly, gasping and sputtering.

“You are so dead!” You shout, treading water and glaring up at him.

Charles leans over the railing, grinning like a kid who just pulled off the perfect prank. “You said you could swim!”

“That’s not the point!”

He laughs — this carefree, delighted sound — and before you can protest further, he vaults over the side of the boat and plunges into the water after you.

He surfaces with a splash, slicking his wet hair back from his forehead, his grin still firmly in place. “Now we’re even,” he says, swimming closer.

You roll your eyes, though you’re laughing too, the tension between you dissolving with the salt water. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” he says with a cheeky shrug, floating lazily beside you.

The water is warm and buoyant, cradling you both as you drift together. For a while, you just float there, surrounded by nothing but the sea and sky. There’s a peace to it — a kind of freedom that you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

Then Charles’ grin softens into something quieter, more sincere. He drifts closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth of his skin, even through the water.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

You smirk, giving him a light splash. “Maybe just a little.”

Charles chuckles, then reaches for you — his hand finding your waist under the water, steadying you as the gentle current pulls at your limbs. His touch is light, careful, as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you let yourself float closer, the air between you humming with something unspoken. His gaze flicks to your mouth for just a second — so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking for it. But you are.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if you’re both testing the waters. But then Charles tilts his head, his hand tightening on your waist, and the kiss deepens — slow and unhurried, like you have all the time in the world.

The water laps gently around you, but it feels like everything else — the sea, the sky, the boat — fades into the background. There’s just the warmth of Charles’ lips against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat where your hand rests lightly on his chest.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Charles’ forehead presses lightly against yours, his grin returning in full force.

“So,” he murmurs, his voice low and playful. “Still mad?”

You laugh, your heart lighter than it’s been in a long time. “Not even a little.”

Charles grins, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “Good,” he says, his voice soft. “Because I really didn’t want you to be.”

You smile, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Leo barks from the yacht, his tiny form bouncing excitedly along the edge as if to remind you both that he’s still there.

Charles glances up at the dog and laughs. “Looks like Leo’s getting jealous.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Better get back before he starts plotting revenge.”

“Good idea,” Charles agrees, giving your waist one last squeeze before reluctantly pulling away.

He swims toward the yacht, reaching up to pull himself back onboard with effortless grace. Then he leans over the side, offering you his hand.

You take it, and he hauls you up easily, his arms steady around you as you find your balance on the deck.

“Not bad for a first date,” Charles teases, water dripping from his hair as he gives you a cheeky grin.

You raise an eyebrow, wringing the water from your shirt. “Is that what this is? A date?”

Charles shrugs, grinning. “It could be.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, his smile widening.

You can’t help but laugh again, the sound carried away on the breeze as the yacht rocks gently beneath your feet. Maybe this is ridiculous. Maybe it’s spontaneous and reckless and exactly what you needed.

Either way, you’re not about to overthink it.

Not today.

***

Charles tilts the bottle of wine, filling your glass with a smooth stream of red before refilling his own. The late afternoon sun filters in through the windows, casting long, golden streaks across the hardwood floors of his apartment. The air feels easy between you two — comfortable in a way that feels new but natural, like you’ve fallen into a rhythm neither of you had to try too hard to find.

You sit cross-legged on the couch, your lyric notebook balanced in your lap, the pen twirling absently between your fingers. It’s the first time in weeks — months, really — that you’ve felt the itch to write. The pages are filled with old scribbles, half-finished ideas, and false starts, but today something feels different. There’s a spark, a sense that maybe this time it will stick.

Charles wanders back toward the couch, a glass of wine in each hand. “What are you working on?” He asks, setting your glass down on the coffee table and sliding onto the couch beside you.

You hesitate for a second, fingers tracing the edge of the notebook. “It’s … a song,” you admit softly. “Or, it’s the start of one. I haven’t written anything in a while, but now I think I’ve got something.” You chew on your bottom lip, a little shy. “I just don’t know where to take it from here.”

He leans in, his shoulder brushing yours as he peers into the open notebook. His eyes skim the lyrics you’ve scratched onto the page.

“He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.’”

Charles reads it aloud, slow and thoughtful. “I like that,” he says, tapping the edge of the notebook with one finger. “It sounds like … an escape.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s the vibe I was going for. But I don’t know what it sounds like — like, I have no idea what the melody would be.”

Charles takes another sip of his wine, studying the words for a beat longer before setting his glass down. Then, without a word, he stands up and heads over to the piano.

You blink, surprised. “What are you doing?”

He glances back at you with a small, playful smile. “Helping.”

He sits down at the piano, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to play a concert. His fingers hover just above the keys, teasing a few notes to test the sound, adjusting the weight of his hands. Then, slowly, he begins to play. The first few notes are tentative, like he’s searching for something just out of reach.

You watch, mesmerized, as he falls into the melody — soft, dreamlike chords that seem to float through the air. It’s gentle at first, and then it starts to shift, becoming something more steady, more certain. He hums along quietly, head tilted, eyes closed, as if he’s feeling his way through it.

After a few moments, he glances over at you. “What do you think so far?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you scoot closer to the piano. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiles, pleased, and keeps playing. “Come here,” he says, patting the spot on the bench beside him.

You slide onto the bench, your thigh brushing against his as you sit down. The music wraps around you like a cocoon, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. Charles’ fingers glide effortlessly over the keys, filling the room with that delicate, hopeful sound.

“Try singing what you’ve got,” he suggests, glancing at you with a look that’s both encouraging and a little mischievous. “I’ll follow your lead.”

You take a breath, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in your chest. But there’s something about the way Charles looks at you — like he believes in you without a shred of doubt — that makes you want to try.

So you do.

“He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.’”

Your voice is tentative at first, but as the melody begins to take shape beneath you, you feel yourself relax into it. The lyrics come more easily now, flowing out in a way that feels almost effortless.

“I thought heaven can’t help me now … nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down.”

Charles smiles as he plays, nodding slightly to encourage you. His fingers never falter on the keys, steady and sure. The notes swell, lifting the words, giving them wings.

The next lines slip from your lips without hesitation, the music carrying you along.

“Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe …”

Charles hums the harmony under his breath, and it sends a shiver down your spine. There’s something magic in the way the song is coming together, as if the music and the words have been waiting all along for this moment — this exact combination of notes and timing and connection.

You lose yourself in the lyrics, the melody unfurling like a secret finally spoken aloud.

“Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha. Wildest dreams …”

The final chords linger in the air, sweet and melancholic, as your voice trails off into silence. For a moment, neither of you moves. The room feels suspended in time, like the last note of the song is still hanging between you.

Charles turns his head toward you, his gaze soft and unreadable. “That,” he says quietly, “was incredible.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline of the song still buzzing under your skin. “It felt … right,” you whisper, almost in disbelief.

He smiles, and there’s something in his expression — something tender, something knowing — that makes your breath hitch.

Before you can think twice, Charles leans in.

His lips brush against yours, warm and careful, like a question waiting to be answered. And you answer it, leaning into the kiss with a soft sigh, your hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck.

The kiss is slow and unhurried, just like the song — like you have all the time in the world to figure out where this might go. His hand finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you — no fans, no cameras, no expectations. Just you and Charles and the quiet hum of something new unfolding between you.

When you finally pull back, Charles rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Wildest dreams,” he murmurs, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You smile back, your heart still racing. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Wildest dreams.”

***

The yacht rocks gently on the still water, the evening air warm and soft against your skin. The sky is a canvas of fading oranges and purples, the last light of day slipping into the night. You and Charles are seated across from each other on the yacht’s deck, surrounded by flickering candles, plates of pasta, and a bottle of wine nearly emptied between you.

Charles twirls a forkful of spaghetti, his other hand resting lazily on the table, fingers tracing circles on the wood. There’s an easy silence between you, one that has become familiar in the last few weeks — a silence that speaks more than words sometimes can. The kind where you don't feel the need to fill every gap with conversation because being together is enough.

But tonight, there’s something behind Charles’ quietness — something thoughtful, like he’s working up the courage to say what’s on his mind.

You sip your wine, watching him as he chews on his pasta and glances out at the horizon, his brows slightly furrowed. “What’s up?” You ask, sensing the shift in his mood.

He blinks, almost like you’ve caught him off guard. Then he smiles, a little nervous. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You set your glass down and lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “That sounds serious.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not serious, exactly. Just … something important.”

You tilt your head, waiting.

Charles exhales softly, the kind of breath you take when you’re gearing up to say something that matters. “The summer break is almost over,” he begins. “In a few days, I’ll be flying out to the Netherlands for the next race.”

You nod, trying to keep your expression neutral, even though the thought of him leaving tugs at something inside you. The past few weeks with Charles have felt like a bubble — something delicate and safe, like you’ve both been hiding from the world together. And now the bubble is about to pop.

He taps his fingers lightly against the table. “After the Dutch Grand Prix … we race in Monza. The Italian Grand Prix.”

You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting for him to get to his point.

“It’s Ferrari’s home race,” he explains, his eyes flicking to yours. “It’s always a really special weekend for me. It’s … a lot of pressure, but also really meaningful.”

You nod slowly. “That makes sense.”

Charles shifts in his seat, leaning closer to you. “I was thinking … I’d really like it if you were there.”

The words hang in the air between you, delicate and tentative.

You blink, caught off guard. “At the race?”

He nods, studying your face carefully. “As my guest.”

There’s a long pause as you try to wrap your head around the idea. Charles at a race is a public Charles — a version of him that exists under a magnifying glass, scrutinized by cameras and fans and reporters. It’s a world that feels miles away from the quiet, private moments you’ve shared with him on his yacht or in his apartment.

Charles seems to sense your hesitation, because he adds quickly, “You wouldn’t have to interact with anyone if you didn’t want to. You’d have a VIP pass — my personal guest pass. It would get you into places the fans can’t go.”

You bite your lip, your mind racing. “Charles, I don’t know …”

“I get it,” he says softly, reaching across the table to take your hand. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, soothing and patient. “It’s a lot to ask, I know. And I don’t want to pressure you. But it would mean a lot to me if you came.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. This isn’t just about a race — it’s about you being part of something important to him.

“I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel uncomfortable,” he continues. “If it’s too much, we don’t have to do it. But … I think you’d enjoy it. And you wouldn’t be alone. I’d make sure of that.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. The idea of being surrounded by people — fans, photographers, reporters — makes your heart race with anxiety. But then there’s Charles, sitting across from you, his green eyes soft and hopeful, asking you to be there for something that matters to him.

“Would I really have a place to hide if I needed to?” You ask, your voice hesitant.

Charles nods, squeezing your hand gently. “Absolutely. There are private areas for drivers and their guests. No fans, no cameras. And if you want, I’ll introduce you to some of the other drivers — they’re good guys. But only if you want.”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in your chest loosen, if only a little. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’ll come.”

Charles’ eyes light up, and the smile that spreads across his face is so genuine it makes your heart skip a beat. “You will?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah. I’ll come to Monza.”

Charles grins, and before you can say anything else, he’s out of his seat and leaning across the table to kiss you. It’s the kind of kiss that’s filled with gratitude and excitement, a kiss that says thank you without words.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he’s still smiling, like he can’t help himself. “You’re amazing,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laugh softly, your cheeks warm. “I’m just coming to a race.”

“It’s more than that,” he says seriously, his hand cradling the side of your face. “It means more than you know.”

His words linger in the air between you, and you realize that saying yes to Monza wasn’t just about the race — it was about showing up for Charles, being there for him the way he’s been there for you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, and for a moment, everything feels right.

***

The air around Monza buzzes with energy, a whirlwind of cheers, Ferrari red, and Italian pride. The grandstands are a sea of waving flags and chanting fans, their roars echoing through the paddock even after the race is over. Charles has just crossed the finish line first, and the entire circuit feels like it’s vibrating from the weight of it — Ferrari’s golden boy has won at home.

You watch the celebration unfold from the safety of the private viewing suite Charles arranged for you. From here, tucked away from the chaos, you see the team erupt in joy, mechanics and engineers throwing themselves at each other in wild celebration. The commentators’ voices, crackling over the monitors in the room, narrate Charles’ victory lap with giddy enthusiasm.

“Charles Leclerc wins the Italian Grand Prix! What a race! What a moment for Ferrari!”

You smile softly, knowing how much this means to him. Even from the suite, you can see the glint of happiness in his eyes as he climbs on top of his car, throwing his arms in the air. The crowd chants his name, the fans surging against barriers, trying to get closer to their hero. Charles punches the air and lets out a joyous roar before jumping down to embrace his team.

But your smile is tinged with anxiety. You know what comes next: endless interviews, the champagne-soaked podium, media obligations, and swarms of fans. Part of you wonders if he’ll even have a moment to breathe, let alone a moment to sneak away to find you.

You sit back, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, heart fluttering with a mix of emotions — pride, nerves, and that ever-present thread of uncertainty that’s lingered since you first said yes to coming here.

The minutes crawl by, and you try to distract yourself, fiddling with your phone and glancing every few moments at the screen broadcasting the race aftermath. Charles is still out there, getting pulled in every direction. You watch him hug mechanics, shake hands with journalists, and answer rapid-fire questions while grinning through it all.

He’s in his element. Confident, radiant, unstoppable.

But all you can think about is how much you want to see him.

Just when you’ve convinced yourself to give him space, the door to the suite creaks open — quietly, almost suspiciously — and Charles slips inside, still wearing his race suit, damp and sticky from champagne. His hair is a mess, waves clinging to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed from exertion. He smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and adrenaline, the chaotic mixture of victory.

“Charles?” You whisper, sitting up, startled. “What are you — aren’t you supposed to be-”

“Shhh,” he grins, breathless, holding a finger to his lips. “I escaped.”

He’s like a kid sneaking out of school, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Before you can say anything else, Charles strides across the room and pulls you into his arms without hesitation. You barely have time to react before his lips are on yours — urgent, warm, and full of something that feels dangerously close to gratitude and relief.

The kiss takes the breath out of you. His hands slide up your back, pressing you closer as if he needs to make sure you’re real, like victory only means something if he can share it with you.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his rapid breathing against your skin. He’s still grinning, like the joy of the win hasn’t even begun to wear off.

“You,” he murmurs between breaths, “are officially my good luck charm.”

You laugh, breathless and dizzy from the kiss. “I think your driving might’ve had something to do with it.”

He shakes his head, eyes locked on yours, a gleam of playful determination in them. “Nope. It was you.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest is undeniable. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple, still grinning like he can’t help himself. “But I’m right.”

Charles takes a step back, still holding your hand as if letting go might cause you to disappear. “I didn’t want to stay out there without seeing you,” he says, softer now. “I just … I wanted you here, with me, for this.”

Your heart flutters, and you don’t know what to say, so you just squeeze his hand in response.

“I don’t care about the interviews or the photos,” he continues, brushing a stray curl from your forehead. “This is what I wanted. Just this.”

You exhale a shaky breath, overwhelmed by how easy it feels with him — how natural, like you belong here despite all the noise and chaos swirling just outside this room.

He glances down at himself and grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m probably disgusting.”

“You kind of are,” you tease, brushing a damp curl off his forehead. “But I’ll allow it, just this once.”

He laughs, low and soft, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower, more deliberate — like he’s savoring the moment, like he knows it’s fleeting and wants to make every second count.

When he pulls back again, there’s a flicker of something more serious in his eyes, something that makes your chest tighten. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For being here. For coming.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you feel a lump rise in your throat. “Of course,” you manage, your voice barely audible.

Charles takes a step back, exhaling slowly as if trying to gather himself. “Come with me to my driver’s room?” He asks, a hint of that playful glint returning to his eyes. “I need to hide for a bit longer.”

You nod, smiling. “Lead the way.”

He slips his hand into yours and pulls you gently toward the door, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one’s spotted him. The halls are buzzing with activity — team members shouting, media swarming — but Charles weaves through the chaos like it’s second nature, keeping you close behind him.

When you reach his driver’s room, he ushers you inside quickly, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

“Safe,” he whispers, grinning.

You barely have time to process before he’s kissing you again, backing you gently against the wall, his hands on either side of your face. There’s a fervor to the kiss now, a kind of desperation that only comes after holding something in for too long.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads pressed together. “I told you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “Good luck charm.”

You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “You really are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admits, his grin widening. “But I won in Monza, so I think I’ve earned it.”

You can’t help but smile, your heart full in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the chaos of the world outside doesn’t seem so overwhelming — because right here, in this stolen moment, it’s just you and Charles. And that’s enough.

***

Sunlight filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the sheets. The familiar scent of Charles — his cologne, mixed with a hint of sweat from yesterday’s excitement — wraps around you like a cocoon. His arm is slung loosely over your waist, and his chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, his breath warm against the back of your neck. It feels safe. For once, you feel like the chaos of the world can’t reach you here.

And then your phone rings.

The sharp, jarring sound slices through the quiet morning. You groan, disoriented, fumbling blindly on the nightstand until your hand closes around your phone. Charles shifts behind you, murmuring sleepily but not waking.

You squint at the screen. Grace.

Before you can think better of it, you slide your thumb across the screen and lift the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“What the hell, Y/N!” Grace’s voice cuts through the line, sharp and unrelenting. You wince, instinctively sitting up, trying not to disturb Charles as your pulse begins to race.

“What are you-”

“Don’t even start,” Grace interrupts, her tone laced with frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be out in public? Let alone at a Grand Prix? I thought you were supposed to be laying low, taking time to recover.”

Your stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”

“The pictures, Y/N!” Grace huffs. “They’re everywhere — Twitter, Instagram, even some sports blogs. You were at Monza, weren’t you?”

You blink, heart pounding now. “What pictures?”

“The ones of you in the VIP suite, for starters. And a couple from the paddock exit too — probably some fan with a long lens. They’re blurry, but it’s definitely you.”

Your throat tightens. You and Charles had been so careful — at least, you thought you had. You didn’t talk to anyone, stayed tucked away from crowds, and only left his driver’s room when the paddock had mostly cleared out. But now it’s all unraveling.

Grace’s voice barrels on, not giving you a chance to respond. “Do you realize how this looks? You’re out at public events now, so obviously you’re feeling well enough to get back to work. Your team is already asking me when we can restart your tour dates. They think-”

“Grace-”

“-they think this whole thing was just overblown. Maybe you just needed a break, but now you’re good, right? If you’re ready to attend races, you can-”

“Grace, stop!” You blurt, your voice cracking. Your head spins as the walls start closing in. The pressure, the expectations — everything feels like it’s crashing down on you all at once.

You clutch the blanket tight around you, trying to hold yourself together, but the familiar sensation of your chest tightening makes it hard to breathe. It’s happening again — your mind racing, spiraling into the panic you thought you’d escaped.

Charles stirs beside you, sitting up now, his brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice rough with sleep, but the moment he sees the look on your face, he’s wide awake.

You barely register him. Your heart pounds violently in your chest, and your breath comes in shallow gasps. Grace’s voice keeps drilling into your ear, relentless, a never-ending stream of words about tours and schedules and deadlines.

You can’t answer. Can’t breathe.

Charles sees it — he sees you unraveling — and in one smooth motion, he plucks the phone from your trembling hand and presses it to his ear.

“Y/N is busy,” he says, his voice low and firm. “She’ll call you back.”

“Wait, who is-”

Charles doesn’t let her finish. He ends the call with a click and tosses your phone onto the nightstand. Then he’s back at your side, cupping your face in his hands, his touch steady and grounding.

“Hey, hey — look at me,” Charles murmurs, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You try to nod, but the panic is clawing at your throat, making it hard to focus on anything except the tightness in your chest and the overwhelming sense of failure that threatens to swallow you whole.

“Breathe with me,” Charles whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Come on, just like before. In, slowly … now out.”

His voice is a lifeline, pulling you out of the storm raging inside your head. You grip his wrist like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality and try to follow his lead — inhale, exhale, again and again, until the tightness in your chest begins to ease.

“That’s it,” he soothes, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’ve got this.”

After a few more breaths, the world starts to come back into focus. The sharp edges of panic soften, and the spinning in your head slows to a manageable hum. Charles stays close, his presence warm and steady, as if daring the panic to come back and try again.

When your breathing finally evens out, Charles shifts slightly, but he doesn’t let go of you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shake your head, still too raw to explain everything that just happened. But Charles doesn’t push. He just nods, his thumb brushing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

“Don’t,” he says immediately, his brow furrowing. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

You drop your gaze, your fingers twisting nervously in the blanket. “Grace thinks I’m ready to go back to everything. She thinks because I went to the race, I should be able to start working again.”

Charles’ hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together. “And what do you think?”

You swallow hard, guilt prickling at the back of your mind. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready. But what if everyone expects me to be? What if-”

“Hey,” Charles interrupts gently, tilting your chin so you have to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else expects. You don’t have to do anything until you want to. Not Grace, not your team, not anyone.”

You blink, the weight of his words sinking in. “But what if-”

“No,” he says firmly, his green eyes unwavering. “Listen to me. You are allowed to take your time. You are allowed to say no. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can deal with me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. “You’re going to fight Grace for me?”

“If I have to,” Charles says with a grin. “But I think I’d win.”

The corners of your mouth lift, a small smile breaking through the storm of emotions. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he says confidently. Then his expression softens, and he squeezes your hand. “You’ve been through a lot, mon cœur. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

You nod slowly, the knot in your chest loosening a little more. For the first time in what feels like forever, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to put yourself first.

Charles leans closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Whatever you need, I’m here. No pressure, no expectations.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. And for the first time in a long while, the crushing weight of other people’s expectations lifts — just a little.

Charles shifts, pulling you gently into his arms, and you curl into him without hesitation, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a quiet reminder that you’re not alone in this.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs into your hair. “One day at a time.”

And somehow, with Charles holding you like this, you believe him.

***

The familiar opening notes of Cars play softly from the TV, the colorful animation flickering across the screen in the dim light of your apartment. You’re curled up comfortably on the couch, Leo nestled between you and Charles, his small, warm body shifting every few minutes as he tries to snuggle deeper into the cushions. He paws insistently at your hand, his tail wagging whenever you stop petting him.

Charles laughs quietly beside you, clearly amused by Leo’s persistence. “I think he likes you better than me now,” he teases, running a hand through his messy hair and leaning back against the couch.

You smile, scratching behind Leo’s floppy ears. “Maybe I just have better petting skills.”

Charles grins, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. “Unfair advantage,” he murmurs, tilting his head toward the screen as Lightning McQueen barrels into Radiator Springs.

It’s peaceful — easy, even. For the first time in a long while, the constant buzz of anxiety in your chest has quieted. Charles is beside you, Leo’s warm little body sprawled between you both, and the world outside feels far away, like it can’t touch you here.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at Charles, who raises a brow but doesn’t seem concerned, probably assuming it’s nothing more than a delivery. Leo lets out an excited little yip and hops off the couch, his tail wagging as he scampers toward the door.

You pull your blanket tighter around yourself, feeling the familiar trickle of anxiety starting to creep back. “Did you order something?”

Charles shakes his head, giving you a curious look. “No. Were you expecting anyone?”

You frown. “No.”

Before you can think to stand or tell Charles to wait, the door swings open — without so much as an invitation — and Grace strides inside, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Grace announces, her tone brisk and no-nonsense. She’s balancing her phone in one hand and a folder in the other, looking like she’s just come from a meeting. “I’ve been trying to call-”

Her voice trails off mid-sentence as she looks up and takes in the scene before her — Leo skittering around the room, the two half-empty wine glasses on the coffee table, and you huddled on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie.

And then her gaze shifts to Charles.

For a split second, Grace freezes. She stares at him, her mouth opening slightly, confusion flickering across her features. Then she does a sharp double take, and her eyes widen as recognition clicks into place.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, blinking as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. “You’re … you’re Charles Leclerc.”

Charles shifts slightly beside you, offering a polite but slightly awkward smile. “Uh, yes.”

Grace’s eyes flicker between the two of you, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t make sense. “You’re … here. In Y/N’s apartment.”

“Yes,” Charles repeats calmly, his tone light but cautious, as if he’s waiting to see where this is going.

You watch the realization spread across Grace’s face, her expression shifting from disbelief to something resembling stunned amusement. “Wait — are you two … together?”

Your cheeks burn under her gaze, and before you can answer — or even figure out what to say — Charles gives a small, easy shrug. “We are,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Grace blinks, visibly thrown off her game. “Since when?”

Charles glances at you, his eyes warm. “A little while now.”

There’s a beat of silence as Grace processes this new information. Then she lets out a half-laugh, half-exhale, clearly bewildered. “I mean … obviously I knew you were in Monaco, but — Charles Leclerc?” She looks at you with a mixture of shock and something close to admiration. “I guess I can’t say I saw that coming.”

Leo prances back toward the couch, demanding attention from both of you again. Charles leans down to rub the little dachshund’s head, his expression calm and unbothered, like this is the most natural situation in the world.

Grace, however, is not one to be easily distracted. She clears her throat and crosses her arms, focusing on you now. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve been staying under the radar all this time, but now you’re … dating a Formula 1 driver?”

You glance at Charles, who gives you a reassuring look, his hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the blanket. It’s subtle, but the touch steadies you.

“Yes,” you say quietly, meeting Grace’s gaze head-on.

For a moment, she just stares at you, as if trying to decide how to respond. Then she lets out a long breath, shaking her head. “This is … unexpected.”

Charles chuckles softly beside you, clearly amused. “That seems to be the general consensus.”

Grace narrows her eyes at him, though there’s no malice in it — just the cautious protectiveness of someone who cares deeply about you. “And you’re … serious about this?” She asks, her gaze flickering between you and Charles.

“I am,” Charles replies without hesitation. His voice is steady, sincere. “Very.”

The simplicity of his answer makes your heart squeeze in your chest. You glance at him, finding that familiar warmth in his expression — like you’re the only thing that matters to him in this moment.

Grace watches the exchange closely, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction. Then she sighs, pressing a hand to her temple. “Okay,” she mutters, almost to herself. “This is … a lot.”

You shift uncomfortably, the anxiety from earlier threatening to bubble back up. “Grace, I didn’t plan any of this,” you say quietly. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but … I’m happy. For the first time in a long time.”

Grace’s expression softens further at your words, and she lets out a slow breath. “That’s all I care about,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “I just want you to be okay.”

Charles gives her a small, understanding smile. “I want the same thing.”

For the first time since she walked in, Grace seems to relax, her shoulders loosening as she takes in the scene once more — the cozy apartment, the soft lighting, the half-finished movie on the TV, and the way Charles’ hand rests protectively on your knee.

“Well,” Grace says finally, rubbing the back of her neck. “This is … definitely not how I expected this conversation to go.”

Charles chuckles. “Life is full of surprises.”

Grace shoots him a wry look but doesn’t argue. Instead, she gives you a small, tired smile. “I guess if you’re happy … then that’s all that matters.”

You feel a weight lift off your shoulders at her words, the tension easing just a little. “I am,” you say softly, and for the first time in a long time, you truly mean it.

Grace nods, seemingly satisfied — for now, at least. “Okay, well … I guess I’ll leave you two to it, then.” She glances at Leo, who’s now sprawled dramatically across Charles’ lap. “And your dog.”

Charles grins, scratching behind Leo’s ears. “He’s good company.”

Grace rolls her eyes, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll let myself out.”

She heads toward the door but pauses just before stepping out. “Y/N?” She calls softly.

You look up, meeting her gaze.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” she says sincerely. “Really.”

You offer her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

With that, she gives you a nod and slips out the door, leaving you and Charles alone once more.

The room feels lighter now, the tension from earlier dissipating into the warm, easy atmosphere you’d shared before Grace arrived. Charles turns to you, his expression soft and amused.

“Well,” he murmurs, “that went better than I expected.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Yeah. Me too.”

Charles leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Told you — we’ll figure this out. One day at a time.”

And somehow, with him beside you, that feels like enough.

***

The Instagram Live notification pings on Nora’s phone as she sprawls across her bed, scrolling aimlessly.

@yourusername is going live now.

Her thumb hovers over the screen for a second. Nora hasn’t seen a post or update from you in months, and the gossip forums have been buzzing with wild theories — everything from burnout to secret rehab stints. It’s been radio silence since your tour abruptly ended, with no official word on what had happened.

But now you’re back? On Live? Nora’s heart races with excitement and curiosity as she taps the notification, the screen loading just in time for your face to appear.

The video is a little shaky at first, as if you’ve just propped your phone up on something last minute. You’re sitting cross-legged on a couch, wearing a cozy hoodie that looks two sizes too big and barely any makeup.

The person Nora sees looks different from the polished pop star she’s used to — more real. Your eyes flicker nervously between the camera and something off-screen, as if you’re not sure whether this is a good idea.

“Hi, everyone,” you start, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The live chat immediately explodes with greetings.

OMG SHE’S ALIVE

We missed you so much!

Are you okay? What happened?

You smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Uh, I’m not really sure how to do this, but I just … I wanted to talk to you guys. To explain everything.”

The chat rolls by so fast that Nora can barely keep up, but she keeps her eyes glued to the screen, her heart thumping. This isn’t the usual PR-filtered message, it feels personal.

“I know a lot of people have been wondering where I’ve been,” you say, shifting slightly on the couch. “The truth is … I had to step away from everything for a bit. Things got really overwhelming. It wasn’t just one thing — it was a lot, all at once.”

Your voice wavers slightly, and Nora finds herself leaning closer to her phone, feeling the vulnerability in your words.

“The last few months of the tour were … hard. I started having panic attacks. At first, I thought I could push through, you know? Just keep going. But I couldn’t.” You pause, taking a deep breath as if the memories are still too close. “One night, a fan ran on stage, and something in me just … broke. I couldn’t pretend I was okay anymore.”

The chat slows slightly, the flurry of emojis replaced by supportive comments.

It’s okay, take your time.

We’re proud of you for talking about this.

We love you no matter what.

Nora can feel the wave of empathy through the screen. She has always admired you for your strength, but this — seeing you raw and open — makes her respect you even more.

“I know I kind of disappeared,” you continue. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just needed time to figure things out … away from the cameras, the shows, everything.” You smile sadly. “And that’s why I didn’t say anything earlier. I wanted to come back when I was ready, not when someone told me I had to.”

The chat fills with heart emojis, and Nora finds herself tapping one as well, caught in the warmth of the moment.

Just then, there’s movement in the background. Someone off-screen calls your name, the sound muffled at first. The camera wobbles slightly as you turn your head.

“Hang on a sec,” you say with a small laugh, glancing toward the doorway.

The viewers — Nora included — watch with curiosity as a figure steps into the frame. A man in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’s just woken up from a nap.

Nora’s eyes widen. Wait. No way.

It takes a second for the recognition to sink in, but when it does, the chat explodes.

WAIT IS THAT CHARLES LECLERC?

OMG WTF IT IS HIM

Y/N AND CHARLES?! HOW?!

Charles strolls into the room casually, clearly unaware that you’re on Instagram Live. Leo scampering at his feet, barking happily.

“Do you want pasta or pizza for dinner?” Charles asks, his voice soft with that unmistakable Monaco accent.

You let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I’m … I’m on Live right now,” you whisper, as if trying to warn him.

Charles blinks, his gaze shifting to the phone propped up in front of you. His eyes widen slightly, but then he gives a sheepish grin, as if to say, well, the damage is done now.

“Oh,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hi, everyone.”

The chat is in chaos.

CONFIRMED. THEY’RE TOGETHER.

I CAN’T BREATHE WTF

LEO FOR PRESIDENT!

Nora can’t believe what she’s seeing. Charles Leclerc — Ferrari’s golden boy, Monaco’s favorite son — standing casually in your apartment, talking about dinner like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You give him a look that’s equal parts amused and mortified. “You just outed us to the entire internet.”

Charles chuckles, completely unfazed. “Oops.”

Leo, as if sensing the excitement, jumps onto the couch beside you and wiggles his way onto your lap. You scratch behind his ears, looking between the dog, Charles, and the phone as if wondering how this all escalated so quickly.

“Well,” you say with a helpless shrug, “I guess … surprise?”

The chat is relentless now, a mix of fans freaking out, congratulating you both, and demanding answers.

HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING?

THEY’RE SO CUTE TOGETHER I CAN’T 😭

DO YOU NEED A THIRD?

Charles leans over the back of the couch, peeking at the comments on the screen. “They seem happy,” he observes, his lips twitching with amusement.

“Yeah, well, they’re also never going to let us live this down,” you mutter, but there’s no real annoyance in your voice — only fondness.

Charles smiles, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Could be worse.”

Nora can’t help but grin at the interaction. It’s rare to see celebrities in such an unguarded, domestic moment, and the fact that it’s you and Charles Leclerc makes it even more surreal.

“Well,” you say, addressing the camera again, “I guess now you know. This is Charles. Charles, meet … everyone.” You gesture vaguely at the phone, and Charles gives a small, amused wave.

“Ciao,” he says with a playful grin.

The chat is relentless with heart-eye emojis, fire emojis, and messages about how happy everyone is to see you smiling again.

“Okay,” you say, glancing between Charles and the phone, “I think that’s enough excitement for today. Thanks for listening, and … thanks for being patient with me.” Your expression softens. “It means more than you know.”

Charles leans in again. “So … pasta or pizza?” He asks quietly, his voice just for you.

You laugh, the sound light and free, as if the weight on your chest has finally lifted. “Pasta. Definitely pasta.”

With one last smile to the camera, you reach for your phone. “Okay, we’re going to make some dinner. Love you guys. Talk soon.”

And just like that, the screen goes black, leaving Nora — and the rest of the internet — in stunned, delighted disbelief.

***

The energy at the Australian Grand Prix is electric, a swirling mass of noise, speed, and anticipation. The grandstands vibrate with thousands of cheering fans, the scent of burnt rubber and adrenaline thick in the air. It’s the first race of the season, and the world’s eyes are locked onto Melbourne’s Albert Park Circuit. But right now, all you can focus on is Charles.

You stand behind the barrier with the Ferrari team, the red-clad crew surrounding you as they watch the final lap on a sea of screens. Your heart thunders in your chest, each corner of the circuit feeling like a heartbeat skipped. It’s not just nerves — it’s pride, excitement, and a flicker of disbelief. Charles is about to win. The lead he built throughout the race holds steady as he tears through the last straight, the commentators’ voices booming through the loudspeakers, growing more frenzied.

“Charles Leclerc comes through the final corner … and wins the Australian Grand Prix!”

The Ferrari pit wall explodes into wild cheers. Engineers and crew members throw their arms in the air, shouting and hugging each other. Flags whip through the air, and the roar from the grandstands becomes deafening. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your hands clutched together, knuckles white with tension.

“He did it!” Someone from the team shouts beside you, their voice almost drowned out by the collective noise.

You can’t help but laugh, a giddy, breathless sound that surprises even you. There’s something surreal about witnessing it all — seeing Charles cross the finish line and knowing how much this win means to him. It’s the perfect start to his season, and part of you is so proud that you feel like you might burst.

Charles brings his Ferrari to a screeching stop in parc fermé, right beside the boards marked P1. Without missing a beat, he jumps out of the car, tearing off his helmet as the crowd erupts again. His face is flushed with triumph, damp with sweat, and his grin stretches wide, full of unbridled joy. He climbs onto the nose of the car, throwing his arms in the air to soak in the cheers and applause.

You feel your chest swell, warmth blooming from within at the sight of him — your Charles, victorious, on top of the world.

Then it happens.

He jumps down from the car, his eyes searching the crowd. He’s supposed to go be weighed in. The cameras are supposed to be on him for the formal celebrations. But Charles doesn’t care about any of that. As soon as his gaze locks onto you, standing among the throng of Ferrari team members, everything else fades for him.

He takes off running.

“Wait-” someone from the team starts to say, confused by Charles’ sudden sprint.

You freeze as he barrels toward the barrier, helmet still in one hand, the other hand brushing through his tousled hair. Your heart slams against your ribs as you realize what he’s about to do.

“Charles-” you start, but it’s too late.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t hesitate. In front of everyone — Ferrari, journalists, FIA officials — Charles sprints towards the barrier in a few smooth steps, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. And before you can even react, he’s cupping your face with both hands and kissing you.

The world falls away.

The crowd’s noise becomes a distant hum as Charles’ lips press against yours, firm and desperate, like he’s been waiting all race to get to you. His hands hold your face as if he never wants to let go, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. The kiss is everything — celebratory, intense, and filled with a raw kind of joy that makes your knees weak.

For a moment, you forget where you are. All you know is Charles — his familiar scent, the roughness of his jaw, and the way his lips move against yours, like he’s trying to pour every bit of emotion into this one moment. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands gripping the front of his race suit, pulling him closer.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Charles’ forehead rests against yours. His grin is impossibly bright, and the look in his eyes makes your heart flip.

“Hi,” he whispers, his voice low and full of laughter, like he can’t believe he’s standing here with you after all of it.

You laugh, trying to catch your breath. “Hi.”

Around you, the team starts cheering again, even louder this time. Someone whistles, and another engineer yells, “That’s our boy!” as if Charles’ kiss is part of the victory itself.

It’s then that you realize what just happened. You glance over Charles’ shoulder and catch sight of the cameras — the journalists on the other side of the barrier, the fans in the grandstands with their phones raised. The internet is about to explode.

“Charles,” you murmur, half-laughing, half-panicking, “everyone saw that.”

“I know,” he says, his grin widening. He doesn’t look the least bit sorry. “Let them.”

You shake your head, but a laugh escapes you anyway. There’s no point in worrying about it now. The moment has already happened, and — surprisingly — you don’t regret it.

Charles pulls you into another hug, squeezing you tight against him. His suit is thoroughly damp with sweat, but you don’t care. All you care about is the way he holds you, the way he whispers, “Thank you for being here,” against your hair.

“You didn’t make it easy to say no,” you tease, your words muffled against his chest.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You know me. I never play fair.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His green eyes are warm and shining with happiness, and for a second, everything feels perfect. The noise, the cameras, the crowd — it all fades into the background, leaving just the two of you standing together in the aftermath of his victory.

Someone from Ferrari taps Charles on the shoulder, reminding him that he still has obligations to do. He groans, clearly reluctant to leave your side, but you give him a gentle nudge.

“Go,” you whisper. “I’ll be right here.”

He kisses you one more time, quick and soft, before finally turning toward the waiting media. As he jogs back down the pit lane, the crowd cheers even louder, the energy electric with both victory and the revelation of your relationship.

You stand behind the barrier, watching as Charles throws his arms around his team and gets swept into the celebrations. A part of you knows that the media frenzy is only just beginning — that by the time you check your phone, social media will be ablaze with photos and speculation.

But for now, none of that matters. All that matters is the way Charles looked at you, like you were the most important person in the world.

And as the Monegasque anthem plays over the speakers and champagne sprays into the air, you smile, knowing that this — this moment — is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

The stadium hums with anticipation, a low buzz of excitement rippling through the crowd as thousands of fans fill every seat. The lights are dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of phones peppering the darkness. It’s been well over two years since you last stood on a stage, and tonight marks the beginning of your long-awaited comeback tour.

Your heart thrums in your chest — not from nerves, but from exhilaration. This is the moment you’ve dreamed of, the one you thought might never come.

Backstage, you take a deep breath. The setlist is memorized, the band is ready, and the stage awaits. But there’s one song you’ve kept secret until tonight. One that means more to you than anything you’ve ever written. And Charles — your Charles — is somewhere in the audience, waiting to hear it for the first time.

The stage manager gives you a nod, signaling it’s time. The lights drop completely, plunging the arena into black, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You walk onto the stage, the soles of your boots vibrating against the platform as the energy of thousands of voices surrounds you. You step into the spotlight as the first few notes hum through the speakers.

The crowd’s roar crescendos as they finally see you, and you offer them a soft smile. Then you lean toward the microphone, your voice amplified but intimate, as if speaking to an old friend.

“New York,” you begin, grinning as the crowd cheers even louder at the mention of the city’s name. “Thank you for being here with me tonight. I’ve waited a long time for this moment, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be back on this stage.”

The crowd roars, chanting your name, the sound enveloping you like a warm embrace. You pause for a beat, your hand resting lightly on the mic stand. “For those of you who’ve been with me from the beginning … you know it hasn’t been an easy road. But here we are, and I feel more alive than I ever have.”

A wave of cheers crashes over you again, and you feel your heart swell in gratitude.

“Tonight,” you continue, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I want to do something a little special. I’ve got a song — one you’ve never heard before. I wrote it for someone very important to me.” You pause, your gaze sweeping over the crowd, imagining Charles out there somewhere, hidden among the sea of faces. “This one’s called The Alchemy.”

The arena erupts into applause and whistles, the fans feeding off your excitement. The band strikes up the first few chords, a shimmering pulse of sound that builds slowly. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the rhythm settle in your chest. And then you start to sing.

“This happens once every few lifetimes. These chemicals hit me like white wine …”

Your voice is clear and powerful, carrying through the stadium with ease. The crowd sways along, captivated by the song even though they’ve never heard it before. The verses flow effortlessly, the words spilling from your heart as if they were written only yesterday.

“What if I told you I'm back? The hospital was a drag. Worst sleep that I ever had …”

The memory of those dark months flashes briefly in your mind, but you push it away. That’s not where you live anymore. This song isn’t about what you lost — it’s about what you found.

As the music builds, your thoughts drift toward Charles, and a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you reach the next verse.

“So when I touch down, call the amateurs and cut ‘em from the team. Ditch the clowns, get the crown. Baby I’m the one to beat …”

The crowd catches onto the energy, cheering as if they know exactly who you’re singing about. And then, at last, you reach the line that you’ve been holding close to your heart since the day you wrote it — the line meant just for Charles.

“Where's the trophy? He just comes runnin’ over to me …”

The audience erupts, but you barely hear them. You can only picture Charles, the memory of him bounding over the barriers in Melbourne, high off a win and still drenched in sweat, just to kiss you in front of everyone. That moment plays like a movie in your mind, the emotion of it surging through your voice as you sing.

The song carries on, the lyrics unfolding like pages in a story — your story. The fans are swaying, waving their arms in time with the music, some already singing along despite hearing the song for the first time. You feel weightless, completely immersed in the moment, knowing that Charles is somewhere out there, listening.

As you belt out the final chorus, the band swells around you, lifting the song to its peak.

“Cause the sign on your heart said it’s still reserved for me …”

Your voice soars over the crowd, and when you sing the final line, your heart feels like it might burst.

“Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?”

The song ends, the last note lingering in the air before the crowd explodes into applause. The stadium feels alive, vibrating with energy, and for a moment, you just stand there, basking in it. This is what you missed — the connection, the joy, the sense of belonging.

You step back from the mic, catching your breath, and glance toward the side of the stage. There, just out of sight from the audience, you spot Charles. His arms are crossed over his chest, a proud grin stretching across his face, and his eyes gleam with something that looks a lot like love.

You give him a small, almost shy smile, and he mouths the words, “I love you.” Your heart swells, and for a second, everything else fades — the lights, the noise, the crowd. It’s just you and Charles, exactly where you’re meant to be.

Turning back to the audience, you grin and raise a hand in the air. “Thank you, New York!” You shout into the mic, and the crowd roars in response.

You can feel it in your bones — this is just the beginning. The tour, the music, the life you’ve rebuilt. And Charles will be with you every step of the way.

As the next song begins and the crowd’s cheers grow louder, you glance toward the wings again. Charles is still standing there, watching you with that same proud, loving smile.

And you know, without a doubt, that the alchemy between you two is something no one could ever fight.

[cutielando]

back with you | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which he can't bear to see you with someone else

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

You and Charles had been together for nearly 4 years - a relationship filled with passion, love, and shared dreams.

But in the end, unfortunately, it just hadn't been enough.

The break-up had been devastating, leaving you heartbroken while Charles seemed to have moved on effortlessly, like your relationship had meant nothing.

A month after your split, you found out he had gone back to his ex, and it was safe to say that it had gutted you. The betrayal sliced deeper than the break-up itself, at least that's how it felt. While you had been drowning in sorrow, barely able to find a reason to get out of bed in the mornings, he had been rekindling an old flame, someone he had always told you not to worry about.

It was almost a cliche.

Finding that out was the moment when you had decided you wouldn't - couldn't - let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much he had hurt you with this.

And so, when the Las Vegas Grand Prix rolled around, you made a decision - you were going to make Charles jealous and make him regret his decision of ever letting you go and breaking up with you. And if you were going to do it, you were going to do it spectacularly.

Enter Grayson Dolan - famous YouTuber, charming, effortlessly attractive, and conveniently more than willing to help you prove your point and have some fun at the same time.

The Las Vegas strip shimmered under the neon lights, the energy of the race weekend pulsing through the air.

Cameras flashed as you and Grayson arrived at the paddock together, walking closely, your laughter light and effortless as you let your fingers graze his arm.

The sleek black revenge dress you wore hugged your curves perfectly, exuding confidence, power, and the very message you had wanted to send - you're thriving, even without Charles Leclerc with you.

And oh, did he notice.

Charles had been standing near his Ferrari garage when he saw you, his easy demeanor faltering as his gazed locked onto you and Grayson. His jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides as jealousy flared in his chest. You had always been his, and seeing you with someone else - someone who wasn't him - was like a punch to the gut.

The tension only thickened at the afterparty. The club was alive with pulsing music and flashing lights, a place where celebrations and inhibitions blended together.

You were dancing with Grayson, your bodies close, your laughter slipping between you as his hands rested casually on your waist. It was all for show, of course, but it was working.

Maybe even a little too well.

Charles had been watching you all night, his patience slowly wearing thin, his jealousy bubbling over.

And then, just as Grayson leaned in, Charles snapped and lost all control of himself.

Before anyone could even understand what was going on, Charles was shoving Grayson back with enough force to make everyone around you stop to stare and gasp.

"That's enough" Charles said, his voice low and full of warning, his eyes locked onto yours.

Grayson held up his hands, stepping back, but you weren't about to let Charles dictate your life, not anymore.

"What the hell is your problem?" you snapped at him, your voice cutting through the music as Charles grabbed your hand and pulled you outside the club.

The cool night air did very little to cool the fire between you two.

"What was that, Charles? You lost the right to care about what I do the moment you ran back to her" you said, accentuating your last word with disgust in your voice.

Charles ran a hang through his hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Do you honestly think I don't care? You think it didn't kill me inside, seeing you here with him?" he said.

"You don't have the right to be jealous! You left me, Charles. You moved on!" you shot back, your voices echoing on the empty street.

"I never moved on!" he shouted, his voice cracking at the end. "I tried, but I couldn't. Being with her wasn't the same. She's not you, and she'll never be you" he said, shaking his head and exhaling sharply.

Your breath hitched, emotions warring within you as his confession settled between the two of you.

"I miss you, mon amour" he whispered, stepping closer, his hand finding yours in the darkness. "I never stopped loving you"

You wanted to fight it. You truly did.

You tried to focus on the pain and betrayal that he had made you endure, the deep resentment that you help for him in your heart ever since you found out he had ran back in the arms of the one person he had told you he didn't think about anymore.

But even so, your heart betrayed you completely.

Truth be told, you missed him too. God knows you missed him more than you should, given the situation. But how could you possibly stop loving the man that you wanted to spent the rest of your life with? How could you hate the love of your life? How?

The anger, the jealousy, the pain - everything melted away as Charles cupped your cheeks in his hands, his gaze searching yours.

And then, with the world quiet around you, you crashed into him, your lips finding his in a kiss that spoke everything left unsaid.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was inevitable, in some way. Maybe you were going to regret it.

But in that moment, all that mattered was that Charles Leclerc was yours again.

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[julietsf1]

Home Again - Charles Leclerc x Reader

summary: eight years, one city, and a thousand unspoken words—will a chance encounter in London bring closure, or is there more in store for Monaco's golden boy and the one who got away? (4.5k words)

content: reunion, slight angst, unresolved feelings, childhood friends

AN: another Charles one! I felt like these tropes really suited his vibe, I hope you enjoy!! :)

____________________________________

London always felt like a city of paradoxes - chaotic yet calming, detached yet full of life. As I sipped my cappuccino at a small café tucked away in Soho, I let my mind wander. The same questions had lingered in my mind over the years, growing louder the longer I avoided them. Was it a mistake to leave? Should I have fought harder to keep in touch with him? With Charles?

I shook my head. No, leaving Monaco had been necessary. It was beautiful, yes, but it was like living inside a postcard, picture-perfect on the outside but so painfully hollow within. Everyone was constantly posturing, trying to outdo the next person in opulence, charm, or connections. It was exhausting.

And Charles… he was Monte Carlo personified in so many ways. Stunning, magnetic, the kind of person who made you feel alive just by being in his orbit. But there was something raw and real beneath that glossy exterior, something I’d always seen, even when no one else seemed to. I loved him for it. And maybe, in a way, I hated him too - for thriving in a place that felt like it would suffocate me.

The faint chime of the café door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up, expecting some trendy Londoner or a tourist fumbling with their map. But instead, my eyes landed on a familiar face, one I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Arthur Leclerc.

“Y/N?” His voice was incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up as he stopped mid-step. He looked exactly the same, just a bit taller, a bit sharper around the edges. Still the same boy I remembered from childhood, though, with that mischievous glint in his eye.

I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating. “Arthur?”

He grinned, practically bounding over to my table. “Mon dieu, it is you! I wasn’t sure at first, but… wow, what are you doing in London?”

I gestured to my half-empty coffee cup. “Living here. What about you? I thought you’d be… I don’t know, in Monaco or racing somewhere glamorous.”

Arthur slid into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation, his grin widening. “I was here for a sim session, actually. But you, London? I thought you’d be in Paris or some other philosophy capital, writing about Socrates or something.”

I laughed softly. “Close enough. I came here for university, and I never left.”

“Eight years.” His tone was lighter, but his words carried weight. “It’s been eight years, Y/N. Do you ever go back?”

The question hit me harder than I expected. I took a sip of my coffee to buy myself time. “No,” I admitted. “Not since… well, not since I left.”

Arthur’s expression softened, though confusion lingered in his eyes. “You just… left,” he said gently. “No one really understood why. Charles especially.”

I looked down at my coffee, the words caught in my throat. How could I explain the weight of feeling like an outsider in a world I was supposed to call home?

“I just needed to go,” I murmured. “It wasn’t about anyone else.”

Arthur studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess I never really got it, but… if it’s what you needed, then fine.” He paused before leaning forward with a small smile. “Come back. Just for the weekend, for the Grand Prix. I think it’d mean a lot to everyone. To Charles.”

I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. The truth was, I’d thought about going back a hundred times. But every time, I chickened out. Monaco felt like a ghost town to me now, haunted by memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Arthur said simply. He pulled out his phone and started typing something before I could protest. “There. I signed you up as my guest. No backing out now.”

I stared at him, equal parts annoyed and touched by his insistence. “What if I had plans already?”

“Cancel them,” he shot back with a wink. “But seriously, Y/N, it’s time. Come back. Just for a weekend. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I sighed, knowing I’d already lost this battle. And maybe he was right. Maybe it was time.

…

Monaco hadn’t changed. Not really.

The same sunlit streets curved around the cliffs, the same pastel buildings clung to the coastline, their colors soft and warm under the Mediterranean sun. The harbor was still crowded with yachts that gleamed like polished jewels, reflecting the light off the water’s surface. It was all exactly as I remembered—beautiful in the kind of way that made you feel small and insignificant.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe cracks in the pristine perfection, signs that time had weathered the place the same way it had weathered me. But Monaco, ever the picture perfect place, refused to bend to time.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t resent it for that. The beauty I had once thought insincere now felt strangely comforting, like being greeted by an old friend who hadn’t forgotten you, even if you had drifted apart.

“Here we are, mademoiselle,” the taxi driver said, pulling up to the paddock entrance.

I took a deep breath and stepped out. The familiar hum of Grand Prix weekend surrounded me immediately - the roar of engines revving in the distance, the buzz of chatter from fans and team members, the faint tang of fuel in the air. It was overwhelming, yes, but also exhilarating. Nostalgia wrapped around me, equal parts warm and suffocating.

“Y/N!” Arthur’s voice rang out, pulling me back to the present. He was waiting just inside the paddock entrance, a wide grin spreading across his face as he waved me over.

I smiled despite myself and walked toward him. “Arthur,” I said, my tone teasing. “You’re not old enough to be drinking espresso yet.”

He laughed, pulling me into a hug that was warmer than I expected. “Eight years and you still won’t give me a break. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” I asked as he led me into the paddock, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him.

“Everywhere,” he said simply. “It’s been years. You’ve missed so much.”

Arthur guided me through the maze of the paddock, pointing out everything with a mix of pride and excitement, as though I hadn’t grown up watching all of this unfold. But I let him have his moment, nodding along and laughing at his commentary.

“You look different,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard. “In a good way, I mean. More… I don’t know, serious. Like you’ve seen things. Learned things.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very poetic way of saying I look old, Arthur.”

“No, really,” he insisted, his expression earnest. “It’s like you’ve grown into yourself.”

The comment was unexpected, but it warmed me. “Thanks,” I said softly. “You’ve grown up too. A little.”

He grinned. “Don’t let Charles hear you say that. He still treats me like a kid.”

At the mention of Charles, my stomach twisted, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. Arthur must have noticed something, because his tone shifted, gentler now. “I know it’s probably weird, being back here,” he said. “But I think it’s good you came. I think… I think Charles will be happy to see you.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him how wrong I thought he was. Instead, I nodded and let him lead me deeper into the paddock.

…

The paddock was chaos, as always. Media rushing everywhere, team members darting back and forth. But Charles couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because she was here.

He had only seen her for a brief moment, just a glimpse of her stepping out of a taxi and into the paddock. But it was enough to bring back everything; every memory, every laugh, every ache of missing her. She looked exactly like she did before, only prettier. 

It had been eight years. Eight years since she left without a goodbye, leaving him to wonder if he had done something wrong, if he had somehow driven her away. And now she was back, as though she had never been gone.

“Arthur,” he muttered, pulling out his phone. His hand shook slightly as he dialed.

His brother answered on the first ring. “Charles? What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Charles hissed, keeping his voice low as he stepped out of the chaos and into a quiet corner. “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”

There was a pause, then a sheepish laugh. “Ah. You’ve seen her already.”

“Yes, I’ve seen her!” Charles snapped, though the anger in his voice was undercut by the nervous energy bubbling beneath. “You should’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Arthur said, his tone annoyingly casual. “I thought you’d be happy. It’s been years, Charles. Don’t you want to see her?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. “Of course I want to see her. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

Arthur’s voice softened. “You’ll figure it out. You always did with her.”

…

Arthur had been called away to a meeting, leaving me to wander the place on my own. I found a quiet spot near the Ferrari hospitality area, nursing a coffee and trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions in my chest.

Being back here was surreal, like stepping into a memory I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the comfort of it - the familiar sounds, the smell of the sea air mixed with fuel, the vibrant energy of race weekend.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned instinctively, my breath catching as I locked eyes with him.

Charles.

He stopped in his tracks, his expression a mix of shock and something I couldn’t place, something that made my chest tighten. For a moment, neither of us moved. The weight of eight years of silence hung in the air between us, heavy and unyielding.

Before I could say anything, he turned abruptly and walked away.

…

The roar of the engines drowned out everything else. I stood on the hospitality terrace, surrounded by fans who were shouting encouragement in a chorus of excitement. The energy was contagious, a reminder of why I had always loved race weekends, even when the rest of Monaco felt stifling.

Arthur had left me to sit with some of his friends, but I didn’t mind being alone. It gave me a chance to take it all in—the track, the sea of red Ferrari merchandise, the sun reflecting off the sleek cars. My eyes kept drifting to one in particular, the red number 16 that seemed to glide through every corner as though the circuit were made for it.

Charles.

I hadn’t seen him since he walked away from me in the paddock earlier. It shouldn’t have surprised me; after all, what could we have possibly said to each other in that moment? But it still stung, the abruptness of it, the way he looked at me like I was a ghost he wasn’t ready to confront.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about him. It was about being here, about reconnecting with a part of my life I had left behind.

But as the race unfolded, I couldn’t stop my gaze from following him. Every lap, every overtaking move, every moment of brilliance - it was impossible not to be drawn in. Charles had always been talented, but seeing him now, so focused and in control, was something else entirely. It was breathtaking.

The crowd around me erupted as Charles crossed the finish line, taking the victory in a masterful final lap. People were cheering, waving flags, hugging strangers in celebration. I found myself smiling, caught up in the infectious energy of the moment.

But my smile faltered as I saw him step out of the car. The joy on his face was undeniable, but there was something else—something in the way his eyes scanned the crowd, as though he were looking for someone.

For a split second, I thought he might be looking for me. But then I shook my head, brushing the thought away. Charles had the whole world celebrating him right now. Why would he waste a second of it on someone who had been gone for so long?

Still, as he climbed onto the podium and lifted the trophy, I couldn’t help but feel that same strange pull I had always felt with him. It wasn’t just admiration or pride; it was I only felt with him.

As the celebrations spilled into the paddock, where the Ferrari garage was alive with champagne showers, laughter, I kept my distance, lingering near the back of the crowd as the team surrounded Charles, congratulating him.

Arthur spotted me and made his way over, a grin plastered across his face. “Pretty incredible, huh?” he said, motioning toward the scene.

I nodded. “He’s… he’s amazing,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Arthur gave me a look, something between knowing and sympathetic. “You should come to the afterparty,” he said. “We’re all heading to Rimaldi later. It’ll be fun.”

I hesitated, the thought of being in a room full of people who knew Charles, who had been part of his world all these years, making my stomach twist. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t overthink it,” Arthur said, cutting me off. “It’s just a party. No pressure.”

I forced a smile, but the weight in my chest didn’t ease. “We’ll see,” I said, knowing full well I wasn’t going to go.

***

The party at Rimaldi was everything Charles had come to expect from these celebrations—loud music, overflowing champagne, and a sea of people he barely recognized. The restaurant’s cozy atmosphere had been transformed into a chaotic celebration, with glasses clinking and laughter filling every corner. Fans and acquaintances congratulated him as though they were old friends, slapping him on the back and offering toasts in his honor.

Normally, this was his element. He was good at this—the smiling, the handshakes, the polite small talk that came with being the center of attention. On any other night, he would have been content to let the noise and the crowd carry him, to let it fill the empty spaces he so often ignored. But tonight was different.

Tonight, no matter how many times he raised his glass or laughed along with a joke, he couldn’t shake the gnawing restlessness that had been with him all day. His mind kept drifting, pulled away from the party and back to the one place he couldn’t seem to avoid—her.

She’d looked the same and yet completely different. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others, but it was still her. Y/N, the person who had once been his closest friend, his anchor in a world that often felt overwhelming. He thought he had moved on from wondering why she left, why she cut him off, but seeing her again brought it all back in a rush.

He barely touched his drink, the glass sweating in his hand as he leaned against the edge of the bar. Across the room, Arthur caught his eye, a knowing grin on his face as he raised his own drink in a silent toast. Charles frowned and turned away, pretending not to notice.

“Charles! Congratulations!” A voice pulled him back to the moment. A well-dressed man, someone he vaguely recognized as a sponsor, clapped him on the shoulder. Charles offered a tight smile, exchanging a few polite words before excusing himself.

The truth was, he wasn’t really here. Not mentally. The louder the party grew, the more it grated on him, every laugh and cheer feeling like static in his ears. His thoughts kept circling back to the paddock, to the way her eyes had met his for that brief, electric moment. She had looked surprised, hesitant, but not angry. That was something, at least.

But then she had disappeared, and he hadn’t been able to stop replaying it in his mind—the way she stood there, so poised and composed, and then was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

By midnight, he couldn’t take it anymore. The laughter and music blurred into background noise as he stood, shaking his head at someone offering him another drink. He muttered something about needing rest and slipped out through the side door, ignoring Arthur’s raised eyebrows as he left. His brother didn’t stop him, though, and Charles suspected Arthur knew exactly where he was going.

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city’s energy winding down after the race. Charles drove aimlessly at first, his hands tight around the steering wheel. The roads he knew so well blurred together as his thoughts raced faster than his car ever could.

He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t even know if she would want to see him. But none of that mattered, because the one thing he did know, the one thought that consumed him, was this:

He needed to see her.

***

The knock at the door startled me.

I glanced at the clock on the bedside table—12:27 a.m. I had been lying on the hotel bed for the past hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the day. Arthur’s invitation, the race, seeing Charles for the first time in years—all of it felt like too much, like I had stepped back into a world I didn’t belong to anymore.

Another knock, firmer this time.

I sat up, my heart racing. Maybe it was Arthur, coming to drag me to the afterparty. Or worse, maybe it was a staff member telling me something had gone wrong with my reservation. My stomach twisted as I padded across the room, hesitating before unlocking the door.

But when I opened it, it wasn’t Arthur or hotel staff standing there.

It was Charles.

He leaned against the doorframe, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. He was dressed casually—dark jeans, a fitted jacket that hinted at his frame—but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. They flickered between me and the floor, restless, as though he were trying to piece together why he was even here.

“Hi,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady.

I stared at him, too stunned to respond at first. “Charles,” I managed after a moment. “What are you doing here?”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like he’d been holding his breath. “Can we go for a drive?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Now?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone firmer this time, though not unkind. “I need to talk to you. And I can’t do it here.”

I hesitated, glancing back into the room like it held the answer. But there was no answer waiting for me, no excuse strong enough to keep me from following him. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let me grab my coat.”

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city winding down after the race. Charles drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearstick. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the road, and the silence between us felt heavy, charged with everything unsaid.

I kept stealing glances at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it was unreadable. It wasn’t anger exactly, but it wasn’t calm either. It was something in between—a tension I couldn’t quite place.

Finally, he turned onto a small road overlooking the harbor and parked. He shut off the engine but didn’t move, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

“Why did you leave?” he asked finally, his voice breaking the silence like a crack of thunder.

I swallowed hard, my hands twisting in my lap. “I didn’t know how to stay,” I said quietly. “Monaco… it wasn’t the same for me as it was for you. It felt fake, like I was living in a place where everything was about appearances and nothing was real. I couldn’t breathe there.”

He turned then, his gaze sharp and searching. “So you left without a word? Without even telling me?”

I met his eyes, feeling the sting of his words. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Understand?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Y/N, you were my best friend. I would have done anything for you, but you didn’t even give me the chance.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said softly. “But I had to go. For me.”

Charles shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how many times I thought about calling you? About flying to London to find you? But I didn’t, because I told myself that if you wanted to talk to me, you would.”

I clenched my hands together, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I thought about telling you,” I said softly. “But I was scared. Scared that if I saw you, I wouldn’t be able to leave. And I had to leave, Charles. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

“I would have let you go if that is what you wanted. I just wish I had known.” He said, looking deep into my eyes. 

I felt a lump rise in my throat. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“Even a text or a quick call would have made the difference, Y/N.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “You blame me for no contact, but you never reached out either.”

His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel again. “Because I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “You didn’t leave a door open, Y/N. Not for me, not for anyone.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

We fell into silence, the weight of our words hanging heavy in the air. My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady. I looked out at the harbor, the city lights shimmering like distant stars, and took a deep breath.

“Explain it to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Because I don’t understand, Y/N. I’ve spent eight years not understanding.”

My chest felt tight, the weight of everything we had been avoiding pressing down on me.

“I was scared,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “Scared that if I stayed, I’d lose myself. Scared that if I saw you again, I’d lose the courage to leave. And then… after your dad…” I trailed off, the memory too painful to finish. “I didn’t know how to come back after that.”

Charles’s expression softened, the anger fading into something more vulnerable. “You could have come to me,” he said quietly. “You should have come to me.”

I shook my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “And what would I have said? ‘Sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most’? I couldn’t face that, Charles. I couldn’t face you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside.

My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady, as though years of bottled-up feelings had burst open all at once, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. I turned my gaze toward the harbor, the city lights shimmering like scattered stars on the water, their soft glow blurring slightly as tears pricked at my eyes. The stillness of the moment contrasted sharply with the storm raging inside me.

Charles broke the silence, his voice soft but resolute, as though he’d been holding these words back for far too long. “It shouldn’t have been Arthur who invited you back,” he said, his tone laced with frustration and regret. “It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one to call you.”

The honesty in his voice hit me like a blow to the chest. I turned to him, my breath hitching as his words sank in. The years apart had been a chasm between us, filled with missed chances and unspoken words, and hearing him acknowledge it felt like a bittersweet relief. My throat tightened, and I struggled to find my voice.

“I know,” I said finally, my voice trembling. “But you didn’t call me. And… neither did I call you. We both let it happen.”

Charles’s jaw tightened, and he looked away briefly, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost fragile. “I didn’t know how to. After you left, I was confused. I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt. And then it just… felt easier to pretend I didn’t care.”

I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back finally slipping free. “The second I got back to Monaco, all I did was look for you,” I admitted, my words coming out in a rush, like I had been holding them in for years. “Everywhere I went, I looked for you. You were everywhere - your face in the streets, your name in conversations, your memory in everything I saw. And yet… you were nowhere.”

I heard Charles inhale sharply, and when I turned back, his eyes were locked on mine, filled with an intensity that made my breath catch. Green and piercing, they were searching for something, some part of me I wasn’t sure I still had to give. Vulnerability. Hope. Regret. I saw all of it reflected in his gaze, and it was almost too much.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to see you again,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know if I could. But now that you’re here…” He shook his head, his expression softening into something raw and earnest. “Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine letting you go again.”

The space between us seemed to disappear in an instant. Charles reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a way that was both tender and desperate. His touch was hesitant at first, as though he was afraid I might pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Then, before I could say anything, his lips met mine.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like we were both testing the waters of something so fragile it might shatter under the weight of our emotions. But it deepened quickly, carrying years of longing, frustration, and unspoken love. It was messy and imperfect, tears mingling with laughter, but it felt like home in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

When we finally pulled apart, Charles didn’t move far. His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though grounding himself in the closeness between us, before murmuring, “I don’t want to lose you again. Not ever.”

My heart pounded, each beat echoing the promise in his words. I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me, before whispering back, “You won’t.”

In that moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving something lighter in its place. We weren’t perfect, and neither was this, but it was enough. It was us.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 2)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: fluff (smut in the next part)

part 1

It's been three days since the unfortunate misunderstanding with Charles and you haven't heard from him at all since.

You were overthinking the whole situation that happened on Sunday and couldn't come to any proper conclusion. At the same time, you were sad because he thought you would bring someone else into your bed, even though it wasn't your shared bed anymore, but you couldn't believe that he thought so little of you after all the years you'd spent together.

And yet on the other hand, you were thinking like any woman, you were glad that he was jealous and that the very thought of someone replacing him bothered him because that only meant he wasn't over you and that he still wanted to make things right between you two. Basically, you were torn between your brain and your heart once again and it was just a matter of what would prevail between the two this time.

Even though deep down you knew you couldn't fight yourself. You broke up over some disagreements that when you look at things more closely weren't worth destroying your relationship and your little family. You were both stubborn, he was a little too possessive, you were lacking in understanding, parenting, you spent most of your time alone with Lou and everything came together and exploded.

Now that you look back on the whole year you spent without him, you know that as hard as it is sometimes to be with him, it's ten times harder to be without him. You realize that you both made a rash decision, but then again maybe it had to happen only to make you realize how much you need each other in every way possible.

It's Wednesday night and while you're preparing tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch, Lou is sitting at the dining room table drawing. Soon your cooking is interrupted by the ringing of your phone on the kitchen island. A strange feeling comes over you as you wipe your hands on a dish towel and look at your phone only to see Charles' name on the screen.

You want to answer the phone, but you don't want the conversation to end in an argument so before you pick up the phone, you take a deep breath and try to calm down and strengthen your voice so it doesn't sound shaky.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." He says it in a completely normal, calm tone and you're grateful for that.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Umm, I'm leaving tomorrow for the race so I was wondering if you could put Lou on the facetime so I can see her since I won't be able to have her for the weekend?" He asks.

"Sure, just let me switch to facetime."

Once you did, Charles face appeared on the screen and he smiled when he saw yours too. You tried to hide the blush on your face and quickly walked over to Lou putting the phone in front of her.

"Baby, daddy wants to talk to you" You said setting the phone in front of her and leaving them alone to talk.

Since the kitchen and dining room were connected, you went back into the kitchen and could hear everything the two of them were saying. You didn't want to eavesdrop, but you kinda did.

"Hey, daddy!" Lou exclaimed excitedly.

"Mon ange, what are you doing?"

"I'm drawing and-and mommy is cooking" She says.

"Yeah? What are you drawing?"

"I'm drawing you in a red car. See" She says putting up the paper in front of the camera for him to see.

"Good job, baby. It looks great!"

"It's for you, I will give it to you when you come get me" She says forgetting that she won't be spending the weekend with him.

"Thank you, baby, but unfortunately we won't be together this weekend because papa has to work, but we'll see each other next week, okay?"

"Oh.." She pouts.

"Don't be sad, we'll see each other very soon, okay? I miss you so much and I'm thinking of you all the time."

Your heart is completely softened by his words and the immeasurable amount of love he has for your daughter.

"I miss you too, daddy"

"Okay, baby. I'll talk to you soon, I love you."

"Bye, I love you too." She says waving her hand as he blows her a kiss.

You watch her from afar and see how her mood immediately changed when she heard that she wouldn't be seeing him. Shaken by emotions, you move closer to her and squat down next to her.

"What's wrong, bug?" You ask her.

She doesn't look at you but frowns looking down at drawing on the paper in front of her.

"I miss papa" She says, hear eyes filled with tears.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" You say and she nods. "I miss papa too." You whisper making her look at you.

"Would you like to watch him race this weekend?"

"You mean on the TV?" She asks.

"No, I mean how about we go and see him?" You suggest and her eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes! And I can give him this!" She says excitedly and you chuckle at how sweet she is.

"Then we have a deal. Now, finish up your drawing and go wash your hands because dinner is almost ready okay?"

"Okay, mommy. Thank you"

Nothing can compare to the happiness you feel when you see your daughter happy. Both you and Charles would do anything for her, and that's why you decided to quickly run upstairs to your bedroom, turn the hoodie right side out.

When a print of an F1 car was visible on the black hoodie, you took a picture of it and sent it to Charles without any additional explanation, because you knew that everything would be clear as a day to him once he saw it.

After just a few minutes, your phone vibrated in your hands.

'Been looking for it for a while now..' Charles' message said.

'I really fucked up this time, didn't I?' He added.

'You kinda did.' You replied.

'I'm so sorry, y/n..'

'You're lucky your daughter adores you so much and you better send a plane for the two of us so we can make it to the race on time.'

part 3

@charlesgirl16 @aleatorio1234 @teamnovalak @watermelonslut @diaryofarandomkid @sunny44 @tempo-rary-fix @ggaslyp1 @janeh22 @seonghwaexile @seasonswinter @itgirlofthecenturysposts @ricciardosredbull @amz824 @sarx164

[5sospenguinqueen]

I'm Thirsty, Refreshing | Charles Leclerc x Gasly! Reader

Summary: Pierre is horrified by his sister's public attempts to catch his Monegasque friend's attention

Warnings: Suggestive. Thirsty comments. Swearing. Down bad reader.

Gasly reader. Pinterest pics

F1 Masterlist

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gasly_yn just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and others

gasly_yn forza ferrari sempre

4,309 comments

pierregasly what the fuck 

pierregasly wrong team

pierregasly when did this become a whore house

→ gasly_yn that’s not very hot girl summer of you 

user1 pierre going through the seven stages of grief

francisca.cgomes serving body

→ gasly_yn thank you for looking through 100s of pics for the right ones

→ pierregasly @/francisca.cgomes don’t encourage this! 

→ fransisca.cgomes but she looks hot liked by charles_leclerc

alpinef1team well, we all know who you’ll be supporting this weekend

→ gasly_yn yeah, your other driver 

→ pierregasly you take that back! that's worse

→ user2 i love when the gasly’s are messy on main

lilymhe and whose attention would we be trying to catch today? 

→ gasly_yn only yours

→ alex_albon no

→ gasly_yn these drivers never let me have any fun

carlossainz55 looking good, female gasly

→ pierregasly back off 🤺

→ user3 c’mon carlos, we all know she’s only here for charles liked by charles_leclerc 

landonorris i’m definitely looking at the shirt 👀

→ gasly_yn uh huh, what colour is it?

→ landonorris papaya

→ arthur_leclerc she doesn’t do british, mate

charles_leclerc *gulp*

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pierregasly just posted

liked by gasly_yn, francisca.cgomes and others

pierregasly people were asking for more piarles (?) content tagged: charles_leclerc

5,558 comments

gasly_yn oh wow. i am stunned

gasly_yn and not because of you. we all know i’m the better looking gasly anyway

gasly_yn why don’t you bring him home anymore

→ pierregasly because you wouldn’t stop trying to steal him

→ gasly_yn kiks, leave him

charles_leclerc i am flattered

→ user4 omg just respond to her instead of acting like you’re responding to pierre

→ user5 give the girl a chance

francisca.cgomes i can hear her barking from here

→ lilymhe she’s actually salivating 

→ gasly_yn where’s the girl code

→ user6 not the girlies exposing her

danielricciardo mate, who’s managing to make you look good in photos

→ gasly_yn hi, me again. i actually claim photo credits but he didn’t tag me

→ pierregasly i was kind of hoping you wouldn’t see this post. it was hard enough wiping the drool off your mouth when you were there  

→ gasly_yn don’t expose me

→ gasly_yn plus, i have his notifs on so i don't miss a thing

→ pierregasly i half expected you to lick him after that basketball match

→ gasly_yn says the one trying to go for a cock shot

georgerussell63 didn’t i see that ferrari hoodie in your suitcase last weekend, yn? (this comment has been deleted)

user6 xoxo gossip george 

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by gasly_yn, oscarpiastri and others

charles_leclerc summer break ☀️

7.440 comments

user8 here before yn

→ gasly_yn think again babe

gasly_yn miss rabbit has fainted 

gasly_yn okay but the hands, the pecs, the bandana 

gasly_yn in the market for a new necklace

pierregasly why are we thirst trapping

pierregasly whose attention are you trying to grab

pierregasly oi, answer me

user7 yn and pierre match each other’s freak in the best sibling way possible 

carlossainz55 are you trying to kill her 

alex_albon i’ve sent lily to check that she’s still alive after these 

user8 who is taking the most boyfriend coded pics of Charles tho

→ user9 asking the real questions

georgerussell63 i don’t think ferrari would like you offing the competition’s sister 

gasly_yn the sun isn’t the only thing that’s hot in these pictures

→ pierregasly you’re embarrassing me 

→ gasly_yn my friends know you call yourself tripod, i’m not the embarrassment 

→ charles_leclerc she’s got you there, mate

lilymhe i watched her drop her phone after opening insta

→ francisca.cgomes and then walk into a doorframe

user10 not the grid and wags exposing my poor girl

→ user11 she’s so down bad. i can’t even defend her anymore

→ lilymhe neither can we

user12 anyone else think yn is freaking out because charles finally replied to her comment

→ user13 not all of you taking this seriously like she hasn’t known charles since they were kids

→ user14 literally. they’ve been friends for years. i’m pretty sure she knows how to control herself around him

→ gasly_yn um, babe. have you seen him? would YOU be able to control yourself? liked by charles_leclerc

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gasly_yn just posted a new story x2

charles_leclerc just posted a new story

pierregasly replied to yn's story you tell him to keep his hands to himself  → i know where he lives gasly_yn i didn’t know you liked me that much  pierregasly biologically i’m obliged to

pierregasly replied to charles' story stop touching her → release her hand charles_leclerc you’re the one who told me to finally ask her out! → you said you were happy that i would stop pining pierregasly yes but when you told me months ago that you were dating and keeping it under wraps → i believed that meant i wouldn’t actually have to see you with her → a heads up that you changed that would’ve been nice charles_leclerc drama queen pierregasly that’s it, i take back my approval charles_leclerc piss off, pois

pierregasly replied to yn's story yn, what the fuck → that better not be → i’m going to throw something  gasly_yn stop stalking me pierregasly how could you not tell me first!  gasly_yn you wanted me to tell you that i was going to fuck your friend? pierregasly i knew it was date night but i never thought gasly_yn you didn’t imagine your sister and your friend in bed together? i think that’s considered normal, pois pierregasly i hope he wrapped it. don't need more of you in the world gasly_yn go away! 

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pierregasly just posted

liked by scuderiaferrari, arthur_leclerc and others

pierregasly i actually miss when they were just messaging me about each other. now they make out in front of me. much worse tagged: gasly_yn, charles_leclerc

10,199 comments

user13 not pierre hard launching them

gasly_yn he used to talk about me?

→ charles_leclerc all the time <3

→ pierregasly all. the. time

alex_albon does this mean we can stop acting like we haven’t seen them making out around the paddock for the past few months?

→ georgerussell63 and in his car

→ landonorris and in the back of clubs

→ gasly_yn 2019 rookies were the worst thing to happen to f1

→ charles_leclerc i thought we were discreet?

→ pierregasly mate, you drool over her as much as she does you. neither of you have ever been discreet

arthur_leclerc at least they dial it down in front of you

user14 wait, you’re telling me they’ve been together for months. what about all of yn’s thirsty comments??

→ charles_leclerc i was sat next to her as she was writing them

→ gasly_yn can confirm those had him giggling 

maxverstappen1 wait, does this mean he’s replaced me as his padel partner?

→ pierregasly he said he actually wanted to win

→ gasly_yn plus if he does lose, i give better consolation prizes ;)

→ pierregasly ew! dirty! 

→ francisca.cgomes querido you have said worse to me in front of her

carlossainz55 the worst day was when she wore the ferrari vest under her alpine shirt. should’ve learned to knock before entering his driver’s room

→ pierregasly NO! In public! 

scuderiaferrari ha stole your girl

→ alpinef1team how dare you 

→ pierregasly yeah, you tell them. you can’t have her

→ charles_leclerc MY girl

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Requests welcome

I am currently working on a written Lando fic about him and driver! reader being fwb with angst so bare with me lol

Tag list

@rosecentury @peachiicherries

[bykshre]

We Found Love

charles leclerc x female reader (smau) 1/2

summary: you and charles were meant to be together even if the media, society and his girlfriend criticized you.

trope: childhood friends to lovers, ferrari driver x head strategist , mean gf (no hate to any of charles' gf's, ex or current.)

a/n: i know i know im the worst updater and writer ever (I'm sorry okay 😭 I'm busy and I lose motivation lol)but im back slowly but surely, and this is so new! My first F1 fic aahh :D This is very small, I just needed to get this out (monza took my heart away!) hope y'all like it hehe xx.

Months before MONZA

ursernames

life lately - enjoying the break before it's Monza ❤️‍🔥🌷🌺🌠🪽🥨🍽️🪡⌨️👠💎

iked by charles_leclerc,mlnmarta, and 1M others

lewishamilton looks like someone had fun!

⤷ ursernames obviously mate 🧉!!

charles_leclerc wannabe artistic ass 😘😻🤡

⤷ ursernames shut up donkey 🐴🫏😊

kikagomez 💫💗

liked by author

@Ynniequeenn

I'm surprised Charles isn't spending the vacay with her. Sounds fishy but they still act close 😕. I don't know man.

⤷ @chrshls: people like you suck! get a life.

charles_leclerc

everything is good 🩵

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, ursername and 4M others

joristrouche amazing!

ursernames leooo awwww

liked by author

pierregasly simba and leo meetup soon? 😂

⤷ charles_leclerc soon!

alexandrasaintmleux amores <3

liked by author

ursernames

thank you for the wishes everyone, just took another lap around the earth 🌍 🌷🌺🩵

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz and 5M others.

formula_1 happy birthday to the best-ever strategist!

liked by author

scuderiaferrari buon compleanno stargirl!

⤷ ursernames grazie mille!

charles_leclerc joyeux anniversaire ma meilleure fille

liked by author

mlnmarta joyeux anniversaire ma soeur

⤷ usernames 💞💞

oscarpiastri have a great day old lady 🥳

⤷ ursername when i catch you oscar when i bloody catch you! 😵😵

f1wags&insiders

BREAKING 🚨 Charles Leclerc and Alexandra Saint Mluex were fighting at a party! Apparently, it was the same birthday party held for Y/N's 27th birthday. What are your thoughts 💭?

liked by 40K others

alexfp i just can't stand this anymore! It's clear that something's up with charles 😐

leclecice bro, alex is straight up toxic just admit it she is NOT a paddock queen neither the IT wag ughh 🥱🥱

lestappenfpp time for charles WDC lesgoo

ynstan will charles and yn ever date? they have that CHEMISTRY yk

malenalexx it's definitely something to do with charles

⤷ unknownchaaa smartest alex fan..

ynstrategyss literally how crazy can Alex even get until they fuck up yns birthday party?! seriously i lost my respect for her.

alexandrasaintmluex

🌺🌺 floral vibes 🌺🌺

liked by joristrouche and 100K others

alexfp omg our queen 👑!!

foralexa hi alexx i hope you're doing well ❤️‍🩹 you look gorgeous btw 🤩

liked by author

kikagomez 💫😵⭐

rebeccadonaldson literally so pretty 🌺🌺

⤷ alexandrasaintmluex says the prettiest!

charlesfanpage charles not in the likes? sus.

leclecicecreammm someone's tryna churn content asap b4 the breakup LOLL

⤷ alexandrasaintmluex you're hilarious. 🥱

ynstrategyss hope y'all okay...

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

2 weeks before Monza, at the Ferrari HQ

"Hey, can we talk, please?" Charles asked Yn as the meeting begun to wrap up.

"What do you want, Charles? Does making me look like a fool on my birthday not enough?!" You said very honestly.

"No,no, mon cher, listen to me."

"I'm sorry for whatever Alex caused during your birthday party. I wanted the party to be nice and surrounded by your close friend's and family. I'm regretful I chose to bring Alex as a tag along. She wanted to go and I can't say no anyways."

"What's your point, Charles? I'm tired of this drama. I am." You said,

"Yn, we've been friends since so young, we spent almost every day with eachother, basically inseparable. Maman practically consideres you her the daughter she never had and you're really close to my family and brothers. Even with my exes you had a close bond with them."

"Mhm, that's right I loved your exes." You said slightly smiling,

"Ever since I dated Alex, she.... she liked fame and attention. Even if she didn't show it much. And when she saw us being close and basically just friends, she got mad and jealous. I didn't realise much until you told me when she confronted you."

"She reads a lot of the news, tweets and those tiktok edits of us that is all over social media. She is influenced by them. And I honestly don't get how they consider our bond romantic but not platonic."

"Alex has been fighting a lot with me past few months. We are not close, anymore. Not liked we used to be. She's constantly screaming and I can't stand her anymore."

"Mon ange, whatever happens with you and her, please... just tell me. I saw the texts she sent you and it wasn't pleasant. Why have you been keeping this a secret. Please ange, don't do it anymore."

"I don't know how longer I can sustain this relationship if it continues to be as toxic as this." Charles said earning a pout from you.

" Charlie, I wanted to see you happy with Alex. I'm sorry about what's been happening at home. I'm sorry too.." you said,

" Are we good?"

"Yeah we are, Charlie" you said, earning a tight hug from you best friend.

It's undeniable that you've always liked Charles. He was handsome, he was everything a women could've dreamt of. And obviously you're one of them. You'd never had the chance to confess and you think you'd never will. It's better to blossom a good, sustainable friendship rather than risking it all for a relationship. Your a simple person, you're critical and realistic.

When Alex confronted you about your relationship with Charles, it hit you till the pit of your heart. You begun thinking if you were too clingy or romantic with Charles. You begun distancing yourself from him thinking you were at fault. You did not want to be a homewrecker,ever.

Although Charles confrontation settled a little of your thoughts, you cannot deny the growing feelings for Charles in that heart of yours.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

charles_leclerc

P4. Deluso ma abbiamo dato tutto. Grazie a tutti voi per esserci sempre. E domani, andiamoooooo 😍

liked by carlossainz,oscarpiastri, ursername and 3M others

ursername let's get it ✨✨

speedingcharles we counting on u buddy

anthoinetrouchet let's get it ittttttttt aaa

alexandrasaintmluex 💕

ursername

story, 1hr ago

feels great to back in monza! hoping to make tifosi's proud this weekend 🇮🇹 Let's see what we can do with a P4 and P5.

RACE DAY IN MONZA.

⭐⭐⭐

@F1LiveUpdates:

"Lights out at Monza! Charles Leclerc is in the fight for P1, but all eyes are on Ferrari’s strategy today. Y/N calling the shots 👀 #Monza #CharlesLeclerc #Ferrari"

@LeclercFans:

"Y/N on the pit wall, looking like a boss. Monza is hers to win 🔥 #YN #FerrariFam"

Your heart raced as you watched the battle unfold in front of your eyes. Charles was in second, fighting tooth and nail to close the gap on the leader. Your freshly manicured nails hovered over the radio button, ready to call the next move.

The crowd roared in the background, but your focus was razor-sharp. Charles trusted your instincts, and you wasn’t about to let him down.

Y/N (over radio):

"Box, box. Let’s go for the undercut."

Charles

"Copy. Trusting you on this."

The team jumped into action as Charles pitted. Y/N watched with bated breath, hoping the strategy would pay off.

As Charles emerged from the pits, your hands clenched into a fist. The timing was perfect. They had nailed it. It will take time to pass through lando but it'll be worth it. And you knew it.

Y/N (over radio):

"P1. 35 laps ahead. Now hold it. You’ve got this."

The crowd was deafening as the final lap approached. You stood with her arms crossed, staring at the screens, barely blinking. Charles had a three-second lead, but the pressure was immense. Your heart pounded in time with the roar of the engines.

Y/N (over radio):

"Last lap, Charles. Bring it home."

You held her breath as the checkered flag waved and the roar from the grandstands signaled what you'd hoped for.

Charles (over radio):

"We did it! P1! We won, Y/N!"

Bryan (over radio)

"AND P1!"

@F1Live:

"Leclerc takes P1 at Monza! What a race! Ferrari fans are going wild! #CharlesLeclerc #Monza"

@FerrariFans:

"Y/N’s strategy today was perfection. Absolute genius. 🔥 #TeamYN #Ferrari"

@LeclercNation:

"Y/N hugging Charles after that win? Yeah, there’s something there. No one can convince me otherwise. #CharlesAndYN"

charles_leclerc

Siete i numeri 1, Forza Ferrari ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

liked by ursername,alexandrasaintmluex, lewishamilton and 10M others

ursername congrats charliee <3

liked by author

⤷ charles_leclerc couldn't done it without you, yn 😘

formula_1 tifosi's pride and joy

lewishamilton enjoy the win mate! great job

oscarpiastri congrats charles!

pascale_leclerc my boy

liked by author

⤷charles_leclerc i didnt leave you at the gransdstands this time 😂

ursername

story, 2h ago

FEVER DREAM!! GRAZIE GRAZIE TUTTI MILLE!

@LeclercNation:

"Alexandra needs to chill. Y/N is just doing her job. She’s a strategist, not a homewrecker! #TeamYN"

formula_1

leo meets his papa who just won the italian grand prix! lovely family at sight 🐕🐶🐾

liked by mlnmarta,alexandrasaintmluex and 2M others

alexfp ahh the cutiess, though she wasn't here but mah queen is always here to shine

alexandrasaintmluex 😍

lecleccreamss since when did F1 turn into a wag thing. Seriously F1? This content is unnecessary!

alexandramyqueen omg our couple is back yayyy

mimosahater @F1Dramaa post. look at this post.

@F1Drama:

"Rumors are flying that Y/N and Alexandra had a heated argument in the Ferrari garage. How much longer can this triangle last? #CharlesLeclerc #YN"

@FerrariInsider:

"It’s getting messy. Y/N is too professional to get involved, but Alexandra seems to be on edge. #F1Gossip #FerrariDrama"

@LeclercNation:

"Y/N is just trying to do her job, but Alex is clearly feeling threatened. Charles needs to step up. #TeamYN"

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

You were packing up in the garage, getting reading to back to the hotel, when Alexandra appeared at the doorway. She looked calm, but there was a fire in her eyes.

"We need to talk." Alex said

You set down your notes, bracing yourself. You replied, "About what?"

"About Charles. About you."

"I’m just doing my job, Alexandra. If you think I’m trying to come between you two, you’re wrong."

Alexandra crossed her arms, stepping closer. "I don’t know if I believe that. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. I’m not stupid!"

Your jaw clenched. "You’re right. You’re not stupid. But you’re also insecure. And that’s not my problem. I’m here because I’m good at what I do, and Charles knows that."

"Insecure?" Alexandra’s voice was laced with venom. "Do you have any idea what it’s like watching him put you before me over and over again?"

"He doesn’t put me before you, Alexandra. He’s just focused on his career. If you can’t handle that, maybe the problem isn’t me. Maybe it’s your relationship."

Alexandra stared at you, her expression hardening. "You think you’re so untouchable, don’t you? That because you’re the team strategist, you’re safe. But I see the way you want him."

You took a deep breath, stepping forward. "If you’re so sure about that, then maybe you should talk to Charles instead of blaming me."

"Look here, Charles just won the Italian grandprix. It's a big celebration for team. Let's be happy for the win, instead of bringing this up, now."

"Have a great day, Alexandra" you said and left the paddock without any hesitation.

ursername

thank you bryan, charles, carlos, fred and the team for making this strategy happen! to our biggest supporters, the tifosi ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 6M others

lewishamilton absolutely fantastic strategy yn, you made it happen 👑👑

⤷ ursername i absolutely cannot wait for you to get on this team any longer!! tysm lewis, really appreciate it 💕💕💫

charles_leclerc tu as réalisé mon plus grand rêve, merci ma belle stratège, ma meilleure amie bien-aimée 🥇🥇🥳🥳❤️❤️❤️

⤷ ursername you were behind the wheel, you make us all dream mon rêveur, mon soleil 🩷🩷

mlnmarta such a shame i wasn't able to witness this but again, ma petite sœur, tu nous fais tous rêver 🥹

⤷ ursername tu aimes me faire pleurer 🥹❤️

After the Azerbaijan Grand Prix

charles_leclerc

story, 2m ago

Part 2 when?

[afterglowsainz]

the girl is mine | charles leclerc, alexandra saint mleux

pairing: charles leclerc x actress!reader x alexandra saint mleux

summary: when your new movie comes out, your boyfriend and girlfriend get jealous of fans shipping you with your costar, even though your relationship is still a secret to the public

fc: rachel zegler

request: here and here

a/n: and he wins in austinnnn! (with alex because apparently now i cannot write about charles without also writing about alex)

—

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oliviarodrigo and others

yourusername only a few days left until you get to see this incredible story on the big screen 👀🐍

view all comments

username can’t wait!

username so excited for this movie🙏🏽

username you’re exactly the way i imagine lucy gray would look like i’m so happy

username gotta love this era of y/n

username pretty girls love lucy gray baird! (liked by yourusername)

username mesmerized by the first picture alone

username ohhh the 12 year old girl in me who hiperfixated on the hunger games can’t wait for this 😩

alexandrasaintmleux’s instagram stories

[caption 1: 👀🐍] [caption 2: ❤️]

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and others

voguemagazine y/n y/l/n and tom blyth stunned in the red carpet premiere of the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds & snakes

view all comments

username is everyone thinking what i’m thinking…

username nahhh i ship them so bad

username they have so much chemistry i love them

username so cute 🥰

username new parents unlocked

username they’re so hot

username cause how can you look at that second picture and not immediately ship them?

username i don’t care if i sound delusional but they make a really good couple

liked by tomblyth, francisca.cgomes and others

yourusername a little behind the scenes and people i can’t get enough of! ✨🐍💗

view all comments

username i’m shipping even harder alright

username “people i can’t get enough of” please just confirm the rumors 😭

username no but that face card is insaaaane

username the movie was amazing!

tomblyth work it!

yourusername earn it!

username ahhh the dating confirmation when

username no but imagine if they were actually together how iconic would that be

username they look so cute together i’m- 🥺

alexandrasaintmleux 💚

yourusername 💗

liked by yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux and others

charles_leclerc congratulations, my lucy gray, you’re the most talented person i know 💚 nous t'aimons avec notre âme, mon coeur <3 (we love you with our soul, my love)

tagged yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux

view all comments

username wait what

username rue… when was this

username no way they are dating THE y/n y/l/n

username i really expected anything but this 😭

username no but wait … they look good 👀

username what do you do when the hottest people you know reveal they’re dating each other on a random tuesday afternoon?

username they really saw the shipping with tom and said not on my watch

username i’m still processing this

yourusername love you 🥺🥺🥺

yourusername although i know the real reason you’re posting this 😑 but i’ll let it slide cause i like you

charles_leclerc nothing wrong with wanting to show off my girlfriend 😅

alexandrasaintmleux our*

alexandrasaintmleux i love you y/n you’re the most talented and the prettiest and kindest and ours🥰🥰🥰

yourusername love you too alex 😭

[leilakisakabiri]

Miami Hot Lap (CL)

Summary: You're forced to do a Miami Hot Lap with your boyfriend.

Warning(s): Just fluff.

A/N: Ahh I love this concept!! Requests are open for Charles and Lando.

Word Count: 800+

Masterlist

Being invited to an F1 race through a brand seemed like a fun idea at first. You would get to see your boyfriend for the first time in weeks, watch the race in your hometown, and somehow still be able to call it work. It was a win-win situation.

That was until they approached you with a video idea.

"So since you're working with one of our sponsored brands for the weekend, a Miami native, and dating a driver, we thought it was only fair to ask you to do the Miami hot lap video." The F1 content manager explained.

"Miami hot lap?" You questioned, unfamiliar with what they wanted you to do.

"Yeah y'know just go for a few laps on the track with a driver. For you, it would be Charles of course." She assured.

You shook your head rapidly, shrinking back, "No thank you. I don't drive with Charles."

"But he's your boyfriend? Surely you've driven with him before?"

You sighed, "Yeah in a city, where he's forced to follow the speed limit, I would never be able to handle going that fast. He's too scary without restrictions."

She furrowed her eyebrows, opening her mouth to respond before she was cut off.

"Spreading lies about me again?"

You felt your lips upturn in a smile as he came up behind you, fingers entwining with yours as he kissed your cheek.

You turned to face him, attempting to be firm, "I love you, but I'm not driving with you." You repeated.

One hour later you found yourself being strapped into the passenger seat of his car, cursing yourself for giving in after he convinced you it wouldn't be that bad.

The camera sat on the dashboard, recording the both of you.

"Go slow," You warned, as he got the green light to pull away.

"We'll get no views then." He argued.

You started at him in disbelief, "Would you rather have more views on a video or have a girlfriend in one piece?"

It was quiet for a beat too long and you put your hand up, "You know what don't answer that. I don't want to know."

"So how do you like driving with me so far?" He asked once you made it past the first lap.

You nodded, "Not bad, right now I feel like we're going to get food."

He smirked, "Well in that case go on and get comfortable."

You eyed him skeptically but you decided to trust him, "Okaaay," you dragged out the word as you slouched a bit more in the seat, letting your body relax against the seat, going as far as to admire the view outside the window.

The peace only lasted for a second before Charles was slamming on the pedal, sending the car lurching forward at record speeds.

While he got a shot of adrenaline, you felt your stomach somersault as your body jolted backward.

“Charles. Charles!!” Your voice filled with panic, fingers grabbing onto the side of the car for dear life, eyes wide as you refused to take your eyes off the rapidly passing road in front of you.

He laughed at your reaction, only stopping once he realized how serious you were. He dropped a hand down to squeeze yours, reassuring you, “Relax I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The supposedly sweet action had the opposite effect, “Keep both your hands on the wheel!” You shrieked, sending him into another fit of laughter.

You put a hand to your forehead in shock and disbelief, "We're going to die."

You felt hysterical, and his shit-eating grin only irked you further.

"We're not going to die. I promise." He swore, trying to calm you down.

You shoved his shoulder, "Your promises mean nothing to me anymore Charles. We're going to die and it's all your fault." you deadpanned.

“Y/n amor I’m barely pushing 90 mph.” He revealed.

Your body froze, before finally losing some tension, “Oh."

You checked the meter seeing that he was telling the truth, "It feels a lot faster,” you argued, “Especially with the sharp turns," you elaborated.

He agreed with you but not before side-eyeing you, "Right."

"So should we go faster?" He proposed.

"Charles," You warned.

"Why so formal?"

You glanced at each other for a second and already knew what would happen from the unfiltered excitement in his eyes, "Hold on amour."

You watched in horror as the meter rapidly rose hitting up to 130mph, you mouthed a "help me" to the camera.

“I think I’m gonna throw up everywhere.” You groaned once the car had finally come to a halt.

Charles patted your head affectionately as you laid your head against your knees, “You’ll be ok.”

“No. I’m going to projectile vomit on this dashboard,” you warned, “I’m never driving with you again.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at your comment but didn't say anything, instead facing the camera.

"Well thanks for joining us today, if you want more videos like this-"

You lifted your head off your knees when you noticed he hadn't finished his sentence, finding him staring at you expectedly.

"Like and subscribe?" you questioned, voice hoarse.

"Exactly. See you guys later!" He waved bye to the camera and moved your head to lay on his lap so you could rest.

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ don’t embarrass an angel (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : charles leclerc x fem reader

summary : a Victoria secret model in love with a formula-1 driver, ofc there will be rumours

tw : little hate, could be a little suggestive as reader is a vs angel !

fc: Taylor Hill *she is so pretty-*

a/n : thank you so much to @xshazxx for suggesting this ! lysm 🫶🏻

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by charlesleclerc, fransisca.ngnomes and 678,456 others

y/nhill the girlies are back for 24! @ victoriasecret

view comments

user1 PREACH THE HOLY PRINCESS 🙌🏻

user2 oh to have a pretty friend group 😞

user3 are we just ignore the cheating rumours ?

user4 and charles in her likes !?

user5 I really don't know who to believe 👀

charlesleclerc ❤️

user6 she didn't even like his comment-

user7 so it's true 💀

fransisca.ngnomes the visuals are serving as usual 🫴🏻

y/nhill all your love bbygurl 🫶🏻

realbarbarapalvin I think I need to marry you

y/nhill we both already are married hun 😞

user8 this girl has the audacity to post naked pictures but not address the rumours 💀

user9 wtf

user10 calm down brother

user11 they really were not made for each other, one is a model and other is a driver 🙌🏻

user12 and the fact both travel a lot

user13 it was never meant to last 🫡

victoriasecret our gorgeous 💌

liked by y/nhill

user14 but lord perceval got perceval jr out of hand

user15 💀

user16 charle's fans are entertainment fr 💪🏻

liked by sabrinacarpenter, carlossainz55, arthurleclerc and 1,233,121 others

y/nhill Heartbreak is one thing , my ego's another, I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker ✨

view comments

user1 holddup, THE LIKES !?

user2 CHARLES BROTHER IS LIKING THIS !?

user3 SO IS CARLOS !?

user4 SO IS THE WHOLE GRID !?

user5 what in the f1 tea did just happen -

arthurleclerc downloaded the song for our next karaoke session 💪🏻

y/nhill best brother right here

user6 the interactions and rumours are killing me 💀

sabrinacarpenter much love and also congratulations ❤️

y/nhill thank you love ❤️

user7 CONGRATULATIONS FOR WHAT !?

user8 her comeback bro-

user9 u sure ?

charlesleclerc my angel

y/nhill who will gladly kill you 🤭

user10 umm 🤔

lilihye akex is telling you to unblock her

y/nhill only if he gives you ring like mine 🤭

lilihye 🤭

liked by charlesleclerc, arthurleclerc, carlossainz55 and 678,839 others

y/nhill Leclerc’s since 24 🫶🏻

view comments

user1 wha-

user2 WHA-

user3 WHAT-

user4 so the rumours were false 🤔

user5 and they are still together 🤔

arthurleclerc MA SOUER

liked by y/nhill

pascaleleclerc lots of love ma fille ❤️

y/nhill mama leclerc ❤️

user6 excuse me, SISTER AND DAUGHTER !?

user7 we skipped a whole season here -

user8 IF THEY ARE ENGAGED -

user9 GUYS HURRY SEE THE F1 NEWS

user10 THEY ARE MARRIED !?

user11 fhffhhffhfh

user12 even the official ferrari posted-

user13 charles proposed after her first show of the year !?

user14 the best denial to cheating rumours 💍

liked by charlesleclerc, y/nhillleclerc, and 2,378,789 others

scuderiaferrari the pictures are blurry because admin was also crying 🫶🏻

view comments

user1 it's time I delete my insta

user2 me too

user3 DADDY MARRIED HER !?

charleslecerc ❤️

liked by scuderiaferrari

y/nhillleclerc ❤️

liked by scuderiaferrari

user4 it's ok admin, we are also crying because of the onion rings 😭

liked by scuderiaferrari

user5 they look so pretty -

landonoriss congratulations!!! 👏🏻

oscarpiastri mum and dad 💪🏻

user6 that's why charles adopted oscar-

lilihye I WAS MAID OF HONOUR

arthurleclerc I WAS THE BEST MAN

carlossainz55 it was fun watching the rumours at their wedding

user7 carlos 💀

maxverstappen1 he got his muse to win now

charesleclerc see you in spain 💪🏻

lewishamilton it was an amazing wedding !!

charlesleclerc you were only invited because of roscoe and the fact I might have to race with you next year 😀

y/nhillleclerc *have

y/nhillleclerc you are always invited, Team Hammer since d1

lewishamilton ❤️

user8 THE USERNAME CHANGE -

user9 let me go and bawl my eyes out

user10 what's the point of being bisexual if both my man and girl are married

user11💀

liked by charlesleclerc, lilihye, realbarbarapalvin and 3,678,362 others

y/nhillleclerc my first and last kiss as your girlfriend ❤️

comments on this post have been restricted

[pucksandpower]

Meant to Be

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Charles knows it’s wrong to fantasize about his younger brother’s childhood sweetheart … but he also knows that when the opportunity presents itself, he’ll do absolutely anything to make you his and his alone

Warnings: 18+ content, manipulation, somnophilia, and baby trapping

Arthur’s sprawled out on Charles’ couch, his legs kicked up over the armrest, a half-empty beer bottle dangling dangerously from his fingers. His cheeks are flushed, a sure sign that he’s had too much, and he’s in one of those moods — reckless, unguarded, talking too much.

Charles stands by the window, fingers tapping against the neck of his own beer. He’s watching Arthur with the kind of stillness that should set alarms off, except Arthur’s too drunk to notice.

“Six years.” Arthur’s voice breaks the silence, words slurring together. He lifts his head, eyes bleary and unfocused. “Six fucking years, and she still won’t let me touch her.”

Something sharp and ugly flares up in Charles’ chest. It’s quick, like a blade slicing through air — painful but over in an instant, leaving behind only a low, simmering anger. He takes a slow sip of his drink, savoring the way the cold beer burns down his throat, grounding him.

“You’re talking nonsense,” Charles says, tone deceptively calm. “Stop being dramatic.”

Arthur scoffs, shaking his head. He looks ridiculous — lips pulled down in a childish pout, eyes narrowing like he’s being unfairly judged. “You think I’m lying? I’m telling you the truth.” He sits up abruptly, the motion causing a bit of beer to splash onto the couch. He doesn’t notice. “She’s still … I don’t know, holding out or something. Makes me feel like I’m not good enough.”

Charles’ grip tightens around the bottle. “So what? You think she owes you something just because you’ve been together for a long time?”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” Arthur’s defensive, hands up in mock surrender. He’s shaking his head, but Charles sees right through it. “It’s just — what kind of relationship is this? I mean, I love her, but it’s like she’s keeping part of herself locked away from me. You wouldn’t get it.”

Oh, but Charles gets it. He gets it too well. That same fury, that same sense of being kept at arm’s length — he’s felt it for years. Watched you grow up beside Arthur, become this beautiful, untouchable thing that only Arthur could claim. Always the best friend, the girlfriend, the almost-but-not-quite.

“Maybe she’s just not ready,” Charles says softly. His voice is low, dangerous. He turns his back to the window, narrowing his eyes on Arthur. “Maybe you’re pushing too hard.”

Arthur laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. “You know me. I’m not pushing her at all. I’m just — fuck, I’m frustrated, okay? We’re supposed to be moving forward, but it’s like she’s … stuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t want to wait around forever. What’s the point?”

Charles is moving before he realizes it, crossing the room in a few long strides until he’s standing right in front of Arthur. His shadow falls over his younger brother, the tension in the air crackling like static.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Charles murmurs, voice tight. “She’s not some … milestone you have to hit. Maybe she doesn’t want to-”

“With me, you mean.” Arthur’s eyes meet Charles’, defiance simmering just beneath the surface. “Maybe she doesn’t want to sleep with me. Right? Maybe that’s what you’re thinking. That I’m not enough for her.”

Charles holds his gaze, unflinching. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

There’s a pause, charged and suffocating. Charles can feel the blood pounding in his ears, a dangerous thrill threading through his veins. He should shut this down, diffuse the situation before it escalates, but some twisted part of him wants Arthur to keep going. He wants to hear it. Every insecurity, every frustration, every ugly piece of truth.

“Why are you telling me this?” Charles asks finally, his voice deceptively calm. “What do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know.” Arthur slumps back against the couch, looking defeated. “Maybe I just needed to get it off my chest. It’s like … I feel like I’m going crazy. Everyone else is moving forward, and I’m just stuck here, waiting for her to catch up.”

Charles takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay composed. He shouldn’t feel this satisfaction, this possessive pleasure at hearing Arthur’s struggle. It’s wrong. It’s twisted. But it’s there, coiling tight in his chest.

“And if she never catches up?” Charles asks quietly. “What then?”

Arthur shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not meant to be, you know?”

The words hang heavy in the air, and Charles feels something dark and vicious settle inside him. He’s been waiting for this — years of watching from the sidelines, of biting back his own desires because you were always with Arthur. Always just out of reach.

But if Arthur’s doubting — if Arthur’s thinking of letting go …

Charles clenches his jaw, forcing himself to speak evenly. “You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be talking about this right now.”

Arthur snorts. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He pauses, glancing up at Charles with a look that’s almost pleading. “What would you do? If you were me, what would you do?”

The question catches Charles off-guard, a cold laugh escaping his lips before he can stop it. “If I were you?” He leans down slightly, voice dropping to a low murmur. “I wouldn’t be here, complaining to my brother like a pathetic idiot. I’d be with her, figuring it out. Doing whatever it takes to make her happy.”

“Yeah?” Arthur mutters, his voice cracking slightly. “Even if it means waiting forever?”

Charles straightens, something resolute and steely hardening in his chest. He looks down at Arthur, gaze cold and unyielding. “If you love her, you wait.”

Arthur looks away, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I just — forget it. I’m talking bullshit.”

But Charles doesn’t forget. He stands there, watching Arthur fall silent, mind spinning with a thousand possibilities. He can’t let anyone else have you, not even Arthur. Especially not Arthur. He knows it’s wrong, knows it’s sick, but he can’t shake the image of you — untouched, unspoiled, something pure and perfect that only he deserves to claim.

Charles forces a smile, dropping a hand onto Arthur’s shoulder. “Go to bed. Sleep it off.”

Arthur nods, muttering something unintelligible as he pushes himself up and stumbles towards the guest room. Charles waits until the door closes behind him before letting out a long, shuddering breath.

He should feel guilty. But all he feels is a fierce, possessive resolve. Arthur’s doubt is his opportunity. His chance to take what’s always been denied to him.

His gaze drifts to his phone on the coffee table. A single message — an excuse, really — and you’d be here, sitting on his couch, looking at him with that soft, trusting smile. Like he’s someone you can rely on. Like he’s someone safe.

Safe. Charles laughs quietly, the sound bitter and mocking. Safe is the last thing he is right now.

He picks up the phone, thumb hovering over your contact name, and hesitates. Not yet. He needs a plan. Needs to be smart about this.

But one way or another, he’s going to be your first. Your only. Arthur’s hesitation has given him the opening he’s been waiting for.

All he has to do now is make his move.

***

Charles parks the car a little down the street from your apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight as he stares at the dashboard. The engine is off, the keys dangling in the ignition, but he hasn’t moved. Not yet.

He’s thinking.

He’s been thinking all night, really — ever since Arthur stumbled off to bed, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that spiraled, dark and hungry, circling the idea that’s been gnawing at him for years. How close he is now. How one small push could tip the balance in his favor.

And today, he’s ready to push.

In the passenger seat sits a box of pizza from that place you love, the one he knows you always order from on Fridays after a long week. There’s a bottle of wine in the backseat too, the kind you once told him was your favorite, when you were still just Arthur’s girlfriend, still so impossibly out of reach.

Charles grabs the pizza, slides out of the car, and walks to your building with measured steps. Each one feels deliberate, calculated, as if he’s forcing himself to maintain control. But inside, his thoughts are a frenzy.

It’s easy enough to get inside the building. You gave him the door code months ago, back when things were still … uncomplicated. Before his obsession became something he couldn’t contain.

As he rides the elevator up, Charles lets out a slow, steadying breath. He can do this. He will do this.

When you open the door, the surprise on your face is immediate but quickly melts into warmth. Your eyes light up, and you smile — God, you smile at him like he’s your favorite person in the world. Like you trust him.

“Charles!” You exclaim, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug before he can say a word. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he feels that familiar jolt, the one that always comes when you’re this close. “What are you doing here? This is a surprise.”

He hugs you back, holding you a second too long before he pulls away. He lifts the pizza box with a sheepish grin, the one he knows you always fall for. “Thought you might be hungry. Brought your favorite.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you laugh, that soft sound that always makes him feel like you’re letting him in on a secret. “You didn’t have to do that, but I’m not complaining.” You step aside, gesturing for him to come in. “Come on, I was just thinking about ordering food.”

He follows you into the apartment, closing the door behind him. It’s small, cozy — the kind of place that feels lived in, full of your personality. He’s been here before, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, he’s here for a reason.

You grab plates while Charles sets the pizza on the table, and then you settle in. Conversation is easy, natural. You ask him about his week, tell him about yours, and the rhythm of it all is so familiar that for a second, Charles almost forgets why he’s really here.

But then he watches you take another sip of wine, and something inside him snaps back into focus. You’ve had just enough to soften the edges, to make you more open, more vulnerable.

Now’s the time.

“I’ve got something I need to talk to you about,” Charles says, leaning back in his chair. His voice is low, careful. He watches your expression shift, the way your brow furrows slightly as you put your glass down.

“Something serious?” You ask, your tone shifting from playful to curious, maybe even a little concerned.

Charles nods, the weight of his next words pressing down on him. He almost hates what he’s about to say. Almost. But the thought of losing you to Arthur — again, after all these years — drives him forward.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he starts, choosing his words deliberately. “You know I care about you. A lot.”

Your frown deepens, and you sit up straighter. “Charles, what is it? You’re scaring me.”

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s Arthur.”

You blink, confusion flashing across your face. “Arthur? What about him?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Charles watches your face carefully, gauging every reaction. He needs to be precise here, needs to strike the right balance between concern and truth.

“I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you this,” he says quietly, voice soft but steady. “But you deserve to know.”

“Know what?” Your voice is more tense now, on edge. You’re bracing yourself.

Charles looks down at the table for a moment, pretending to struggle with his words, to hesitate. Then, with a carefully measured sigh, he meets your gaze.

“Arthur’s cheating on you.”

Your reaction is instant — disbelief, followed by a laugh that’s more of a reflex than anything. You shake your head, the idea not even sinking in before you’re dismissing it outright. “Charles, come on. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

You freeze, staring at him like he’s said something that doesn’t compute. “What are you talking about? Arthur would never — he’s not that kind of guy. He — he loves me.”

Charles leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours, unflinching. “I know you don’t want to believe it. Trust me, I hate having to tell you this. But I’ve seen it. He’s been … seeing someone else.”

You blink rapidly, shaking your head again, more violently this time. “No. No, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do that? We’ve been together for six years, Charles. We’re-”

“I know,” Charles cuts in, voice low and firm. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign that this is some kind of twisted joke. But all you find is a steady, unwavering resolve. And it hits you, hard — he’s serious.

The first tear spills over before you can stop it. You swipe at it quickly, shaking your head, still trying to deny it. “No. You’re wrong. He wouldn’t … he wouldn’t do that to me.”

Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, but he stays calm. He has to see this through. ��I wish I were wrong. I really do. But I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

You press your palms to your temples, shaking your head again and again, like you can somehow shake off the weight of his words. “Why? Why would he …”

“He’s an idiot,” Charles says quietly, his voice softening just enough. He reaches across the table, placing a hand over yours. “He doesn’t see what he has with you. He doesn’t appreciate you the way he should.”

You pull your hand away, standing abruptly from the table and pacing the small space of your living room. “This doesn’t make any sense. He’s been … he’s been distant lately, but I just thought it was work or something. He wouldn’t-”

Charles stands too, his movements slow and deliberate. “I wish I could tell you there’s some explanation, but … sometimes people just make stupid choices. It doesn’t make it your fault.”

The tears are falling freely now, and you wipe at them furiously, like you’re angry at yourself for crying. “I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you. Arthur wouldn’t do that to me.”

Charles steps closer, his chest tightening at the sight of your tears. He hates seeing you hurt, but some part of him — some twisted, possessive part — revels in this. In being the one you turn to, the one you fall apart in front of. Because this is his chance. His moment.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to pull you into his arms.

You don’t resist. You’re too overwhelmed, too broken by the weight of what he’s telling you. You collapse against him, your face buried in his chest as the sobs start to shake your frame.

Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you tight, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Your sobs only deepen, and Charles feels his pulse quicken. There’s something intoxicating about the way you cling to him, like he’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he says, voice low and soothing, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your spine. “But you deserve to know the truth. You deserve better than him.”

You don’t respond, just keep crying into his chest, and Charles holds you tighter, his grip firm and possessive. He’s in control now. He’s the one you trust, the one you’re turning to.

And he’s not going to let you go.

“Shh,” he murmurs again, his voice a soft coo as he continues to run his hand down your back. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

He presses his lips to your hair again, his chest swelling with a dark, possessive satisfaction.

This is where you belong.

With him.

***

Charles tightens his hold on you as your sobs weaken, though they still come in shaky, uneven breaths. He keeps his chin resting gently on top of your head, his fingers stroking slow circles along your back, coaxing you into some semblance of calm. Each wet gasp, each tremble from you presses deeper into him, a reminder of just how fragile you are right now — how close you are to breaking.

And you are his to fix.

“I can’t believe …” you start, your voice muffled against his chest, thick with tears. You take a shuddering breath and pull back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, though your gaze is glazed and unfocused. “I can’t believe I was … I was going to let him …” Another sob catches in your throat, and you lower your head again, pressing your palms against your eyes as if to block out the thought.

Charles feels something stir in him, deep and raw. His breath catches. He knows what you’re about to say. He’s waited for this moment for so long.

“I thought I was ready,” you whisper between tears, each word slipping out in a jagged edge. “I really thought I was ready. I was going to … I was finally going to give him everything. And he — he doesn’t even care. I was going to let him take everything from me.”

Charles’ jaw tightens. His arms encircle you even more, as if he can shield you from the pain and the reality of it all. But behind that protective front, something inside him twists darkly. Arthur was going to be the one. The one to touch you first, to take what should never have belonged to anyone else.

The thought alone makes his stomach churn, but he forces his voice to remain steady, soft, as he leans in closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You don’t need to think about that now,” he murmurs, gently rocking you as your body shakes against him. “Arthur didn’t deserve you. He never did.”

You sniffle, lifting your head again, your eyes glassy and red. “But I thought … I thought we were going to-” You break off, biting your lip hard enough that it must hurt, your hands twisting in his shirt. “I thought I was finally ready to-” Another sob wracks through you, and you look down, as if ashamed of the words you can’t quite bring yourself to say aloud.

Charles feels a rush of anger — not at you, but at the mere suggestion that Arthur was close to having what only he should be worthy of. The idea that his brother, clueless and careless, almost had you, had almost been the first to touch you like that, makes something primal flare up inside him.

But he doesn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, he tilts your chin up gently, guiding your eyes back to his. His expression is soft, understanding, but underneath it, there’s that edge. The simmering need for control, for possession, for you.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low but firm. “Arthur would not have deserved something like that from you. He doesn’t appreciate you — he doesn’t even know how to treat you right.”

You open your mouth to argue, but all that comes out is a half-choked sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I was going to give him … everything. And now-” You shake your head, your eyes welling up again, new tears slipping down your cheeks. “Now I’m just … I’m going to be a virgin forever, aren’t I?”

Your voice cracks on the last word, and the raw vulnerability of it strikes Charles harder than anything else you’ve said. You sound so broken, so small, like you’ve given up on the idea that you’ll ever be loved the way you deserve.

But Charles knows better. He knows exactly what you deserve. And more importantly, he knows exactly who should be the one to give it to you.

His heart pounds in his chest, each beat louder than the last as he watches you crumble before him. He pulls you in again, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head once more. “You’re not going to be a virgin forever,” he whispers, his voice as soothing as it is purposeful. “Don’t say that.”

Your breath hitches against his shirt. “But who else is there? I can’t — I don’t want to be with anyone else after this. Not after Arthur …”

Charles feels you tremble, your body fragile against his, and something in him snaps. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to push forward, not to take what he’s wanted for so long right here and now.

But he knows better than that. He knows how to play this. He knows you, knows what you need to hear in this moment.

“Arthur isn’t the only one who’s ever going to want you,” Charles murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers trace along the curve of your spine. “You’re worth so much more than you realize.”

You shake your head into his chest. “I just … I don’t know anymore.”

The words tear at him, but they also give him an opening. He can feel it — the way you’re unraveling, the way you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Something steady. Someone who understands you in a way Arthur never could.

And he’s more than willing to be that person.

Charles hesitates — just enough to make it seem genuine, just enough to plant the seed of doubt in your mind about what he’s about to say next. He exhales slowly, like he’s weighing his words carefully, like they’re difficult for him to get out.

“There’s … another option,” he says, his voice hesitant, as if he’s afraid to even suggest it. He feels your body tense slightly in his arms, and he knows you’re listening, knows he has your full attention.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He meets your gaze, his eyes soft but unwavering. He can see the vulnerability in your expression, the way you’re looking at him like you’re trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

Charles takes a breath, keeping his voice as even as he can, though his pulse is racing. “I don’t want you to feel like you’ll never be able to … move on from this. From Arthur. You deserve better than that.”

You blink at him, still confused. “I don’t understand.”

He lowers his eyes for a moment, as if he’s struggling with the thought, and then looks back up at you, his expression serious. “I’m saying … if you wanted to … if you wanted someone who actually cares about you, who respects you, to be your first … I could be that person.”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze in his arms, staring at him like you can’t believe what you just heard. For a second, Charles wonders if he pushed too far, if he misread the moment. But then he sees the flicker of doubt in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly like you’re considering it, like you’re not entirely sure what to say.

“You?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

Charles nods slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, but he keeps his expression calm, controlled. He lets out a soft breath, as if he’s reluctant to admit it but knows it’s the right thing to offer. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like you have to make a decision right now. But … I care about you. I always have. And I would never hurt you the way Arthur did.”

Your gaze drops to the floor, and Charles watches as you process his words, as the weight of what he’s offering settles over you. He can see the conflict in your expression, the way you’re torn between your pain and the possibility of comfort, of feeling wanted again.

And that’s exactly where he wants you.

“I just don’t know if I can trust anyone right now,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your hands trembling slightly as they clutch the fabric of his shirt.

Charles reaches up, gently cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of your tears. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You can trust me,” he says softly, his voice steady and sure. “I would never hurt you, never betray you like he did.”

You look at him, your eyes wide and searching, and Charles can feel the shift in the air between you. The way you’re leaning into him, the way your breathing has slowed, your sobs replaced by something quieter, something more uncertain.

And that’s when he knows. He’s won.

“I don’t know,” you murmur again, but your voice is softer now, less sure, and Charles can feel the cracks forming, can see the way you’re wavering.

He leans in slightly, just enough that his forehead brushes against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m here for you,” he whispers, his voice a gentle coo as he strokes your cheek. “Whatever you need. I’ll take care of you.”

You don’t pull away.

Charles shifts his grip, his fingers slipping into your hair as he tilts your head back, giving himself access to the soft, untouched skin of your throat. He pauses for just a moment, taking in the sight of you: lips parted, eyes glazed and half-closed, a hint of vulnerability still lingering behind the tentative acceptance. His pulse thrums with a steady, insistent beat, desire coiling tighter with every ragged breath you take.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough against your skin. “Let me take care of you.”

Your breath hitches, and Charles feels the way your body reacts, how you arch slightly into him, seeking more of his touch. His heart pounds harder, his gaze darkening as he dips his head and presses his mouth against the side of your neck.

It starts slow. A soft kiss, just below your jaw, the barest brush of his lips. Then another, lower this time, lingering on the spot where your pulse flutters erratically. He kisses you again, harder now, teeth grazing over your skin. He feels the way you shudder beneath him, hears the sharp intake of breath that escapes your lips, and it fuels something possessive inside him. He lets his mouth linger, sucking at your skin until a faint red mark blooms beneath his lips.

Good. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

Charles keeps going, kissing and biting his way down your throat, alternating between gentle nips and soothing licks. He can feel the way your body responds to each touch, the soft little noises you make that only seem to spur him on. Every mark he leaves behind feels like a victory, like he’s claiming you inch by inch, branding you as his.

And you’re letting him.

His hand slides down your side, fingers skimming along the curve of your waist before they hook under the hem of your sweater. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing ragged. There’s a question in his eyes, and he sees the way you hesitate, your lips parting as if to say something — before you slowly nod.

The look in your eyes is hesitant but trusting, and it sends a surge of possessiveness straight through him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he tugs the fabric up, slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to stop him. But you don’t. Instead, you lift your arms, letting him pull the sweater over your head and toss it carelessly over the back of the couch.

Charles’ gaze drops, his eyes tracing the shape of your collarbones, the gentle curve of your breasts. There’s a flush spreading across your chest, and he can’t help but smirk, the sight of you like this making his blood heat. You’re so exposed, so vulnerable beneath him, and the trust in your eyes — the way you’re giving yourself to him, piece by piece — is intoxicating.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl as he leans in again, his mouth hovering just above the swell of your chest. “Do you know that? How perfect you are?”

Your cheeks flush a deeper shade, and you glance away, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. Charles doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he presses his lips against the curve of your shoulder, his mouth moving slowly, deliberately, as he makes his way across your chest.

Each kiss is a claim, each touch a reminder of who you belong to. He can feel the way your breathing changes, the way your fingers twitch and flex as if you don’t know what to do with yourself. He’s relentless, sucking and nipping at your skin until more red marks bloom beneath his mouth, each one a testament to his need to mark you, to make sure no one else will ever look at you without seeing his touch.

“Charles …” You whisper his name, your voice barely audible, a hint of something like disbelief in your tone.

He pauses, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze again. “What is it?” He asks softly, his fingers brushing along the underside of your breast, tracing lazy circles against your skin. “Tell me.”

You swallow hard, your eyes darting away for a moment before they find his again. “I … I just can’t believe this is happening.”

Charles smiles, something dark and possessive flickering in his gaze as he shifts his weight, leaning closer until his body is pressed against yours. He can feel the heat radiating off you, the way your chest rises and falls with every shaky breath you take. “Believe it,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “I’m here. This is real.”

And it is real. He can feel it — the way you tremble beneath his touch, the way your body yields to him without resistance. He’s waited for this moment for so long, dreamed of it in vivid, desperate detail. Now that he has you, he’s not going to let go. Not ever.

He lowers his head again, his mouth finding the skin between your breasts, and he kisses his way down, down, each press of his lips more insistent than the last. His hands are on your waist now, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, his breath hot against your skin. He pauses when he reaches the edge of your bra, his tongue flicking out to trace along the fabric.

“May I?” He murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. He glances up at you through his lashes, waiting for your response.

You hesitate for just a moment before nodding, a small, uncertain movement. But it’s enough for him. Charles’ fingers move with practiced ease, unclasping the bra and sliding it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

His breath catches at the sight of you — bare, vulnerable, all his. He doesn’t waste any time, lowering his head to your chest and pressing his mouth against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you. He hears the way you gasp, feels the way your back arches beneath him, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

Charles takes his time, kissing and licking his way down your body, leaving more marks in his wake. He can feel the tension coiling tighter in your muscles, the way your breathing grows more erratic the lower he goes. His hands roam over your skin, mapping out every curve, every dip and hollow of your body as if he’s memorizing you.

When he finally reaches your waist, he pauses, his fingers tracing the band of your panties. They’re delicate, a flimsy piece of lace that does nothing to hide you from him. He glances up, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, he just holds it, waiting.

“Tell me,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur. “I need to hear you say it. Do you want this?”

You bite your lip, your eyes wide and uncertain, but there’s something else there, too — something like trust, like surrender. Slowly, hesitantly, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I … I want this. I want you.”

The words send a jolt of electricity through him, sharp and exhilarating. Charles lets out a slow breath, his fingers slipping under the band of your panties, and he pulls them down, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a dark, satisfied growl as he tosses the lace aside. “Because I’m going to give you everything.”

He dips his head again, his mouth following the path of his hands as he kisses his way down your belly, your hips, lavishing attention on every inch of exposed skin. He takes his time, his tongue flicking out to taste you, his teeth grazing along your skin. Each touch, each kiss is deliberate, calculated, meant to draw out every sound, every reaction he can coax from you.

And you respond to him beautifully, your body trembling beneath his touch, your breath coming in soft gasps and whimpers. Charles feels his own control slipping, the need to take you, to claim you fully, growing stronger with each passing second. But he holds back, savoring the way you writhe beneath him, the way your fingers clutch at his hair, desperate for more.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, his breath warm against your skin. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and intent, and he waits — waits for you to give him the permission he’s been craving.

“Are you sure?” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He needs to hear you say it again. Needs to know that you’re giving yourself to him willingly.

You nod, your breath hitching as your eyes meet his. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sure. “Please, Charles. I want this. I want you.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate — not for a second. He buries his mouth against you, and the taste of your sweetness floods his senses. A low growl rumbles up from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he hooks his hands under your thighs, spreading you wider.

The taste of you is intoxicating, dizzying, like a drug seeping into his veins and lighting him up from the inside. You’re slick and warm, every part of you yielding to his touch, and he drinks you in like a man starved.

“God,” he mutters against you, his voice rough and reverent. “You’re so perfect … so sweet.” He can barely get the words out, his tongue slipping between your folds to lap at you with long, deliberate strokes.

You gasp, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands as if you need something to anchor yourself. Your back arches off the couch, and Charles takes advantage of the movement, pulling you closer, deeper into him. He wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you, his tongue tracing every inch of you with a hunger that borders on desperation.

Your moans fill the air, soft and breathless, each one sending a jolt of satisfaction through him. He can feel the way your thighs tremble under his grip, the way your body shudders with every flick of his tongue, every soft nip of his teeth. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for even a second, his mouth working you with a single-minded focus that’s almost feral.

“Charles,” you whimper, your voice breaking on the syllable. “I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re doing so well. So good for me.”

He dips his head lower, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks it into his mouth, his lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You cry out, your hips bucking against him, and he tightens his grip, holding you down as he laves at you, his mouth relentless.

You’re so responsive, so pliant beneath him, and it’s driving him wild. He wants to pull every sound from your lips, wants to make you lose yourself in him, wants to make you feel so good that you’ll never be able to think of anyone else. He wants you ruined — completely — until the only name you can say is his.

“Please,” you breathe, your fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair. “Charles, I-I’m so close-”

He hums in response, the vibration making you shudder. His tongue moves faster, more insistent, as he drives you higher, his lips never leaving your skin. He can feel the tension coiling in your body, tighter and tighter, and he knows you’re right on the edge.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, his voice a low, coaxing purr. “I want to feel you, taste you. I want you to come for me.”

You let out a broken sob, your body arching into him as you fall apart. He holds you steady, his mouth never leaving you as he works you through your orgasm, his tongue moving in slow, soothing strokes as your body shakes beneath him. He can feel the way you pulse and clench, the way your thighs tremble and your breath catches, and he doesn’t let up until you’re completely spent, every last aftershock of pleasure wrung out of you.

Only then does he pull back, his chest heaving as he looks up at you. You’re a mess — hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. He can see the faint sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with every ragged breath, and it sends another surge of possessiveness through him.

This — the sight of you like this, wrecked and breathless and marked with his touch — this is what he’s been waiting for. This is what he’s been craving.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. His fingers brush gently along your thighs, tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he watches your face. He needs to hear it from you, needs to know that you’re still with him.

You nod slowly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m … I’m okay.”

Relief washes through him, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Because we’re not done yet.”

Your eyes widen slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you look down at him. “Charles-”

“Shh.” He presses another kiss to your skin, this one softer, more tender. “Just trust me, okay?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod slowly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, but also something else — something like trust, like surrender. And it’s that look, that trust, that makes his chest tighten, makes something in him twist and shudder.

Charles shifts his grip, sliding his hands up your body until they’re resting on your waist. He leans up, his gaze locked on yours as he brushes his lips against your belly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous promise. “I’m going to take care of you. Make you mine. Completely.”

Your breath catches, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out. Charles doesn’t give you time to respond. He leans in again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and deep, his tongue sliding against yours with a languid, sensual stroke.

He can taste you on his lips, can still feel the echo of your pleasure thrumming through your body. It’s a heady, intoxicating feeling, and he deepens the kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against yours.

You’re still trembling, your body soft and pliant beneath him, and he shifts, adjusting his weight until he’s cradling you in his arms. He breaks the kiss, his lips hovering just above yours as he murmurs softly, “Lie back for me, baby.”

You blink up at him, your gaze hazy and unfocused, but you do as he says, leaning back against the couch. Charles watches you for a moment, taking in the sight of you — your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your hair spills over the cushions. You look so small, so vulnerable, and it makes something dark and possessive curl inside him.

He wants you like this forever. Wants you beneath him, at his mercy, trusting him to take care of you.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost hesitant touch. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough and sincere. “So perfect.”

You blink up at him, a faint smile curving your lips. “Charles … you don’t have to-”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you. Never felt like this before.”

Your smile falters slightly, and he sees the uncertainty flicker in your eyes, the way your fingers fidget in your lap. He knows you don’t quite believe him, knows that you’re still struggling to understand what this — what he — means to you.

But that’s okay. He has time. He’ll show you, piece by piece, until there’s no doubt left in your mind.

Leaning in, Charles presses another kiss to your lips, softer this time, more tender. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Let me show you how much I want you. How much I-”

How much I love you. The words hover on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down, his chest tightening. He’s not ready to say it yet — not when you’re still reeling from everything he’s thrown at you tonight. Not when there’s still so much he needs to do to make you his.

Instead, he kisses you again, pouring all of his need, all of his desperation, into the touch. You respond to him, your body arching into his, your fingers tightening in his hair, and he knows — knows that you’re right where you belong.

With him.

Charles takes a breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he looks down at you, still trembling and flushed beneath him. The sight of you — so soft, so vulnerable — sends a wave of possessiveness through him that makes his hands shake. You’re his, all his, and he’s about to take what should have been his from the beginning. He wants to savor it, wants to make every moment last, but the need coursing through him is wild, uncontrollable.

His hands slide down your thighs, spreading you open again, his thumbs brushing along the soft skin just inside. You’re still shaking, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps, and he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve got you. Okay? Just breathe.”

You nod, but there’s a hint of fear in your eyes, a flicker of uncertainty, and it makes his chest tighten. He doesn’t want you scared. He wants you to trust him, to need him the way he needs you.

Gently, he presses his forehead against yours, his voice softer now, more coaxing. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You swallow, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you nod again. “I do,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours. “I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

He moves slowly, his hands tracing over your skin, mapping every curve and dip of your body. He wants to memorize you, wants to know every inch of you like the back of his hand. His fingers ghost over your hips, sliding up your waist, your ribs, before they dip down again.

You shudder at the touch, your breath hitching in your throat, and Charles smiles — a slow, dangerous smile that sends a thrill through him.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. “You’re perfect.”

You look up at him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. It’s just the two of you — no distractions, no outside noise — just you, laid out before him, vulnerable and trusting, and him, teetering on the edge of losing himself completely.

His fingers trail down between your thighs, gentle, teasing, as he watches your face for any sign of hesitation. He wants this to be perfect for you — wants you to remember this as something special, something that no one else could ever give you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his fingers brushing against you softly. “If you want to stop, you just say the word. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip, and he can see the way your body trembles in anticipation, the way your eyes flutter shut as his fingers dip lower, brushing against the slick heat of your core. You’re so warm, so soft, and he can feel how ready you are for him, how your body responds to his touch without hesitation.

He presses a single finger into you, slow and gentle, watching the way your mouth falls open, the way your back arches off the couch as you let out a soft, broken moan. The sound goes straight to his head, dizzying him, making him harder than he thought possible.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “You’re doing so well.”

You whimper in response, your hands gripping the cushions beneath you as he moves his finger in and out of you, slow and deliberate. He’s not rushing, not yet. He’s taking his time, getting you used to the feeling, making sure you’re ready for him.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “It … it feels good.”

Charles smiles, his thumb brushing against your clit in a slow, circular motion, making your whole body jolt in response. “I want to make you feel even better,” he murmurs, his gaze dark and intense. “But I need to make sure you’re ready for me. Can I add another?”

You nod quickly, your breath hitching in your throat as he slides a second finger into you, stretching you wider. You gasp, your hips bucking up against his hand, and he groans at the way you respond to him, the way your body is so eager to take everything he gives you.

“You’re so tight,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. “So perfect. I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

You moan softly, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as he works his fingers in and out of you, coaxing more soft sounds from your lips with every movement. He’s careful, deliberate, making sure not to hurt you, but the need burning inside him is almost unbearable.

“Charles,” you whimper, your voice trembling. “I … I need you.”

The words send a bolt of electricity through him, and he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he pulls his fingers out of you, his heart racing in his chest. He can’t wait any longer. He needs to be inside you.

He shifts, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he lines himself up with your entrance. He looks down at you, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps, and for a moment, he hesitates.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice low and hoarse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide and trusting, and you nod, your voice soft but steady. “I’m sure.”

Charles swallows hard, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. You trust him — completely — and it makes his head spin. He’s never wanted anything more than this moment, and now that it’s here, it feels almost surreal.

Slowly, carefully, he presses into you, inch by inch, his hands tightening on your hips as he pushes deeper. You gasp, your body tensing beneath him, and he pauses, his jaw clenched as he fights the urge to move too fast.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “You’re doing so good. Just breathe for me.”

You nod, taking a shaky breath as you try to relax, and Charles groans as he slides deeper, the tight heat of you surrounding him, squeezing him in a way that makes it almost impossible to think.

He’s never felt anything like this before — never felt so close to losing control, so close to falling apart completely. But he can’t rush. Not with you. He has to take his time, has to make sure you’re ready for all of him.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he stills, his breath ragged as he presses his forehead against yours. “You okay?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body trembling beneath him. “Yeah,” you breathe, your voice soft. “I’m okay.”

Relief floods through him, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, his hands brushing against your skin in slow, soothing strokes. Charles inhales deeply, savoring the intoxicating scent of your skin mixed with sweat and arousal. You’re so tight around him that it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to lose himself right away. Every trembling exhale from your parted lips makes his head spin, and it takes everything in him to keep himself composed, to hold back just a little longer so he doesn’t scare you.

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice gravelly, heavy with want. He cups your cheek tenderly, fingers brushing against the tear-streaked skin as he begins to move — slowly, gently — just enough for you to feel every inch of him. “Doing so well for me … taking me so perfectly.”

You whimper, the sound breaking and needy, and it shoots straight through him, making his hips snap forward involuntarily. He freezes, staring down at you, but you only arch your back, letting out another soft, breathless moan that sends a shiver through his spine.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his thumb stroking over your cheek. “Look at you … so beautiful like this. All mine.” His voice drops lower, almost to a growl, as he pulls back and thrusts into you again, harder this time, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. “You know that, right? I’m your first … and I’ll be your only.”

You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into his shoulders as your whole body arches up to meet his. “Yes,” you gasp, voice trembling, the word barely coherent.

“Say it.” His hand slips down, gripping your hip as he holds you still beneath him, his thrusts measured and deliberate. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your breath hitches, your head lolling back against the cushions as you struggle to form words through the haze of sensation clouding your mind. “You’re … you’re my first,” you manage, your voice breaking on the last word. “My only.”

The words make his chest swell with something dark and possessive, and he groans, leaning down to bury his face against your throat. “Damn right,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “I’m going to ruin you for every other man. No one else will ever get to have you like this. No one else will ever get to touch you.”

You shudder beneath him, a broken moan escaping your lips, and he can feel the way your body clenches around him, almost as if your body itself is responding to his words. His control frays further, his thrusts picking up pace, harder, deeper, as he loses himself in the feeling of being inside you, in the way your body takes him so perfectly.

“Fuck,” he growls, his teeth scraping lightly against your collarbone. “I’d kill any other man who tries to touch you like this. Do you hear me? No one else gets to have you.”

You whimper again, your hands sliding up to clutch at his back, your nails digging into his skin as if you’re trying to anchor yourself. “Charles-” you choke out, but whatever you’re trying to say gets lost in another breathless moan as he drives into you again, hitting a spot that makes you cry out, your whole body going taut beneath him.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice low and dangerous as he kisses a trail down your throat, letting his teeth scrape against your skin just enough to leave marks in his wake. “It’s okay, mon cœur. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you. You don’t need anyone else.”

His lips move lower, brushing against your chest, leaving more marks there — proof that you’re his, that you belong to him and only him. He wants everyone to see, to know just by looking at you that you’re taken, that you’re his, that no one else can have you.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice dark and possessive. “You’ll always be mine. I’ll make sure of it.”

He shifts slightly, angling his hips, and you let out a sharp cry, your hands flying up to grasp at his shoulders as your whole body shudders. Charles grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he fights to keep his control, to keep himself from losing it completely.

“Are you on birth control?” He asks suddenly, his voice tight, strained. The question seems to come out of nowhere, and for a moment, you just stare up at him, your eyes wide and unfocused.

“What?” You whisper, breathless and confused.

“Birth control,” he repeats, his gaze locked on yours, intense and unrelenting. “Are you on it?”

You shake your head, your brow furrowing slightly as you try to make sense of his words through the haze of pleasure. “No … I’m not …”

Charles’ breath catches, and he has to fight to keep the grin off his face. He moves again, thrusting into you slowly, deliberately, making you moan, your head falling back against the couch. “You’re not?” He murmurs, his voice low and almost mocking. “Then I could put a baby in you right now, couldn’t I?”

The words make your eyes fly open, a look of shock and something almost like panic flashing across your face. “Charles-”

“I could,” he continues, his voice soft, coaxing. “I could fill you up, make you mine forever. No one else would ever look at you again. You’d be tied to me — completely.”

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your hands trembling as they clutch at him, and he groans at the sound, his hips snapping forward as he loses a bit more of his control. “But I won’t,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your ear. “Not yet. Not tonight. But soon.”

“Soon?” You echo, your voice a breathless whisper, and he nods, his hand slipping down between your bodies, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, teasing circles.

“Yes, mon ange,” he murmurs, his voice dark and sweet. “Soon. I’ll make you mine in every way possible. You won’t be able to think of anyone else. You won’t want anyone else.”

You moan, your whole body trembling beneath him, and he can feel the way you tighten around him, the way your body responds to his words, to the promise in his voice. He’s going to make you his, completely and utterly his, and the thought of it drives him wild.

“You’ll be perfect,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “Carrying my baby, looking so beautiful with my child growing inside you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being so full of me.”

You shake your head frantically, a choked sob escaping your lips, but your body betrays you, arching up against him, pressing closer as if you can’t get enough of him. “No,” you gasp, but it’s a broken, desperate sound, and he can hear the way your breath catches, the way you moan when he moves inside you again.

“No?” He teases, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “Are you sure? Because your body’s telling me something different.”

You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his skin, and Charles groans, his hips snapping forward as he thrusts into you again, deeper, harder.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “And I’m not letting anyone else have you. Ever.”

You don’t answer — can’t answer — your head falling back against the cushions as you cry out, your whole body shuddering beneath him. And Charles knows, in that moment, that he’s won. You’re his, completely and utterly his, and there’s no going back.

Charles’ breath stutters as he finally lets go, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his lips as he buries himself inside you, pushing deep, deeper than before, until you gasp and shudder beneath him. He’s been holding himself back for so long, waiting, controlling his own desire just to make sure this moment, your first time, is perfect.

And now — now he’s giving in.

His entire body trembles as he empties himself inside you, his eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch of your brow, every little gasp, every soft, broken moan that escapes you. You’re too overwhelmed to even think, your gaze unfocused, mouth parted as you take him in, your chest heaving with every breath. He can see it, the look of exhaustion and pleasure mingled together, and he loves it. He loves that he’s the one who put it there.

A small whimper falls from your lips as he pulls back slightly, his hips giving a final, gentle thrust as he lets the last of his release fill you. You’re trembling, your entire body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure, and he can’t help but lean down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your throat, murmuring praises against your skin.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his voice thick and low. “You did so well … such a good girl for me.” He pulls back slightly, his hand slipping down between your thighs. He can feel his release already starting to slip out of you, a small, creamy trickle that makes something dark and possessive curl in his chest.

“No,” he breathes, almost to himself, his thumb gently brushing over your swollen, overstimulated clit as he scoops up a bit of the mess between your thighs. You shudder, your hips jerking involuntarily at the contact, and a soft whimper escapes your lips. Charles watches, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, as he brings his fingers up to your lips, smearing his release over them.

“Open,” he whispers, his voice soft but firm, and you do, your lips parting obediently, eyes fluttering shut as you take his fingers into your mouth. He watches, enthralled, as your tongue flicks out, tasting him. His release. Your combined arousal. He can feel the warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue swirls around his fingers, and a low, satisfied hum escapes him.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough and deep. “Don’t waste a drop. I want you to taste how good we are together. How perfect you are for me.”

You’re so pliant, so willing to do whatever he asks, and it sends a thrill through him, makes his stomach twist with a dark, heady satisfaction. You’re his. Completely and utterly his. He watches as you swallow, a small, helpless sound escaping your throat, and he groans softly, his hand cupping your cheek as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your mouth, and then, slowly, carefully, he pulls back, his body protesting as he slips out of you. A small whimper falls from your lips at the loss, and Charles’ chest tightens, a sharp pang of something almost like guilt shooting through him. But he pushes it away. He can’t afford to feel guilt right now. Not when you’re still trembling beneath him, your breath hitching in soft, broken sobs of pleasure.

With a soft, low sigh, he reaches down, his arms slipping beneath you as he scoops you up, cradling your boneless body against his chest. You’re so light, so small in his arms, and he holds you close, pressing his cheek against your hair as he breathes you in.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he stands, holding you securely. “I’ve got you, mon amour. You’re safe.”

Your head lolls against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft, contented sigh. You’re still trembling, your entire body limp with exhaustion, and Charles glances down at the mess you’ve both made on the couch — a wet spot that’s spread across the fabric, a mixture of his release and yours. He grimaces slightly, knowing it’s going to need a thorough cleaning later. But he doesn’t care. Not right now. Not when you’re in his arms, so soft and warm and completely at his mercy.

He carries you down the hall, each step deliberate and careful, not wanting to jostle you too much. You’re completely relaxed against him, your arms loosely draped around his neck, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He can feel your breath against his skin, soft and even, and it makes something twist painfully in his chest.

He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot, flicking on the light with his elbow as he steps inside. The room is cool and quiet, and Charles glances around, trying to figure out the best way to set you down without letting you go. After a moment, he carefully lowers you onto the countertop, his hands lingering on your waist as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

You make a soft, sleepy sound, your head lolling to the side as you blink up at him, eyes glazed and unfocused. “Charles …” Your voice is a soft, broken whisper, and Charles’ heart clenches at the sound.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over your hip as he reaches over to turn on the faucet, the sound of water filling the room. “Just going to run a bath for you, okay? I want to take care of you.”

You nod slowly, your gaze drifting back to him as if you’re trying to keep your focus, trying to stay present. Charles watches you, his chest tight, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. He hates seeing you like this — so exhausted, so spent. But at the same time … he loves it. Loves that he’s the one who put you in this state, loves that you trusted him enough to give yourself to him completely.

He adjusts the temperature of the water, letting it run for a moment to make sure it’s just right before he turns back to you. You’re still watching him, your gaze soft and a little dazed, and he smiles gently, his hands slipping under your thighs as he lifts you again.

“Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he lowers you into the warm water. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let out a soft, contented sigh as the water envelops you, your head falling back against the edge of the tub. Charles watches, his gaze lingering on your face, on the way your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting slightly. He stands there for a moment, just looking at you, his chest tightening with something fierce and possessive and so, so tender.

Then, slowly, he slips out of his own ruined clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor as he steps into the tub behind you. The water is warm, soothing, and he settles in, pulling you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you close.

You let out a soft hum of contentment, your body relaxing against his, and Charles sighs, his chin resting on your shoulder as he nuzzles his cheek against your hair.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft. “Just relax, baby. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you.”

You sigh softly, your hand drifting up to rest on his arm, your fingers curling loosely around his wrist. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “For … for everything.”

Charles’ heart clenches, and he tightens his hold on you, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

You nod slowly, your body sinking further into his embrace, and Charles closes his eyes, letting himself just … feel. Feel the warmth of your body against his, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart. He holds you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as he murmurs soft, soothing words against your hair.

And in that moment, he knows. He’ll never let you go. Never. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with him — to keep you his. Because you’re his. His first. His only. His forever.

***

The warmth of your body still lingers against his skin as Charles carries you from the bathroom to your bed. You’re completely boneless, head tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rhythm of your breathing soft and even in the quiet room. He glances down at you, the way your hair falls messily across your forehead, the relaxed expression on your face. The exhaustion etched in every line of your body.

He’s never seen anything more perfect.

You don’t even stir when he lowers you onto the mattress, your arms falling limp at your sides as he tucks the covers around you. There’s something intensely gratifying about it — about knowing how thoroughly he’s worn you out. About being the only one who’s ever seen you like this, so vulnerable and open and … completely his.

He straightens, looking down at you, his chest tightening with something almost too big to name. He takes a moment, just … standing there, watching you, every instinct in his body screaming at him to stay close. To keep you safe. To make sure nothing ever takes you away from him.

The soft, steady rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, your breath a gentle whisper in the stillness of the room. Charles reaches down, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. His fingers linger, tracing lightly over your temple, down the curve of your cheek, his touch feather-light. You sigh softly in your sleep, leaning into his hand, and something fierce and protective flares in his chest.

It’s not enough.

Even now, standing here, looking at you, knowing you’re finally his … it’s not enough.

Slowly, he slips off his towel, dropping it in a silent heap on the floor. The bed dips slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. He shouldn’t do this, he knows — shouldn’t be so close, shouldn’t let himself cross this line again. But he can’t help it. Can’t stop himself from reaching out, his hand brushing over the soft curve of your waist.

You don’t wake. You’re too deeply asleep, too exhausted to even stir, and Charles’ chest tightens as he watches you. You’re completely oblivious, completely unguarded, your breathing slow and even. So trusting. So vulnerable. So … his.

He shifts closer, his body pressing against yours as he slips a hand under the covers, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of your stomach. You’re so warm, so soft beneath his touch, and he can’t resist — can’t help but trace the gentle swell of your belly, the curve of your waist, the delicate line of your hip. Every inch of you is perfect. Made for him. You were always meant to be his.

His fingers linger at the crease of your thigh, hesitating for just a moment. He should stop. He knows he should stop. But … you’re his. You’ve given yourself to him, trusted him with your body, and that trust — your submission — is more intoxicating than anything he’s ever felt before.

Slowly, carefully, he grabs the duvet and tugs, pulling the fabric down, down, until it’s slipped free of your legs. The cool air brushes against your bare skin, and you shiver slightly, a soft, broken sound escaping your lips. But you don’t wake. You don’t even stir. You’re completely lost to sleep, completely at his mercy.

He breathes out slowly, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you, his heart pounding hard in his chest. You’re perfect. So perfect. So beautiful, lying there, your body splayed out beneath him. His to touch. His to take. His to claim.

He moves slowly, carefully, his hand sliding between your thighs, his fingers brushing against the slick warmth of your core. A soft sigh falls from your lips, your body arching slightly into his touch, and Charles’ breath catches in his throat. You’re so wet, so pliant and soft and ready for him, even in sleep.

He shouldn’t do this. He knows he shouldn’t do this.

But he can’t stop himself.

His hand trembles slightly as he lines himself up, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. He grits his teeth, his entire body coiled tight with the effort it takes not to just thrust — to push inside and take you all over again. But he’s patient. He’s careful. He moves slowly, gently, inching forward until he’s just barely inside you.

You stir, a soft moan escaping your lips, your body arching slightly beneath him. Charles bites back a groan, his hands gripping your hips as he holds himself still, waiting for you to settle. His breath comes hard and fast, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you, every instinct screaming at him to move. To take. To claim.

But he waits. He’s patient. He’s careful. He won’t hurt you.

Slowly, carefully, he inches forward, his breath hitching as he sinks deeper, deeper, until he’s fully seated inside you. You’re so tight around him, so warm and wet and perfect, and it takes everything in him not to just move. To thrust. To take you the way he wants to. The way he needs to.

A soft whimper falls from your lips, your body twitching slightly beneath him, and Charles freezes, his entire body going tense as he watches you. You don’t wake. You don’t even stir, your breathing soft and even, your chest rising and falling steadily.

He breathes out slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he releases the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. You’re still asleep. Still lost to whatever dream has you sighing softly, your lips parted slightly, your brow furrowed in the softest frown.

You’re his. Completely and utterly his.

He moves slowly, carefully, his hips shifting as he pulls back slightly, only to push forward again, sinking deeper inside you. A soft, broken sound escapes your lips, and Charles’ heart clenches, his entire body trembling with the effort it takes to stay slow. To stay gentle. To make this perfect for you.

His hand slips up, brushing over the soft skin of your stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your navel. You’re so beautiful like this — so soft and pliant and completely at his mercy. He moves again, a slow, gentle thrust that has you sighing softly in your sleep, your body relaxing even further beneath him.

He keeps it slow, keeps it gentle, his movements deliberate and careful as he rocks into you, each thrust a soft, measured press of his hips against yours. He’s not trying to wake you. Not trying to take you out of this soft, quiet world of sleep. He just wants to be close. Just wants to feel you. Just wants to be inside you, surrounded by your warmth, your softness, your perfect, trusting submission.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, your body twitching slightly, and Charles leans down, his lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, your lips. “Shh, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing whisper. “I’ve got you. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

You sigh softly, your body going limp beneath him, and Charles’ heart clenches, a fierce wave of something dark and possessive washing over him. He holds himself still, his breath coming hard and fast as he watches you, his gaze dark and intent.

You’re his. You’re finally his. And nothing — nothing — will ever take you away from him.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts his weight, his body pressing down against yours as he buries himself inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you close. He can feel the soft, steady beat of your heart against his chest, the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the warmth of your skin against his.

He’s never felt anything like this before. Never felt so … complete. So at peace. So whole.

You’re his. Finally.

And he’s never letting you go.

With a soft, contented sigh, Charles settles in behind you, his body curled protectively around yours as he holds you close. He stays inside you, his cock still nestled deep, the warmth and softness of your body enveloping him. He’s never felt anything like this before — this perfect, blissful sense of rightness, of belonging.

He leans down, his lips brushing over the back of your neck, his breath a soft, warm whisper against your skin. “Mine,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You’re mine, ma chérie. My good girl. My perfect girl.”

You let out a soft, sleepy sigh, your body shifting slightly in his arms, and Charles smiles, his heart swelling with a fierce, possessive joy. You’re his. And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with him.

Slowly, he closes his eyes, his arms tightening around you as he lets himself drift, his breath evening out as he falls into a deep, contented sleep. The last thing he feels is the steady beat of your heart, the soft warmth of your body, and the perfect, blissful sense of belonging that comes with knowing …

You’re his. Finally, irrevocably, and forever his.

***

The morning light spills softly into the bedroom, casting a warm, golden glow across the sheets tangled around your body. Charles wakes slowly, the remnants of sleep clinging to his mind like a fog as he blinks his eyes open. The first thing he feels is you — still warm and soft against him, your body completely relaxed, your head nestled against his shoulder.

He’s still inside you.

The realization makes something tighten in his chest, something dark and possessive and overwhelmingly satisfied. You’re still so tight around him, so soft and warm, your body fitting perfectly against his. He should feel guilty. He should feel remorse or shame or some shred of decency for what he’s done.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stays still, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the gentle curve of your mouth, the delicate flutter of your eyelashes against your cheeks. You’re still fast asleep, your breathing slow and steady, your chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm that matches the beating of his heart.

His.

You’re finally his.

The thought makes his breath hitch, his gaze darkening as he watches you, a fierce, possessive satisfaction washing over him. He’s been waiting so long for this — been wanting you for years, watching you from a distance as you smiled and laughed and loved his brother instead of him. And now you’re finally here, wrapped up in his arms, his cock still buried deep inside you.

He tightens his hold on you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulls you closer, your body shifting slightly in your sleep. You murmur softly, a small, sleepy sound escaping your lips, and Charles’ chest tightens, his heart swelling with something almost too big to name.

He could stay like this forever. Could spend the rest of his life holding you like this, feeling your warmth, your softness, the gentle, perfect way your body molds to his. But the light filtering through the curtains is growing brighter, the morning creeping steadily in, and he knows he can’t stay like this forever. There’s too much to do. Too much to take care of.

Too many loose ends to tie up.

Carefully, slowly, he shifts, pulling out of you with a soft, reluctant sigh. His cock slips free, and he watches, mesmerized, as a trickle of his release follows, sliding down your inner thigh to stain the sheets beneath you. Something dark and primal stirs in his chest at the sight, his fingers itching to reach out and touch, to gather up the evidence of his possession and push it back inside you where it belongs.

But he resists. You’re still sleeping, your face soft and peaceful, your body completely relaxed. He doesn’t want to wake you — not yet, at least. You need your rest after last night. You need time to recover, to heal, to get used to the new reality of being his.

Instead, he pulls the covers up over you, tucking them gently around your body before slipping out of bed. His feet hit the cool floor with a soft thud, and he bends down, retrieving his discarded boxers from the pile of clothes spilling out of the bathroom. The fabric is soft and worn against his skin as he slips them on, his gaze drifting back to you, sprawled out on the bed, your hair a tangled mess on the pillow.

He’ll let you sleep a little longer, he decides. You’ve earned it.

He’s just turning away, his fingers brushing through his own tousled hair, when the sound of a knock echoes through the apartment.

Charles freezes, his entire body going still, his gaze snapping toward the bedroom door. The knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent, and a flicker of irritation sparks in his chest.

Who the hell-

Another knock, and Charles’ jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together as he stalks out of the bedroom, his bare feet silent against the floor. The apartment is quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of his movements as he makes his way to the front door.

He knows who it is before he even reaches for the handle.

Knows, because he’s been waiting for this — waiting for the moment when everything comes crashing down, when the reality of what he’s done, what he’s taken, finally hits his brother.

The door swings open, and there he is.

Arthur stands in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide and wild with something close to panic. He’s still in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, his hair a mess, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes.

“Charles?” His voice is rough, a strange, desperate edge to it. He looks … lost. Confused. Like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing.

And then his gaze drops, taking in the sight of Charles standing there in nothing but his boxers, his bare chest still flushed with the lingering heat of last night. Arthur’s mouth opens, then closes, his eyes narrowing as something sharp and dangerous flickers across his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Charles’ expression doesn’t change. He leans against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He should feel bad — should feel guilty or ashamed or something for what he’s done.

But he doesn’t.

“Good morning to you too, Arthur,” he drawls, his voice calm, almost bored. “What brings you here so early?”

Arthur’s hands clench into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he glares at his older brother. “Don’t play games with me, Charles. What the hell are you doing here? Why are you in her apartment?”

Charles’ gaze flicks over him, taking in the way his shoulders are hunched, the way his hands shake with barely contained anger. He almost feels a pang of pity.

Almost.

“I think the better question,” he murmurs, his voice soft and even, “is why you’re here, Arthur.”

Arthur blinks, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Charles straightens, pushing off the doorframe as he steps forward, his gaze steady and unflinching. “She doesn’t want to see you anymore,” he says quietly, his voice firm and unyielding. “Your relationship is over.”

Arthur’s mouth falls open, shock and confusion and a hundred other emotions flickering across his face. “What — what the fuck are you talking about?” He stammers, his voice rising in pitch. “What do you mean, it’s over? She — she wouldn’t-”

“She did,” Charles interrupts, his tone cold and matter-of-fact. “She ended it last night. She doesn’t want to be with you anymore. It’s over.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the silence that follows thick and suffocating. Arthur stares at him, his eyes wide and disbelieving, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He looks … broken.

Charles almost feels a pang of guilt.

Almost.

But then he remembers the way you looked last night — the way you moaned and gasped and begged for him, your body arching beneath his, your lips parted in breathless pleasure. He remembers the way you whispered his name, the way you clung to him, the way you gave yourself to him so completely, so perfectly.

And any trace of guilt or remorse disappears, replaced by a fierce, possessive satisfaction.

Arthur was a necessary sacrifice. A means to an end. Something to be discarded and forgotten now that he has you. Now that you’re his.

“Charles, this — this is insane,” Arthur chokes out, his voice shaking. “You’re — you’re sick. You’ve always been obsessed with her, but I never thought-”

“Careful, Arthur,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. He takes another step forward, his gaze locking with his brother’s, his expression cold and unyielding. “You’re starting to sound like you don’t believe me.”

Arthur’s face twists, a snarl curling his lips as he takes a step back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re lying,” he spits, his voice thick with rage. “You’re fucking lying. She wouldn’t — she wouldn’t do that.”

“She did,” Charles says calmly, his gaze never wavering. “And if you care about her at all, you’ll respect her decision. You’ll leave her alone.”

Arthur’s chest heaves, his breath coming hard and fast as he glares at his older brother, his eyes wild with desperation and fury. “You’re — you’re a fucking monster,” he breathes, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “She’s — she’s everything to me, Charles. You can’t just-”

“She’s not yours,” Charles cuts him off, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “She was never yours. And now, she’s mine.”

The words are a final blow, a cruel, cutting truth that shatters whatever fragile hope Arthur was still clinging to. His shoulders sag, his head bowing as the fight drains out of him, leaving him hollow and broken and utterly defeated.

“Get out,” Charles says quietly, his voice calm and cold and unyielding. “And don’t come back.”

Arthur stares at him for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes filled with pain and betrayal and a thousand other emotions Charles doesn’t care to name. And then, slowly, he turns, his movements stiff and mechanical as he stumbles back down the hallway.

Charles watches him go, his gaze dark and unreadable, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

Charles closes the door softly, the lock clicking into place with a finality that makes his chest swell with satisfaction. He doesn’t spare another thought for Arthur, doesn’t bother with the remnants of guilt still faintly tugging at the edges of his mind. It’s done. He’s gone.

You’re all that matters now.

He turns away from the door, the apartment eerily quiet as he pads silently back down the hallway. The morning light is streaming in through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor, but everything is still, peaceful. The calm after the storm.

When he reaches the bedroom, his eyes find you immediately. You haven’t moved. Still lying there, curled up under the sheets, your hair a soft halo on the pillow, your face turned slightly to the side. You look so peaceful, so innocent, so his. He watches you for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, his entire body thrumming with an electric anticipation.

He can’t help himself.

Slowly, he slips out of his boxers, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a careless heap. He’s hard again — has been since Arthur’s interruption, the confrontation with his brother only heightening the possessive desire coursing through his veins. He wants to claim you all over again. Wants to bury himself inside you, make you moan and gasp and beg for him like you did last night.

Wants to remind himself that you’re his and his alone.

The bed dips under his weight as he crawls in beside you, the mattress creaking softly as he settles in, his body pressed against your side. He moves slowly, careful not to wake you just yet, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of your neck, the soft rise and fall of your chest. He leans in, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his mouth trailing down the smooth line of your back, his hands sliding under the covers to caress your skin.

You murmur softly in your sleep, a small, content sound that makes something tighten low in his belly. He shifts, his hand trailing down your back, over the curve of your hip, his fingers brushing the soft skin of your thigh. Slowly, carefully, he moves, spreading your legs just enough to make room for him as he positions himself between them.

His cock presses against your entrance, the heat of your body searing against his skin. He pauses, his breath catching in his throat as he waits, his gaze locked on your face. You’re still sleeping, still blissfully unaware, and he bites back a groan, his hands trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

But only for a moment.

He pushes forward, just a fraction, just enough to feel the tight, wet heat of you enveloping him, your body resisting for a split second before yielding to his intrusion. He bites down on his lip, a soft hiss escaping as he inches in deeper, his hands braced on either side of your body, his chest pressed against your back.

You stir, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as your body tightens around him, your back arching slightly in response. He freezes, his gaze snapping to your face, watching as your brows furrow, your lips parting in a soft, breathless moan.

“Charles …” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep, confused and disoriented as you shift beneath him. “What …”

“Shhh,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leans down, his voice low and soothing. “It’s okay, baby. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

You shudder, your body trembling beneath him as he presses in deeper, the sheets rustling softly as he moves. He’s careful, slow, giving you time to adjust, his hands sliding up to cradle your hips, his thumbs brushing soothingly over your skin.

“Charles …” you breathe again, your voice a soft, broken whisper as your body arches against his, your legs parting wider to accommodate him. “What are you-”

“I couldn’t wait,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with need as he thrusts in the rest of the way, his hips pressing flush against your ass. You gasp, your body clenching around him, a soft whimper escaping your lips. “I couldn’t wait to be inside you again. To wake you up like this.”

Your breath hitches, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he pulls out, just a fraction, before pushing back in, his movements slow and deliberate. “Charles, I-”

“Shhh,” he soothes, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the curve of your waist. “Just feel me, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

You’re still half-asleep, your mind foggy and slow, your body moving on instinct as he starts to move, his hips rocking gently against yours. He’s barely holding back, his entire body strung tight with need, the urge to fuck you hard and fast and claim you again roaring in his veins.

But he holds back. Takes his time. He wants you to feel every inch of him, wants you to wake up to the sensation of him buried deep inside you, stretching you, filling you completely.

“I can’t wait to do this every day,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the nape of your neck, his voice a low, possessive growl. “Every morning. Every night. For the rest of our lives.”

You moan softly, your body shuddering beneath him as his words sink in, your breath coming faster, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants. “Charles, I-”

“You’re mine,” he breathes, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate, each movement designed to remind you exactly who you belong to. “You’re mine, baby. And I’m never letting you go.”

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your head falling back against his shoulder as he fucks you slowly, thoroughly, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasp, your back arching, your body tightening around him, and Charles groans, his own control fraying at the edges.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rough and thick with need. “So tight and wet and perfect for me.”

“Charles …” you whimper, your voice a broken, desperate plea, your body trembling beneath him. “I — please, I-”

“Shhh,” he soothes, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw as he thrusts in deep, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “It’s okay, mon ange. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He can feel you starting to fall apart, your body tightening around him, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. He knows you’re close — can feel it in the way your body clenches and quivers, in the soft, breathless moans slipping from your lips.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough command as he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours in quick, shallow thrusts. “Come on, let me feel you.”

You shudder, a broken, desperate sob escaping your lips as your body tenses, your muscles locking up as pleasure crashes over you, your entire body trembling with the force of it. Charles groans, his own release building, his cock throbbing as you tighten around him, milking him, drawing him deeper.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice thick with praise and satisfaction as he thrusts in hard, his hands gripping your hips as he buries himself deep, his release hitting him like a freight train. “Such a good girl.”

He stays there, buried deep inside you, his chest heaving, his heart pounding as the last waves of pleasure roll through him. You’re still trembling, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps, your body pliant and boneless beneath him.

“Charles …” you murmur softly, your voice a sleepy, sated whisper as your eyes flutter open, your gaze dazed and unfocused. “I-”

He shifts, his hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your lips. “It’s okay, mon amour,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Go back to sleep. I’m here.”

You sigh softly, your eyes drifting closed again as sleep pulls you under, your body relaxing completely beneath his. Charles watches you for a long moment, his gaze softening, his chest tightening with something almost too big to name.

You’re his.

And he’s never letting you go.

With a soft sigh, he lowers his head, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder as he shifts, his body molding to yours. He’s still inside you, still connected, still a part of you. And that’s exactly where he wants to be.

Where he’s always wanted to be.

His arms tighten around you, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent, the warmth of your body seeping into his. He can feel sleep tugging at the edges of his mind, but he doesn’t fight it. Not this time.

Not when he’s finally, finally where he belongs.

With you.

For now. For always. Forever.

***

Charles isn’t entirely sure how many weeks it’s been since that morning. Since Arthur. Since everything changed. But the blur of days and nights, of waking up beside you, of coaxing you into his bed, into his apartment, into his life, has been the sweetest kind of haze.

It’s been a slow, deliberate process. Each night, he asks you to stay a little longer. Each morning, he insists on making you coffee, on sharing a quick breakfast, on driving you to work. He’s patient, meticulous, letting you come to him little by little, your things finding their way into his space in a way that feels natural, unforced.

Until it’s not just a toothbrush left in his bathroom, but your favorite skincare products. Not just a spare shirt, but an entire drawer full of your clothes. Not just a book or two, but stacks of them lining his shelves, mingling with his own, your life slowly intertwining with his in every way.

It’s intoxicating, watching you settle in, watching you relax, watching you start to think of his space as yours. It’s almost too easy.

Every evening, when he casually suggests you bring over something else — a few more clothes, your laptop so you can work from his place, that blanket you love because his living room gets drafty — your hesitation fades a little more. And every time you say yes, every time you come over and unpack just one more bag, his heart clenches with a satisfaction so intense it’s nearly painful.

Tonight, it’s the same routine. You’ve brought over another bag, this one heavier than usual. Charles watches, hiding a smile, as you kick off your shoes in the hallway, setting the bag down with a small, relieved sigh.

“Did you bring your entire closet this time?” He teases, leaning against the doorway, his eyes tracing the curve of your body as you stretch, your sweater riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. The sight makes his fingers itch to touch, to pull you close and never let go.

“Just the essentials,” you reply lightly, your voice warm and teasing as you give him a playful look. “You told me to, remember?”

“Did I?” He raises an eyebrow, pretending to think. “I must’ve forgotten. Or maybe I just want you to have everything you need here.”

“Everything?” You tilt your head, giving him a curious look. “What are you saying, Charles?”

He pushes off the doorway, crossing the short distance between you in a few easy strides. He stops in front of you, his hands finding your hips, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your jeans in slow, deliberate circles.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs, leaning in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you should just stay here. For good.”

He feels the way you stiffen, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. “Charles, I-”

“Think about it,” he cuts in softly, his voice low and soothing. “You’re here almost every night anyway. You have more clothes here than you do at your place. It just makes sense.”

“Sense,” you echo, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “But-”

“You’re wasting money on rent for a place you barely stay at,” he continues, not letting you pull away, his hands tightening on your hips. “Why would you need that when you could just be here with me?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to his chest, your teeth worrying your bottom lip. “I don’t know, it’s just … it feels so fast.”

“Fast?” He huffs a soft laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “It’s been weeks. We’ve known each other for years. There’s nothing fast about this.”

“I know, but …” You trail off, shaking your head slightly, your brows furrowing as if you’re trying to find the right words. “I just — Charles, I don’t want to rush things.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze tracing your face, taking in the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your lips are pressed into a thin line, the way your body is tense under his touch. He can feel your hesitation, your reluctance, the lingering doubt that’s keeping you from taking that final step.

And he knows exactly how to make it go away.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to his knees, his hands sliding down your body to rest on your thighs. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and intense, his fingers curling into the waistband of your jeans.

“Charles, what are you-”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost coaxing. “Let me show you how much I want this. How much I want you.”

You swallow, your throat working as you look down at him, your eyes wide, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. He waits, watching the way your pupils dilate, the way your hands twitch at your sides, the way your body sways just slightly toward him.

And then he moves.

His hands find the button of your jeans, flicking it open with a quick, practiced motion, the sound of the zipper rasping loud in the quiet apartment. He pulls the fabric down, his fingers brushing over the soft skin of your thighs, your legs, until he’s stripped you bare from the waist down, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly, your hands fluttering at your sides. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he leans in, his mouth brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Let me.”

He can feel the way your body tenses, the way your breath catches, the way your legs tremble slightly as he presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. He takes his time, his mouth moving higher, his tongue darting out to taste, to tease, until he reaches the delicate lace of your panties.

He looks up at you, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips, his thumbs brushing over the edge of the lace. He waits, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, your lips parted, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

It’s all he needs.

With a low, satisfied hum, he hooks his fingers into the lace, pulling it to the side, exposing you to his gaze. He leans in, his mouth brushing over your folds, his tongue darting out for a quick, teasing lick.

You gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers curling into his shirt as your body jolts in response. He grins, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in again, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path over your clit.

“Charles — oh god-” You choke out, your voice breaking as he licks again, his mouth moving with slow, practiced precision. He can feel the way your body is trembling, the way your fingers are digging into his shoulders, your breath coming in quick, desperate pants.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Knows exactly how to push you to the edge.

He laps at you slowly, deliberately, his tongue teasing and tasting, his mouth moving with a languid, almost lazy rhythm. He wants to savor this, wants to make you fall apart slowly, wants to make you feel.

You’re moaning now, your head falling back, your body arching against his mouth as he licks and sucks, his tongue swirling over your clit, his lips brushing against your folds. He can feel the way you’re trembling, the way your body is tensing, the way your breath is coming in quick, ragged gasps.

“Please — oh god, please-”

He pulls back slightly, his gaze flicking up to yours, his breath hot against your skin. “Please what, mon cœur?”

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, your voice a broken, desperate plea. “Please, don’t stop.”

He grins, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in again, his tongue flicking over your clit, his mouth moving with a relentless, determined rhythm. He can feel the way you’re trembling, the way your body is tightening, the way your breath is coming in quick, shallow pants.

And then you’re coming apart, your body arching against his mouth, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as you cry out, your release crashing over you in waves. He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he holds you steady, his tongue moving slowly, gently, coaxing every last tremor from your body.

When you finally collapse against him, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps, he pulls back, his mouth slick and wet, his gaze locked on yours.

“You belong with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your thigh. “Say you’ll stay.”

“I-” You swallow, your voice trembling as you look down at him, your eyes wide and dazed, your body still trembling. “Okay.”

He smiles, satisfaction and triumph blooming in his chest as he stands, his hands finding your waist, pulling you close. “Good girl.”

And just like that, you’re his.

***

The soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware fill the cozy space of Charles’ apartment. The dinner table is set beautifully, as always — warm, ambient light filtering through the modern chandelier above, casting gentle shadows on the polished wooden surface. Plates are lined with an assortment of carefully prepared dishes, most of which you helped with under his guidance, the evening flowing seamlessly in the comfortable domesticity they’ve created together.

Charles glances across the table, his gaze settling on you with the same fierce, possessive warmth that’s become more familiar over the past few weeks. You’re laughing softly at something he said, fingers wrapped loosely around the delicate stem of your wine glass. He leans back, watching you take another slow sip, and waits.

And then it happens.

You lower the glass, a slight furrow forming between your brows, your nose scrunching up in confusion. “Hmm, that’s … strange.”

Charles cocks his head, feigning curiosity. “What is?”

“This …” You frown, swirling the liquid gently, as if expecting the taste to change with the motion. “I don’t know. The wine tastes … different tonight.”

“Different?” He raises a brow, playing along, watching the subtle flicker of emotions cross your face. Confusion. Curiosity. Just the hint of concern. “How so?”

“I can’t really explain it,” you say, looking up at him, your lips quirking with a slight grimace. “It’s like it’s missing something.”

He lets the silence stretch for a beat, then two, before leaning forward slightly, his fingers drumming once against the table. “That’s because it’s not wine.”

The statement hangs in the air, and you blink, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“It’s sparkling grape juice,” he clarifies, his voice calm, as if discussing the weather, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him, your expression shifting from confusion to outright bewilderment. “Grape juice? Why would you-”

“Because,” Charles interrupts gently, leaning forward, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet intensity, “we haven’t used protection. Not once. And if … if you’re already pregnant, I don’t want to risk anything.”

He watches the way your face goes slack with shock, the way your fingers tense around the stem of your glass, your knuckles whitening. For a moment, it’s as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Pregnant?” The word slips out in a whisper, almost inaudible, your voice trembling on the single syllable.

“Yes, ma chérie,” he murmurs, standing slowly, moving around the table with deliberate ease. His eyes never leave yours, every step measured, controlled, calculated. “It’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

“Charles-” You’re shaking your head now, as if trying to dispel the thought, as if the mere suggestion is too much to handle. “I … I can’t be … I’m not-”

“We don’t know that,” he counters softly, his voice almost a purr as he closes the distance, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. He feels the way your body tenses under his touch, the way you’re holding yourself so still, like a deer caught in headlights. “And if you are …”

He trails off, his hand sliding down to your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin in slow, soothing strokes. You don’t move, don’t pull away, your gaze locked on his, wide and unblinking, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your forearm. “It’s okay. Just breathe, baby.”

“But-” You’re struggling to find words now, your voice breaking on the sound, your eyes darting wildly, like you’re searching for some kind of escape, some kind of explanation that makes this all make sense. “I — we didn’t. We-”

“I know,” he soothes, his tone soft, patient, as if he’s speaking to a frightened child. “I know. But these things happen. And if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”

You stare at him, your chest heaving, your fingers trembling against the table. He can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear, the uncertainty, the way your mind is racing, struggling to process what he’s just said.

“I-I don’t-” You swallow hard, your throat working, your gaze flicking away, like you can’t bear to look at him, like you’re trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “I can’t be pregnant. I can’t-”

“But what if you are?” He murmurs, stepping closer, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with feather-light pressure. “What if, right now, there’s a little piece of us growing inside you?”

You let out a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, your shoulders trembling under his touch. “Charles, please, I … I can’t-”

“Shhh.” He moves in closer, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, his body pressing against yours, caging you in, holding you steady. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay?” You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, your hands coming up to press against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “How can this be okay?”

“Because,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. “Because it would be a good thing. Because I love you. Because this is what I want.”

“Charles …” You sound lost, your voice wavering, your fingers clenching in his shirt, like you’re trying to ground yourself, like you’re trying to hold onto something solid, something real. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I don’t know if I can-”

“You can,” he murmurs, his voice firm, reassuring. “You can, and you will. And I’ll be right here with you every step of the way.”

He tilts your head up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and intense, his expression softening as he takes in the fear, the confusion, the overwhelming uncertainty swirling in your eyes.

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, his gaze locked on yours. “If you’re pregnant, it’s because it’s meant to be. Because we’re meant to be. This is a good thing, baby. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Charles, I …” You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes, your voice breaking on a sob. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not-”

“You’ll be perfect,” he whispers, his hands tightening on your face, his gaze burning into yours. “You’ll be the perfect mother, and I’ll be the perfect father, and we’ll be the perfect family. You and me. And our baby.”

“Our baby,” you repeat, your voice a broken, breathless whisper, the words catching in your throat like you can’t quite believe them.

“Yes.” He smiles, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Ours.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your body trembling in his arms, your eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. He can see the way you’re struggling, the way you’re fighting to hold onto something, anything, that makes sense, that feels real.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs again, his voice a low, soothing murmur, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. “I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“But-”

“No buts.” He cuts you off gently, his lips brushing against your temple, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. And I’ll be right here with you. No matter what.”

You let out a soft, broken sob, your body crumpling against his, your fingers clutching at his shirt as you bury your face in his chest. He holds you, his hands stroking your back, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he whispers reassurances, promises, vows.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. “You’ll see. It’ll be perfect. Just like you.”

He tightens his arms around you, his gaze dark and possessive as he stares over your head, his mind already racing, already planning, already imagining what it’ll be like.

A baby. A family. A future.

His.

All his.

***

Charles has always been meticulous — about his training, his racing, every part of his life carefully calculated, a system he maintains with the precision of a clock. But this, this is different. This is obsession. And it consumes him entirely.

It started the morning after the conversation, when you looked so fragile, cradled in his arms, your voice a whisper of uncertainty. Charles felt something shift inside him, something deep and primal. He’d reassured you, soothed you, but the truth was, he already knew. He could feel it in his bones: this was happening. This had to happen.

For weeks, he watches you closely. Everything you do, every move you make — he sees it all. You, oblivious in your softness, in the way you trust him, rely on him. You don’t see the way he lingers on you when you aren’t paying attention, how his eyes darken with possessive thoughts. You don’t notice the subtle changes in the way he cares for you, the little routines he’s established — checking your moods, your energy levels, the way your skin looks, the tiniest shifts in your appetite.

Charles starts tracking everything. He memorizes your menstrual cycle, noting the dates carefully, storing them in his phone, his mind keeping a careful countdown to when things might change. When you might miss it. It’s a private ritual now, something he doesn’t share with you, something he keeps close to his chest. It feels like power, like control, like the final piece falling into place.

When you’re a few days late, Charles feels it before you do. He watches your morning routines with more focus than ever, noting your subtle tiredness, the slight changes in your mood. You don’t even realize, but he knows. The idea of telling you swells in his chest, but he holds back. Not yet. Not until he’s sure.

Instead, he begins preparing, silently, methodically.

Every morning, Charles brings you lemon water, just like always, but now with a small twist. He crushes prenatal vitamins into the glass before mixing it, careful to stir it in completely so the powder dissolves. He watches as you take your first sip, the way your lips curl around the edge of the glass, unaware of the extra care he’s put into it. He knows it’s too early, far too early to be certain, but that doesn’t stop him. He wants you and the potential life growing inside you to be nourished, prepared.

In the evenings, it’s the same ritual with your tart cherry juice, the one you love before bed. You’ve commented how well you’ve been sleeping lately, how rested you’ve been feeling. Charles smiles at that, hiding his satisfaction behind his glass. He can already imagine the next steps, the way your body will change, grow round with his child, the way your life will transform to center around him and the future he’s already decided for both of you.

When you fall asleep at night, Charles often stays awake, his mind racing, his hand drifting to your belly while you breathe softly beside him. His palm lingers there, the flatness of your stomach warm beneath his touch, and he lets his mind wander — imagining how in just a few short months, that same spot will be rounded, filled with life. His life. His blood. The perfect blend of both of you.

He closes his eyes and pictures it — how you’ll look swollen with his child, how your body will change, become fuller, softer, more his than ever. He pictures you, tired and glowing, his hand resting possessively over your bump, the world knowing exactly who you belong to.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the room is still and your breath is steady in your sleep, Charles whispers to your belly. His lips brush against your skin, words murmured softly into the night, a promise to the life growing there. He tells you how he’ll take care of you, how everything will be perfect. How you don’t need to worry, because he’ll handle everything.

He tells you how much he loves you, how this is what he’s wanted all along.

In the mornings, you don’t seem to notice the small changes in him, the way he hovers just a bit more, the way his touch lingers on your stomach longer than it used to. You think it’s tenderness, maybe affection, and in a way, it is. But it’s more than that — it’s control, it’s possession, it’s the weight of something bigger than either of you.

One evening, over dinner, Charles watches you more intently than usual. You’re laughing, oblivious, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him. You’ve been tired lately — more than usual — and you’ve mentioned feeling a bit off, but you brush it away, thinking it’s just stress, or maybe a cold coming on. He nods, agreeing with you, but inside, he knows better. He knows exactly what’s happening.

After dinner, as you’re curled up on the couch, Charles leans against the kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on you, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You glance up at him, your head tilted in question.

“What?” You ask, a soft laugh in your voice.

“Nothing,” he replies smoothly, moving towards you. “Just … thinking.”

“About what?”

Charles sits beside you, pulling you gently into his lap, his hands resting on your hips. He brushes a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment before he speaks, his voice low, careful.

“About how lucky I am.”

You smile, relaxing against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “You’re sweet.”

He hums in response, his hand trailing down to your stomach, his fingers spreading across the flat surface. You don’t seem to notice the significance of the gesture, too lost in the warmth of his touch, the closeness between you.

“We should talk about the future,” he says suddenly, his voice calm but firm.

You shift slightly in his lap, looking up at him with a hint of surprise. “What do you mean?”

Charles’ fingers trace absent circles over your stomach, his gaze darkening as he imagines the changes that are coming. “I mean … where we’re heading. Together.”

You blink, the question hanging between you, heavy with implications. “We’ve talked about the future before.”

“Not like this.” His voice is steady, his thumb brushing over your skin with deliberate care. “I mean … in a few months, things could change. We could be expecting.”

Your breath catches, and for a brief moment, he feels you stiffen in his arms. But he’s prepared for this, for your uncertainty, your hesitation. He’s been planting the seeds for weeks now, and he knows exactly how to ease you into it.

“I don’t think I’m …” You trail off, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Charles’ grip tightens just a fraction, not enough for you to notice, but enough for him to feel the need to maintain control. “You don’t have to be ready right now,” he says softly, his tone soothing. “But when it happens — if it happens — it’ll be the most beautiful thing in the world.”

You swallow hard, your fingers curling slightly against his chest. “I just … I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’ll take care of everything. You know that.”

He feels you nod slowly, your body relaxing slightly in his arms, and he knows he’s won, at least for now. He plants a kiss on your forehead, holding you close, his hand never leaving your stomach.

In the quiet of the night, when you’re fast asleep, Charles slips out of bed and heads to the kitchen, carefully preparing your morning lemon water. The vitamins are crushed to a fine powder, dissolved into the liquid, the routine seamless now. He’s preparing you, your body, for the life he’s creating with you, and soon enough, you’ll know it too.

When he returns to bed, he slides in behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his hand resting once again on your stomach. He falls asleep that way, his dreams filled with the image of you — round, glowing, full with his child.

His future is set. And you? You belong to him completely now.

***

Charles is lounging on the couch when you walk in, your eyes wide and rimmed with red. He looks up, a subtle smile curving his lips as he watches you shuffle closer. You seem nervous, almost hesitant — he’s noticed it for days now, the way you’ve been quiet, reflective. But he doesn’t prod. He doesn’t ask. He’s been waiting for this, letting it build, savoring the anticipation. And now, it’s finally here.

You stand before him, clutching something small in your hand, your fingers trembling. He sees it, the faint outline of the white plastic, and his heart quickens, a rush of satisfaction coursing through him. But he schools his features into calm curiosity, tilting his head as if he has no idea what’s coming.

“Charles …” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, wavering with emotion. “I, um, I have something to show you.”

He sets his book aside, focusing all his attention on you. “What is it, ma chérie?” The endearment falls from his lips smoothly, wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

You take a shaky breath, stepping closer. Then, with a trembling hand, you hold out the pregnancy test. Charles lets his gaze drop to it, his brow furrowing in feigned confusion. He lets the silence stretch, just for a moment, just enough to feel the weight of your emotions press into him.

“What …” He blinks, his eyes widening as if in realization, then flicks his gaze up to meet yours, his mouth falling open slightly. “Is that-”

You nod quickly, your breath hitching, a sob escaping your lips. “I’m pregnant, Charles,” you choke out, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I-I didn’t know how to tell you, and I’m so scared, and-”

He’s up in a second, his arms wrapping around you tightly, pulling you against his chest. He holds you close, feeling the way you tremble against him, your tears soaking into his shirt. He strokes your hair, his other hand sliding down to rest on your back, keeping you anchored to him.

“Shh, mon amour, shh,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, tender. He presses his lips to the top of your head, breathing you in. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.”

You clutch at his shirt, your sobs muffled against his chest. “I-I didn’t think … I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

He pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. His eyes search yours, a soft, affectionate smile forming on his lips. “I can’t believe it …” he murmurs, letting his voice crack with supposed disbelief. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod again, more tears spilling over, your emotions a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. “Y-Yes … I just found out. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but-” You break off, another sob tearing through you. “Charles, I’m so scared. What if-”

“Hey, look at me.” His voice is firm now, his grip on your face gentle but unyielding. He waits until your eyes lock onto his, your gaze swimming with emotion. “This is the best news I’ve ever received, okay? You’re carrying our child. Our baby.” He pauses, letting the words sink in, then leans forward to kiss your forehead, lingering there, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so happy, mon amour. So, so happy.”

He feels your body soften against his, the tension easing slightly. But there’s still that uncertainty in your eyes, that flicker of doubt that makes his heart tighten. You’re so fragile, so beautifully breakable. And he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you never feel that doubt again.

“Come here,” he whispers, taking the test from your hand and setting it aside on the coffee table. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands settling on your hips, guiding you until you’re straddling him, your knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his thighs.

“Charles …” you start, but he shushes you gently, his hands sliding up your sides, tracing the shape of your waist, the curve of your breasts. He can’t stop touching you, can’t keep his hands still, not when you’re sitting on him like this, flushed and teary-eyed, carrying his child.

“Let me show you how happy you’ve made me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw, trailing soft kisses along your skin. He feels you shiver, your hands gripping his shoulders, your breath hitching as he nips lightly at your neck. “Let me celebrate with you, hmm?”

Your response is a broken sound, half-whimper, half-sob, your body leaning into his touch. He shifts beneath you, his hands moving to your thighs, pushing up the hem of your dress. He feels the fabric slide higher, baring more of your skin, and he can’t help the way his fingers tighten, his grip almost bruising.

“Do you know how much I love you?” He breathes against your ear, his voice low, rough with want. “How much I love the thought of you carrying my baby?”

You shake your head, your eyes fluttering closed as he moves lower, his mouth trailing over your collarbone, leaving a path of heat in its wake. “N-no … I … I don’t know …”

Charles growls softly, his hands sliding up to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him. He’s hard, straining against his pants, and he can see the way your cheeks flush, the way your breath catches as you feel him. “I’m going to make you feel it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot on your throat that always makes you squirm. “I’m going to make sure you know just how much I love you, how much I need you.”

Before you can respond, he’s lifting you, positioning you over him. His hands are firm on your hips as he drags you down slowly, letting you sink onto him inch by inch. He watches your face, the way your eyes widen, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He feels every tremble, every quiver of your muscles as you take him, and it’s almost too much. Almost.

But he drags it out, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your skin. He doesn’t let you move, doesn’t let you do anything but feel. He’s deep, too deep, and he can see the way your body strains, the way you’re already close to unraveling, and he loves it. Loves seeing you like this — vulnerable, overwhelmed, completely at his mercy.

“Charles,” you whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Please, I-”

“Shh, chérie,” he coos, his hands holding you still as he thrusts up slowly, savoring the way you tighten around him, the way you moan helplessly. “You’re okay. Just let me take care of you.”

He sets a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thrusts deep and measured, his eyes locked on your face. He watches every flicker of emotion, every gasp, every tear that slips down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, incoherent with need, your body trembling as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” you beg, your voice breaking, your hips trying to move against him, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps you still, his thrusts controlled, his gaze never leaving yours. “Please, Charles, I need-”

“I know what you need,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. He pulls you down harder, driving into you with a force that makes you cry out, your head falling back. He feels the way you clench around him, the way your body convulses, and he knows you’re close, so close. “But I’m not going to give it to you yet. Not until I know you understand.”

“Understand w-what?” You sob, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling desperately.

“That you’re mine,” he growls, his thrusts quickening, his grip on your hips almost punishing. “That you and this baby — everything — belongs to me.”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours, I-” Your voice breaks, your body arching against him, and he finally lets you move, lets you ride him, lets you take what you need.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his hands guiding you, his own release building, tightening in his core. “That’s it, baby, take what you need. Show me how much you want it.”

You shatter around him, your body convulsing, your sobs filling the room. He feels you come undone, feels the way you squeeze him, and it sends him over the edge, his own release crashing through him. He buries himself deep, holding you against him as he spills into you, his teeth gritted, his eyes squeezed shut.

For a moment, everything is still, the only sound your ragged breathing, the quiet hum of satisfaction filling the space between you.

Then he moves, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his hands stroking your back gently, soothingly.

“See?” He whispers, his lips brushing against your skin. “We’re going to be so happy, mon amour. You, me, and our baby. Everything will be perfect.”

***

The bell above the shop door jingles softly as you step into the boutique, the warm, perfumed air inside a welcome contrast to the chilly breeze outside. Charles follows behind you, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as you browse through the racks of maternity clothes. Your stomach is starting to show now, rounding out beneath the soft fabric of your sweater, a tangible reminder of the life growing inside you.

Charles glances down at your belly, a surge of pride swelling in his chest. He loves seeing you like this — loves the way your body is changing, loves the way you’ve become even more beautiful, more radiant. You’re glowing, in every sense of the word, and he can’t get enough of it.

“Do you like this one?” You ask, holding up a pale blue dress, your voice hesitant.

Charles steps closer, his hand sliding from your back to your waist, resting just above your bump. He tilts his head, considering the dress for a moment, before nodding with a smile.

“It’s perfect,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

You smile shyly, your fingers smoothing over the fabric, and Charles feels a pang of possessiveness twist in his gut. He loves how soft and uncertain you’ve become lately, how much more you lean on him, rely on him. The pregnancy has made you vulnerable, and he thrives on it. He loves that you need him now, in a way you never did before.

As you make your way to the changing rooms, Charles lingers by the front of the shop, his eyes scanning the street outside through the large glass windows. He’s always on alert, always watching. He has to be. The thought of anyone — or anything — interrupting this perfect life he’s built with you sends a cold shiver down his spine.

And then he sees him.

Arthur.

Standing across the street, frozen in place, his eyes locked on Charles through the glass.

Charles’ entire body tenses, his jaw clenching tightly. He can see the shock in Arthur’s expression, the way his eyes flicker past Charles, searching for something — no, for someone.

You.

Arthur’s gaze drops to the shop window, and Charles knows exactly what he’s looking at. Your silhouette, your round belly. The truth hitting Arthur like a punch to the gut.

For a brief, panicked moment, Charles’ mind races. He thought he’d been careful. He’s kept Arthur away from you, made sure to cover all his tracks, kept you isolated from anything or anyone that could pull you back into your old life. He’s been meticulous, perfect in his control.

But now, standing across the street, is the one person Charles never wanted you to see again.

Arthur begins to move, his feet carrying him across the street with determined strides, and Charles feels a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck. He can’t let this happen. Not now. Not when everything is so perfect.

You emerge from the changing room, your face bright and cheerful as you smooth the fabric of the blue dress over your belly. “What do you think?” You ask, spinning around slightly to give him a full view.

Before Charles can respond, the door to the boutique swings open with a sharp clang, and Arthur steps inside.

“Y/N,” Arthur’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, filled with shock, disbelief, and something else — something darker, more dangerous.

You freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn to face him. For a moment, the three of you are locked in a tense, suffocating silence. You glance between them, confusion written all over your face.

“Arthur?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

Charles steps forward, immediately positioning himself between you and his younger brother, his hand gripping your arm tightly. “What are you doing here?” His voice is low, warning, dripping with barely contained anger.

Arthur’s eyes never leave you, flicking from your face to your belly with an expression that’s a mixture of hurt and fury. “What the hell is going on, Y/N?” He demands, ignoring Charles completely. “You’re … you’re pregnant?”

Your face drains of color, your hand instinctively moving to cover your stomach, as if to shield the truth from him. “I … I can explain,” you stammer, your voice trembling.

But Charles isn’t having it. He steps forward, his body blocking Arthur’s view of you completely. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation, Arthur,” he snaps, his voice cold and cutting. “You’re not part of her life anymore.”

Arthur’s face twists with anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Not part of her life?” He spits, his eyes blazing. “I was with her for six years, Charles. Six years. You think you can just waltz in and take everything?”

Charles’ grip on your arm tightens, his nails digging into your skin as he fights to keep control. His pulse is racing, his heart pounding in his chest, but outwardly, he remains calm, collected. He has to. He can’t let Arthur get under his skin, can’t let him ruin everything he’s worked so hard for.

“Y/N made her choice,” Charles says evenly, his voice cold as ice. “She chose me. We’re having a baby together. Our baby.”

Arthur’s face goes pale, his eyes widening in disbelief. “A baby?” He whispers, his voice breaking. He looks at you then, truly looks at you, and Charles can see the hurt in his eyes, the devastation. “Is that true, Y/N?” He asks, his voice shaking. “You’re having his baby?”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Tears well up in your eyes, and you look down, avoiding Arthur’s gaze.

Charles takes a step closer to Arthur, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You need to leave, Arthur. Now.”

But Arthur doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at you, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “How could you do this?” He chokes out. “How could you betray me like this?”

Before you can respond, Charles steps in front of you again, his body a wall of protection. “She didn’t betray you,” he says harshly. “You were never good enough for her. You could never give her what she needed. I could.”

Arthur’s face twists with fury, and he takes a threatening step forward. “You’re sick, Charles,” he growls. “You manipulated her, didn’t you? You’ve been controlling her this whole time.”

Charles’ eyes darken, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. “You don’t know anything about us,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “You have no idea what we’ve been through. What we have together.”

Arthur looks like he’s about to explode, his fists trembling with barely contained rage. “You’re delusional,” he spits. “You think you can just take her and make her yours? You think she’s going to stay with you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a cold smile, his eyes narrowing. “She’s already mine,” he says, his voice soft but deadly. “She’s carrying my child. We’re going to be a family. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Arthur looks at you again, his expression filled with pain and disbelief. “Y/N, please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Tell me this isn’t true. Tell me he hasn’t brainwashed you.”

But you can’t look at him. Your hand is still resting on your belly, your eyes filled with tears, and you shake your head slowly, unable to find the words.

Arthur lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don’t believe this,” he whispers. “I don’t believe you’d do this to me.”

Charles steps forward, his voice sharp and final. “Leave, Arthur,” he says coldly. “Before I make you.”

For a moment, Arthur stands there, staring at the two of you, his face pale and broken. Then, without another word, he turns and walks out of the shop, the door slamming shut behind him.

Charles watches him go, his heart racing, his body thrumming with adrenaline. He turns to you, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing away your tears.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, pulling you into his arms. “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt us.”

You bury your face in his chest, your body shaking with quiet sobs, and Charles holds you tightly, his hand resting protectively over your belly.

“It’s just us now, mon amour,” he whispers, his lips pressing against your hair. “Just us and our baby.”

And as he holds you close, a dark, satisfied smile spreads across his face.

Arthur was always a necessary sacrifice.

***

Charles is pacing the living room when the call comes through. His fingers drum against his thigh, jaw set in a grim line as he answers, putting the phone to his ear. He keeps his voice low, careful not to let it carry down the hall where you’re napping in his bed. Where you’re safe.

“Is it handled?” He asks, words clipped and impatient.

His manager’s voice comes through the speaker, tight and strained. “We’re working on it. But the story’s already circulating. It’s gaining traction.”

Charles squeezes his eyes shut, frustration and anger twisting through him like a hot blade. This was not supposed to happen. He made sure of it. He thought he’d made sure Arthur was too broken, too defeated to put up a fight.

“Fix it,” he grinds out, his grip on the phone tightening. “I don’t care what it takes — just make it disappear.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching thin and taut, before his manager responds quietly, “It’s not that simple, Charles. He’s not backing down. And the media — well, they love a scandal. Especially one like this.”

Charles’ teeth clench, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He knows exactly what his manager is implying. The story is out there. Arthur’s desperate, crazed accusations that Charles is holding you against your will, that he’s manipulative, unhinged, obsessed. That he’s stolen Arthur’s long-time girlfriend and trapped you in some twisted relationship.

Charles’ jaw ticks, fury simmering just beneath the surface. He wants to laugh. Obsessed? Maybe. Manipulative? Definitely. But you’re not a hostage. You’re his — his to love, his to protect, his to control. Arthur has no idea what he’s talking about. He doesn’t know anything about what you and Charles have together.

“Buy them off,” Charles snarls, each word falling from his lips like a command. “Or threaten them. Do whatever you have to do to make them stop printing this shit. And Arthur-” He cuts himself off, breathing hard, the urge to fly across the room and smash something almost overwhelming.

“Keep him away from Y/N,” he finishes darkly, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t want him anywhere near her. Understood?”

“Understood,” his manager replies, voice tight. “But Charles … this could get messy. Really messy. I’m just warning you-”

“Just do it,” Charles snaps, cutting him off. “I don’t want excuses. I want results.”

He ends the call, his hands shaking slightly as he lowers the phone. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the wild, chaotic storm raging inside him. He can’t lose his temper. Not now. Not when Arthur’s doing everything he can to tear them apart.

Charles turns his gaze to the shattered pieces of your phone lying in the corner of the room. It only took a second to crush it beneath his heel, to cut off your access to the outside world. He can’t risk you seeing what’s being said, can’t risk you hearing Arthur’s poisonous words.

If you did … you might start to doubt him. You might start to wonder if Arthur’s telling the truth. And Charles can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen.

With a deep breath, he forces himself to relax, his expression smoothing out into a mask of calm. He has a plan. He always does. He’ll deal with the media, silence Arthur for good. And you … you’ll be none the wiser.

He’ll make sure of it.

Charles’ gaze drifts down the hall, his chest tightening with a fierce, possessive longing. He needs to see you. Needs to remind himself that you’re his, that Arthur’s pathetic attempts to tear you away from him are futile.

He heads to the bedroom quietly, pushing open the door to find you curled up on your side, still sound asleep. You look so peaceful, so delicate, your hair spread out across the pillow, your lips parted slightly. He moves closer, his eyes tracing the curve of your belly beneath the sheets, the swell of your pregnancy more visible by the day.

His heart clenches with a strange, overwhelming mixture of love and obsession. You’re carrying his child. His blood, his legacy. You belong to him in every way that matters.

But even that’s not enough for him. He wants more. Needs more. He wants to own every part of you — your body, your mind, your soul. He wants you to think of him every second of every day, wants you to be consumed by him, just as he’s consumed by you.

A dark smile curves his lips as an idea forms in his mind, a way to keep you distracted, to keep you from thinking too much about what’s happening outside the safe, perfect world he’s built for you.

“Mon ange,” he murmurs softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You stir slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes. “Charles?” You mumble, your voice thick with drowsiness. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, chérie,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your face. “I just thought … you might like a bath. Something relaxing, to help you unwind.”

You smile at him sleepily, nodding slightly. “That sounds nice.”

He scoops you up gently, carrying you to the en suite bathroom, where he sets you down on the edge of the large bathtub. He turns on the taps, the water rushing in with a soothing, steady sound. He adds a few drops of lavender-scented oil, the scent filling the air, calming and comforting.

Charles helps you out of your clothes, his hands lingering on your skin, his fingers tracing over the swell of your belly with reverence. He lowers you into the warm water, watching as you sink down with a contented sigh, your head resting against the back of the tub.

“Comfortable?” He asks softly, his voice a low murmur.

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you relax into the water. “Mmm … yes.”

Charles smiles, kneeling beside the tub. He reaches over and adjusts the settings on the jet controls, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he turns them on, directing the powerful stream of water right between your legs.

You let out a startled gasp, your eyes flying open as the sensation hits you. “Charles-”

“Shh, chérie,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing purr. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your eyes are wide, your cheeks flushed as the water pulses against you, the sensation building steadily, turning your body to jelly. Charles watches with dark satisfaction as you squirm, your breaths coming faster, your hands gripping the edge of the tub.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. “So perfect. So mine.”

You whimper, your hips shifting involuntarily as the jets work their magic, your body reacting helplessly to the stimulation. Charles’ hand slips beneath the water, his fingers sliding over your heated skin, teasing you further.

“Charles, please-” you moan, your voice breaking.

He hums softly, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Please what, mon amour?”

“I … I don’t know,” you gasp, your head falling back, your body arching in the water. “It’s — oh God, it’s too much-”

Charles’ eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers trailing lower, stroking you in time with the jets. “Just let go, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing, hypnotic lullaby. “Let me take care of everything.”

You cry out softly, your body trembling as the sensation crests, waves of pleasure crashing over you. Charles holds you steady, his touch firm and unrelenting, pushing you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re shuddering and gasping and begging incoherently.

And then, finally, when you’ve been thoroughly unraveled, when your body is limp and boneless, Charles shuts off the jets, his fingers gently stroking your skin as you slump back against him, utterly spent.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. He gathers you up in his arms, holding you close as you drift off, your breathing soft and even against his chest.

Charles’ lips brush against your hair, a dark smile curving his lips. He may not be able to control what happens outside these walls, but in here — in his world, in his arms — you’re his.

Arthur can try to tear you apart. He can try to expose Charles’ darkness to the world. But it won’t change a thing.

Because you’re never leaving.

***

Charles doesn’t tell you he’s going out. He leaves quietly in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun has risen. The only sound in the otherwise silent apartment is the faint click of the front door shutting behind him, and even that feels like a betrayal of his intent to remain unseen. He’s meticulous as he slips into his car, the leather seats cool against his back. The drive to Arthur’s location — some nondescript hotel in Nice — is a blur, the city lights flashing by in a hazy smear of gold and white.

His jaw is set, eyes cold and unyielding as he pulls up to the parking lot. He grips the steering wheel tightly, the skin of his knuckles taut, veins prominent. This is a loose end that needs tying, and he’s finally run out of patience. He’s given Arthur time — more than enough time to drop his accusations, to back off. He’d even sent a few pointed warnings through other channels, but it seems Arthur’s stubbornness knows no bounds.

No matter. This ends today.

Charles steps out of the car, the chill of the pre-dawn air nipping at his skin. He straightens his coat, taking a deep breath as he crosses the lot, his footsteps the only sound in the stillness. He can feel the coiled tension thrumming beneath his skin, the barely contained violence that always simmers just below the surface whenever Arthur’s name comes up.

It only takes him a minute to reach the room — third floor, end of the hall. Room 317. He can hear the murmur of voices inside as he approaches, one of them unmistakably Arthur’s, sharp and agitated. Charles pauses for a second, just outside the door, his pulse pounding steadily in his ears. He listens, picking up the sound of shuffling feet, the clink of glass against glass, a muffled curse.

Charles knocks once, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent hallway.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Arthur’s voice — hoarse, disbelieving. “Who the hell is it at this hour?”

No answer.

Charles knocks again, harder this time, the force reverberating down the length of his arm.

The door swings open, and Arthur’s face appears, disheveled and bleary-eyed. There’s a moment where Arthur blinks, his gaze taking in the man standing on the other side of the threshold as if he’s not quite registering what he’s seeing.

“Charles?” Arthur’s voice is incredulous, slurred slightly, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. “What the-”

Charles doesn’t give him a chance to finish. He steps forward, crossing the threshold in one smooth, fluid movement, shoving Arthur back with a force that sends him stumbling into the room. The door slams shut behind them, and Charles’ hand is already around his brother’s throat, fingers digging into the soft, vulnerable flesh.

Arthur chokes, his eyes going wide, hands scrabbling uselessly at Charles’ wrist. “W-what the fuck are you doing?”

“Ending this,” Charles says softly, his voice calm and controlled despite the dark rage swirling through him. “I warned you, Arthur. I warned you to stop. But you didn’t listen.”

Arthur gasps, his face turning red, his body jerking as he tries to wrench himself free from Charles’ iron grip. “Y-you’re fucking insane!” He manages to choke out, his voice a rasp. “Y/N — she-”

“Don’t say her name,” Charles snarls, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. He tightens his hold, watching with detached satisfaction as Arthur’s face contorts in pain, his eyes bulging. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to even think about her.”

Arthur’s lips part, but no sound comes out — just a strangled wheeze, a desperate, broken noise. Charles watches him dispassionately, his expression blank as he waits, as he lets his brother teeter on the edge of unconsciousness before loosening his grip just enough for Arthur to suck in a ragged, shuddering breath.

“Charles, please-” Arthur rasps, his voice weak and desperate. “You’re — killing me-”

“Am I?” Charles tilts his head, regarding his brother with an almost clinical interest. “Because the way I see it, you’ve been trying to kill me. Trying to destroy everything I’ve built, everything I love. All because you’re too much of a coward to accept the truth.”

He lets go abruptly, shoving Arthur to the floor. Arthur collapses in a heap, coughing and gasping, clutching at his throat. He looks up at Charles, eyes wide with fear and confusion, his voice barely a whisper. “What truth?”

“That she’s mine,” Charles says softly, his gaze dark and unrelenting. “She’s always been mine, Arthur. You were just too blind to see it.”

Arthur shakes his head, his expression one of horror and disbelief. “No … no, that’s not true-”

Charles takes a step forward, his presence looming over his brother, his shadow swallowing the dim light of the room. “Do you really think she wanted you?” He asks quietly, his voice a soft, deadly murmur. “Do you really think she loved you?”

Arthur’s face crumples, his hands trembling as he pushes himself up, his shoulders hunched. “She did,” he whispers, his voice broken. “She — she was with me for six years, Charles. Six fucking years-”

“And yet she never let you touch her,” Charles cuts in smoothly, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “She never gave you what she gave me so easily. Don’t you understand? You were just a placeholder. A distraction. She was always meant to be mine.”

Arthur shakes his head again, his eyes filling with tears. “You’re lying. You-”

“Lying?” Charles laughs softly, the sound low and humorless. “Ask her yourself. Oh, wait — you can’t. Because she doesn’t want to see you anymore. She doesn’t even think about you anymore.”

Arthur flinches, his face crumpling. “Charles, please-”

Charles’ smile fades, his expression hardening once more. “I’m not here to beg,” he says coldly. “I’m not here to negotiate. I’m here to make it clear — to make you understand — that this is the end.”

Arthur looks up at him, his eyes wide and fearful. “What … what are you going to do?”

Charles leans down, his gaze locking onto his brother’s, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You’re going to disappear. You’re going to leave this city, leave this continent, and you’re never going to come back. You’re going to vanish without a trace, and you’re going to stay gone.”

Arthur swallows hard, his throat working as he tries to form words, his lips trembling. “And if I don’t?”

Charles straightens, his gaze never leaving his brother’s face. “If you don’t,” he says softly, “I’ll make sure you do.”

The threat hangs heavy in the air, a promise wrapped in steel. Arthur shudders, his eyes squeezing shut as he lets out a ragged, broken sob. He nods slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Good,” Charles murmurs, a satisfied smile curving his lips. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

He turns on his heel, heading for the door. He doesn’t spare his brother a second glance as he steps out of the room, as he walks down the hall and back to his car. He doesn’t look back as he starts the engine, as he drives away, leaving Arthur and the mess he created behind him.

He’s dealt with it. Arthur won’t bother them again.

And now … now he can go back to you. Back to where he belongs.

***

Charles plans everything meticulously.

When he returns to the apartment that morning, he’s all warmth and tenderness. He finds you still curled up in bed, blankets tucked around you like a cocoon. You look so peaceful, so beautiful in the early morning light, the hint of a bump peeking through the oversized T-shirt he had pulled over your head the night before.

He slips out of his clothes with practiced ease, folding them neatly on the chair by the bed. The sight of your bare shoulders, your slightly parted lips, the slow rise and fall of your chest — it’s enough to make his heart swell with possessive pride. He pads over quietly, slipping under the covers beside you, and wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into the curve of your neck.

The first thing he does is inhale deeply, taking in your scent — soft, warm, and uniquely yours. His hands move over your skin with reverence, tracing the curves of your shoulders, your waist, your growing belly. You stir slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but you don’t wake.

Perfect.

It’s not until the sun has fully risen that he lets you stir awake, nudging his nose against your cheek and pressing kisses along your jaw until you slowly blink your eyes open. You turn your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze.

“Morning,” you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning, ma belle,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and tender. He pulls you closer, his hand smoothing over your belly. “How are my two favorite people today?”

You laugh softly, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you look down at the small swell of your stomach. “Still waking up.”

“Then let me help,” he breathes, lowering his head to nip gently at your collarbone. You gasp softly, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His hands wander, exploring, kneading, until you’re arching into his touch, your breathing shallow and uneven.

“Charles-” Your voice is a soft, breathless moan, filled with the kind of trust and yearning that makes something primal in him twist and tighten. “We — ah, we have to get ready for the parenting class.”

He hums against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “We have time.”

His lips close around a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, and you let out a shaky whimper. He’s not sure how long he spends like that, working you up, savoring every sound, every shudder, every whispered plea that falls from your lips. But he knows exactly what he’s doing.

It’s only when you’re completely lost to the haze, your fingers clutching at the sheets, your body trembling with need, that he finally leans back, his breath coming in soft, measured pants. He reaches over to the bedside table, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper and a pen, and places it on the bed beside you.

“What’s that?” You murmur, still dazed, your eyes fluttering as you try to focus on the form in front of you.

“Just a little thing to sign for the class,” he says smoothly, his tone casual, nonchalant. He settles between your legs, his fingers trailing up your inner thighs in slow, teasing strokes. “You know, to confirm our participation and all that.”

You glance down at the paper, brow furrowing slightly as you try to read it, but Charles doesn’t give you a chance to focus. He lowers his head, his mouth finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shoots through you.

“Charles — oh, god,” you breathe, your voice trembling. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging gently, but he doesn’t relent, his tongue moving in slow, torturous circles, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you still.

“Just sign it, ma chérie,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, seductive purr. “Then I can make you feel so much better. I promise.”

You whimper, your eyes fluttering shut as you struggle to concentrate. He can see the moment you give in, your resistance melting away under the onslaught of his mouth and hands. You reach blindly for the pen, your fingers fumbling as you scrawl your signature at the bottom of the page, your hand trembling with each pass.

“There we go,” he coos, lifting his head just long enough to watch as you finish signing. “Good girl.”

He’s careful to fold the paper back up, slipping it into the drawer with a satisfied smile before turning his full attention back to you. You’re pliant, needy, your body arching and twisting beneath him, your breath coming in soft, desperate pants.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with possessive pride. “So perfect, so sweet. Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

You shake your head, your fingers curling in his hair, your voice a breathless whisper. “Charles, please-”

He knows exactly what you’re asking for, what you’re begging for, and it only makes him want to draw it out longer. He settles into a slow, torturous rhythm, his mouth and hands moving in perfect harmony, until you’re shaking, your thighs trembling, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“Please,” you whimper again, your voice breaking on the word. “Please, Charles-”

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “I’ve got you, mon cœur. Let go. Just let go for me.”

And when you finally do, your body going rigid and then melting into the bed as pleasure washes over you in waves, he’s right there with you, holding you, whispering soft, sweet words against your skin.

“That’s it, ma chérie. Just like that. You’re so beautiful like this. So perfect.”

He stays with you like that, his hands gentle as they roam over your skin, his mouth pressing soft, reverent kisses along your belly, your hips, your thighs. He savors the way you tremble, the way you whisper his name like a prayer, the way you cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And maybe he is.

When you finally come back to yourself, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, he helps you sit up, his hands firm and steady on your shoulders.

“Ready for class?” He asks softly, his smile warm, his gaze soft as he looks down at you.

You nod slowly, still a little dazed, a soft, contented smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah … I think so.”

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart swelling with love and pride. “Good.”

He helps you dress, his hands lingering on your skin a little longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on the small swell of your belly. It’s not long now, he thinks, his chest tightening with anticipation. Soon, everyone will know. Soon, there will be no denying it — no denying that you belong to him, that you’ve always belonged to him.

He tucks the signed marriage application form away carefully, making a mental note to drop it off at the Monaco Town Hall later. There’s no rush. It’s just a formality now. A piece of paper to make it official. Because you’re already his in every way that matters.

And soon, the world will know it too.

***

Charles can barely breathe.

He stands at the head of the hospital bed, his hand locked around yours, gripping tight enough to leave marks, but you don’t seem to notice. Your own fingers are trembling, clenched around his as if they’re the only thing tethering you to reality. Sweat beads on your forehead, dampening your hair, and your face is contorted with pain and effort as another contraction rips through you.

“It’s okay, ma chérie, you’re doing so well,” Charles murmurs, his voice strained with worry and something else — something darker, sharper, a fierce, primal protectiveness that twists in his chest like a living thing. He swallows hard, pressing a kiss to your temple, tasting the salt of your sweat on his lips. “Just a little longer, I promise. You’re almost there.”

You whimper, your head lolling to the side, your eyes half-shut with exhaustion. “Charles … I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is firm, unyielding, his eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You will. You’re the strongest person I know, and you’re going to do this. For us. For our son.”

The reminder seems to give you strength, and you nod weakly, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath as you steel yourself for the next wave. Charles can feel your grip tighten even more, and he shifts closer, his body almost draped over yours, his other hand smoothing over your hair, your shoulder, your belly — wherever he can reach, just to be touching you, grounding you.

“Focus on me,” he whispers, his voice low and urgent. “Just on me, okay? Breathe with me. You can do this. We can do this.”

It’s an eternity, an endless cycle of pain and panting breaths and whispered encouragement, until the OBGYN finally leans over, glancing between your legs with a nod of approval. “You’re almost fully dilated. Just a few more pushes, and you’ll get to meet your baby.”

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his eyes fixed on your face, watching every flicker of emotion, every furrow of your brow, every flicker of fear and determination and exhaustion. He hates this, hates seeing you in pain, hates that he can’t just take it all away. But he knows this is what you wanted, what you dreamed of, and he’ll be damned if he lets his own fear ruin it.

“Just a few more, bébé,” he breathes, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You’re so close. You’ve come so far. I’m so proud of you. So proud.”

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, there’s something there — something raw and vulnerable and achingly beautiful. “Charles … I-”

“I know,” he whispers, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “I know, ma belle. I love you too. So much.”

And then you’re pushing again, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat, and Charles can only hold on, his heart pounding in his chest as the doctor’s voice rises over the chaos.

“That’s it! That’s it! Just one more, give me one more big push!”

You scream again, your whole body straining with the effort, and then suddenly, there’s a high, thin wail that cuts through the air like a knife.

Time seems to freeze.

Charles’ breath catches in his throat, his whole world narrowing down to the tiny, wriggling figure the nurse is holding in her hands, covered in blood and amniotic fluid and screaming its tiny lungs out.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice breaking on the words. “Oh my god, he’s — he’s here. He’s-”

A nurse moves quickly, wrapping the baby in a soft, clean towel, and then she’s turning, holding him out to you, her face creased with a gentle smile.

“Congratulations, you two,” she says softly. “It’s a boy.”

You’re shaking, tears streaming down your face as you reach out with trembling hands to take the baby. Charles moves with you, his arms slipping around you to support you as you cradle the tiny bundle against your chest, your breath hitching with sobs.

“Hi,” you whisper, your voice trembling, filled with wonder and awe. “Hi, little one. Oh my god, hi …”

Charles’ heart feels like it’s about to burst, his chest so tight he can barely breathe. He looks down at the baby — his son — nestled in your arms, his tiny fists flailing, his face scrunched up as he lets out another wail.

“He’s … perfect,” Charles whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He reaches out, his fingers trembling as he brushes them gently over the baby’s head, feeling the soft, downy hair beneath his fingertips. “You’re perfect, mon fils. Absolutely perfect.”

The baby’s cries soften, his tiny body relaxing as he feels the warmth of your skin, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. Charles watches, his gaze riveted to the small, scrunched-up face, the tiny fingers curling around the edge of the towel.

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe that this tiny, fragile life is his, that he helped create something so beautiful, so precious. It’s overwhelming, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over him, and he feels his eyes sting with tears, his throat tightening with a sob.

“Look at him,” he whispers, his voice choked. “Just … look at him.”

You nod, your own tears falling freely as you gaze down at your son, your fingers tracing over his tiny features with reverence. “He’s so beautiful,” you murmur, your voice breaking. “Charles … I — thank you. Thank you so much.”

Charles shakes his head, his arms tightening around you, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “No, thank you. You did all the hard work. You brought him into this world. I’m just … I’m just so proud of you.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your gaze never leaving the baby’s face. “We did this together,” you whisper. “All three of us.”

“Yeah,” Charles breathes, his voice filled with awe. “Yeah, we did.”

It’s a blur after that, nurses bustling around, cleaning up, checking your vitals, making sure the baby is healthy and strong. But through it all, Charles never lets go of you, his arms wrapped around you and his son, his gaze never wavering.

When the medical team finally leave, giving you some privacy, Charles shifts carefully, easing onto the edge of the bed beside you. He reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over the baby’s tiny hand, marveling at how small and delicate it is.

“Can I …” He murmurs, his voice tentative, almost shy.

You smile softly, your eyes still wet with tears as you look up at him. “Of course.”

Charles swallows hard, his heart pounding as you carefully lift the baby, placing him in Charles’ waiting arms. He shifts, cradling the tiny bundle against his chest, his breath catching as the baby lets out a soft, sleepy sigh.

“Hey there, little guy,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “I’m your papa. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

The baby stirs, his tiny face scrunching up for a moment before relaxing again, and Charles feels something inside him shatter and reform, something deep and primal and fierce.

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and fervent. “I’ll protect you and your maman, always. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make sure you have everything you could ever want, everything you could ever need. You’ll never have to worry about anything. I promise.”

He lifts his gaze, meeting yours, and his breath catches at the look on your face — so full of love and warmth and happiness. “We did it,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “He’s really here.”

You nod, your smile soft and radiant. “He’s really here.”

Charles leans forward, his lips brushing over your forehead, your nose, your lips, and then over the baby’s head, pressing soft, reverent kisses to each of you.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Both of you. More than anything.”

Your eyes soften, and you reach up, your fingers brushing over his cheek. “We love you too, Charles.”

And in that moment, holding his son in his arms, with you by his side, Charles feels like he’s finally found everything he’s ever wanted. Everything he’s ever needed.

His family. His life. His everything.

And he knows, with a certainty that’s as solid and unyielding as stone, that he’ll never let go of it.

***

Arthur watches from a distance, and it’s like staring through frosted glass into a life he no longer recognizes. The family picnic sprawls out on the pristine lawn of Charles’ estate, the manicured gardens framing a picturesque scene of domestic bliss.

You’re sitting on a checkered blanket under the shade of an old oak tree, a baby cradled in your arms. Your soft murmurs drift through the air, your gaze locked on the tiny face peeking out from beneath the blue cotton blanket. You look … peaceful. Serene. And despite everything, Arthur’s chest tightens painfully at the sight.

He’s too far away to hear what you’re saying to the baby, but he can see your lips moving, the way your smile brightens, the gentle curve of your mouth as you lean down and kiss the baby’s forehead. His nephew. Charles’ son.

It should have been his.

Arthur’s fingers twitch at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he forces himself to stay still, to stay hidden behind the row of hedges that separate the lawn from the main driveway. He knows he shouldn’t be here. Knows he’s not supposed to come anywhere near you or the baby, not after everything that’s happened.

But he couldn’t help it.

The compulsion, the desperation to see you, to see his family — it had clawed at him until he’d caved, his resolve shattering like glass beneath the weight of his longing. He just wanted to see you. To see if you were okay. If you were happy.

But now … now he wishes he hadn’t come.

Because what he sees isn’t just happiness. It’s a life he’s been shut out of, a life that Charles has taken for himself, a life Arthur knows was meant for him.

You shift slightly, adjusting your hold on the baby, and Arthur’s heart gives a painful lurch as he watches you unbutton your blouse, the soft fabric parting to reveal the swell of your breast. You’re murmuring to the baby, your voice a soothing hum that carries on the breeze, and then you’re guiding the baby’s mouth to your nipple.

Arthur’s breath catches, his throat tightening as he watches you begin to nurse. It’s an intimate, tender moment, one he knows he shouldn’t be witnessing, but he can’t look away. His gaze is locked on you, on the way your face softens, the way your shoulders relax, the way your eyes flutter shut as you cradle your son against your breast.

Charles’ son.

Arthur feels something dark and bitter twist in his gut, something that tastes like envy and regret and loss all wrapped up in a tangled knot of emotion he can’t untangle. This should have been his. You should have been his. The baby — his nephew — should have been his child. He was supposed to be the one sitting beside you, watching over you, protecting you, loving you.

But instead, he’s been reduced to a spectator, watching from the shadows as his older brother lives the life that Arthur had built with you for six long years.

“Do you miss me?” Arthur whispers under his breath, his voice barely audible, swallowed up by the distance between you. “Do you ever think about me? Do you even remember?”

But you don’t answer. You can’t hear him. You’re lost in your own world, your attention focused entirely on the baby at your breast, on the tiny, greedy mouth suckling at your nipple.

And then, as if sensing his presence, you glance up — your eyes drifting towards the hedges where Arthur is hiding.

He freezes, his heart slamming against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, your gaze seems to land on him, your brow furrowing slightly in confusion. His pulse roars in his ears, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he wills himself to remain perfectly still, to blend into the shadows.

But then, you blink, and the moment passes. Your gaze shifts away, back down to the baby, and Arthur lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging with a mixture of relief and disappointment.

You didn’t see him. You didn’t recognize him. You didn’t even notice he was there.

He’s invisible. Irrelevant. Forgotten.

And that knowledge cuts deeper than any knife.

“Enjoying the view, little brother?”

Arthur’s entire body jerks violently, his breath stuttering as he spins around, his eyes wide with shock. Charles stands a few feet away, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored trousers, his expression cool and composed, but there’s a sharp edge to his gaze, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Arthur?” Charles’ voice is low and calm, but there’s an undercurrent of menace beneath the words, a warning that sends a shiver down Arthur’s spine.

“I-” Arthur swallows, his throat dry, his mind scrambling for an excuse, an explanation, anything that might defuse the tension radiating off his brother in waves. “I just wanted to see her. To see … the baby.”

Charles’ lips curl into a mocking smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have some nerve, you know that? After everything you tried to pull? After you went to the press, after you tried to ruin my life, our life-”

“You ruined my life!” Arthur snaps, his voice breaking on the words, the pent-up frustration and anger and grief spilling over. “You took everything from me, Charles! Everything! She was supposed to be mine-”

“She was never yours,” Charles interrupts coldly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “Not really. She was mine the moment I laid eyes on her. You were just too blind to see it.”

Arthur flinches, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. “You can’t just take whatever you want, Charles. You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can.” The words are soft, but they land like a slap, leaving Arthur reeling. “And I did.”

Charles steps closer, his gaze locking onto Arthur’s, unblinking and fierce. “You’re lucky I haven’t done worse. You’re lucky I’m even letting you stand here and breathe the same air as her. But don’t push me, Arthur. Don’t test me. Because if you come near her again — if you even think about trying to take her or our baby away from me — I’ll destroy you.”

Arthur’s throat works, his hands shaking at his sides as he fights to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “You’re a monster,” he whispers hoarsely. “You’re sick, Charles. You’re-”

“Happy,” Charles cuts him off, his smile widening, his gaze gleaming with something triumphant and cruel. “I’m happy, Arthur. We’re happy. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Arthur’s chest heaves with ragged breaths, his vision blurring as he glares at his brother, his entire body trembling with barely suppressed rage and heartbreak.

“I hate you,” he spits, the words venomous and bitter on his tongue. “I hate you so much.”

Charles doesn’t even flinch. He just tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking back to where you’re sitting on the blanket, completely oblivious to the confrontation happening just a few yards away.

“Maybe,” he murmurs thoughtfully, his voice softening as he watches you. “But you’re not the one she’s going home with, are you? You’re not the one she’s going to spend the rest of her life with. You’re not the one she’s given her heart to. So hate me all you want, little brother. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns back to Arthur, his smile sharp and satisfied. “Because in the end, I won.”

Arthur stares at him, his breath hitching painfully in his throat, and for the first time in his life, he feels completely powerless. Helpless. Defeated.

And as he watches Charles turn and walk away — back to you, back to your son, back to the life that should have been his — Arthur knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that he’s lost.

Lost you. Lost his family. Lost everything that ever mattered.

And there’s no getting it back.

[cutielando]

mrs. leclerc | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which you finally get married to the love of your life

a/n: based on this request!

warnings!!: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (be safe!!), pet names, soft sex, body worshipping, just some fluffy newlywed sex

my masterlist

The soft classical music echoed through the grand wedding hall as the doors opened, the whole room turning around to see you standing there, bouquet in hand, waiting to finally walk down the aisle towards the love of your life.

Your family were all standing in the front row, tissues already dabbing at the tears falling down their cheeks.

On the opposite side, Charles' mother stood alongside his older brother, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Everyone had been waiting for this day ever since you and Charles got together. They all knew you would end up getting married, they could tell that you were made for each other.

The day when you announced your engagement, both of your families cheered and jumped up and down in excitement, happy that both of their children had found love with each other.

And now, here you were, 4 years after the first night he had kissed you and asked you to be his girlfriend, walking down the aisle to finally seal your future together.

You turned your head to look at your father, who was already looking at you with a fond smile on his face.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, his eyes sparkling as he looked at his little girl, all grown up and ready to get married to the love of her life.

You smiled and took a deep breath before you nodded, turning around to face the hall once again.

The two of you slowly started to walk towards the aisle, your eyes finding Charles' and your gaze never faltering. You could see, even from far away, that he was struggling not to cry, seeing you in your wedding dress and knowing that you were going to be his wife in less than half an hour making him more emotional than he thought it would.

The guests gazed in awe at you as you walked past them, your wedding gown flowing effortlessly after you.

When you finally reached Charles and your father gave you away to him, you were barely holding your tears in.

"Hey" Charles whispered as you now stood in front of him, smiling through the tears.

"Hey" you whispered back, turning around slightly to pass your bouquet to your maid of honor, who happened to be your sister-in-law, Charlotte.

Turning back to him, you got lost in his eyes, the whole world around you ceasing to exist.

Neither of you registered what the priest was saying, too lost in each other. So many unspoken words were being exchanged between the two of you, vows that this moment was forever.

"And now, you may kiss the bride"

Those were the words that finally snapped you out of your daydream and brought you back to reality.

Charles gave you a wide smile before he closed the gap between the two of you and pressed his lips against yours, holding your face in one hand and keeping a tight hold on your waist with the other.

The entire church hall cheered and clapped as they rose to their feet, yours and Charles' mothers visibly dabbing their eyes with tissues every now and then.

Every single guest was on their feet, whistling as Charles didn't seem to want to let you go.

"Charles" you said as you giggled against his lips, your cheeks flushed as you knew everyone was staring at the two of you.

Charles, your now husband, smiled and gave you one last peck before he finally pulled away, his eyes twinkling as he looked at you.

Turning back towards the hall, Charles took your hand in his and raised both of them above your heads, smiling widely as your guests cheered even louder and threw flowers up in the air.

You giggled as you looked at Charles before you started walking down the steps and towards the double-oak doors you just stepped through mere minutes ago.

But now, you were walking out a married woman.

♡♡♡♡♡

The wedding reception was everything you had dreamed it would be and so much more.

The venue was decorated exactly as you and Charles had envisioned it, with adorning flower arrangements, twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling, elegant chandeliers adorned with flower vines.

Everything seemed taken out of a fairytale book.

The hours faded away as everyone gathered at the venue. The band was playing soft music in the background, everyone dancing quietly with their partners on the dance floor.

You and Charles were in the middle of the dance floor, swaying slowly to the music, your foreheads resting against each other.

"Can you believe we're married?" you whispered, opening your eyes to gaze up at him.

He smiled at you, his arms tightening around your waist to bring you even closer to him.

"I can't thank my lucky stars enough than I can now officially call you my wife" he said, leaning his head down to trail small kisses up and down the exposed skin of your neck.

You giggled, his his breath tickling your skin.

“Charles, there’s people all around us. Please do try and have some patience until we get to our suite” you whisper in his ear, an undertone of sensuality laced in your voice.

Charles groaned silently in your ear, his hands tightening his hold around your waist.

“Can’t we just go now?” he whispered again, leaving open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck.

You shook your head, giggling as you held the back of his neck.

“Charles, we’re only getting married once. Let me enjoy our wedding before we get to enjoy our wedding night later” you said, accentuating the word later.

Charles pouted for a second, but then nodded and smiled at you.

He knew how much you had been looking forward to getting married, how stressed you had been while you were planning everything with his mother and your sister-in-law for the months leading up to the wedding.

He owed you the wedding of your dreams, he owed it to you to give you the time of your life on this special day for your life together.

And so, as the night wore on, everything was a blur. People were dancing, everyone was mingling with each other, drinks were shared and the famous cake came at midnight.

Everything was perfect.

And when it finally ended and it was time for you and Charles to retreat back to your apartment, that’s when the real fun would begin.

♡♡♡♡♡

"You're so beautiful, and all mine" Charles whispered into the shell of your ear, his sweaty body pressed deliciously against yours.

The two of you had barely made it to your suite once the wedding party had ended, Charles' hands desperately toying with the lace at the back of your wedding gown.

And now, he had you sprawled on the hotel room queen sized bed, your wedding down carefully placed on a chair, his suit thrown somewhere on the ground, and his only focus was you.

“Charles” you moaned, scratching at this back with your nails.

He felt so good, reaching spots inside of you that had you seeing stars and losing yourself in the feeling of him.

Charles was driving his length in and out of you, making sure that you felt every single inch that he had to offer you.

“My wife, my beautiful wife, I’m so lucky to have you all to myself like this” he whispered, slowing down his thrusts to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth.

His tongue was swirling your nipple around in his mouth, all the while his hips were thrusting in and out of you with a soft urgency.

Your nails were digging into the skin of his back, soft whimpers leaving your mouth every so often.

The feeling of him was overwhelming, the passion with which he was making love to you making your head go dizzy.

His cock was reaching depths inside of you like never before, the stretch of your walls burning deliciously to accommodate his thick length.

“Charles” you whined out when his cock hit a particularly sensitive part inside of you.

He responded by giving you yet another deep stroke, and another, and another until all you could get out were whines and moans, your hands still clawing at his back.

“Are you close, mon cœur?” Charles whispered in your ear, his lips and his hot breath ghosting against your hot skin.

You bit your lip and nodded, not trusting your voice in the moment.

Charles smirked, groaning as he felt your walls pulsating around his length. He kept peppering open-mouthed kisses along the skin of your exposed neck, his hips giving you deep thrusts.

His hand gravitates towards your heated core, his thumb finding your overstimulated bundle of nerves.

Your back arched as his thumb made contact with your clit, your eyes rolling in the back of your skull. You were so close, you could feel every single nerve in your body tingling and burning as the pit in your stomach drew closer and closer.

“I’m so close” you panted out, your mouth agape.

Charles growled and sped up his thrusts, rubbing even harder and quicker on your clit, chasing his own high as he felt your walls start to pulsate against him.

You moaned out loudly, your mind going fuzzy as you suddenly came around his cock, your body arching and your legs wrapping themselves tightly around Charles’ waist.

Your fingers drew blood against his back, your nails digging into his skin as your body shook with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm.

“Oh, fuck” Charles groaned out as he struggled to thrust between your tight walls, giving you a couple more thrusts before he buried himself to the hilt, spurting rope after rope of cum inside of your tight walls.

The both of you panted in unison, Charles tensing every now and then as you milked him dry of his cum, the warmth inside of your womb delicious.

“That was…” you started, resting your head against the pillow.

Charles chuckled, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, cradling the side of your face in one of his hands.

"Amazing? Incredible? Unearthly?" he said, his eyes twinkling as he still held himself up over your body, his length still sheathed inside of your gummy walls.

You giggled, biting your lip as you nodded.

"Our first time as husband and wife" you said, your voice dreamy as you stared at the man that you can now call your husband.

Charles smiled, taking in your features illuminated by the moonlight.

"That's right" he whispered, leaning down to seal your new chapter together with a kiss.

Your new life as husband and wife.

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[ferrarifever]

hawaiian heat | c. leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: you and charles go out clubbing while on vacation in hawaii, but he isn’t a fan of the attention his girl is getting

warnings: jealous! & possessive!charles, extremely light choking, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected p in v

wc: 2.7k

masterlist🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪

author’s note: hi! this is my first fic so i'd really appreciate feedback! (also i'm scared this will flop lol). also requests are open or if anyone has prompt/headcanon ideas hmu because i’m always looking for (and need) inspo (and also mutuals because i’m new around here!) - stella♡

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

leading up to takeoff, you spent weeks making sure everything was perfectly prepared. you made sure to pack all your best swimsuits, your nicest outfits, and your finest jewelry. the opportunity to spend this much uninterrupted time with charles was rare, so you were determined to make the most of it.

filled with anticipation, the flight from monaco to maui felt like an eternity. you tried to downplay your excitement, but your plan completely failed once you arrived at the most picturesque villa you’ve seen in your life. it was the type you’d only seen online, and the reality you were staying there with the love of your life felt like a dream come true.

stepping out on the balcony of your room, you couldn’t believe this wasn’t a dream. so entranced by the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore, you failed to hear charles joining you. you felt his arms, already warm from the maui sun wrap around your waist. he began pressing feather-light kisses into your neck,

“i can’t believe we’re finally here. i can’t wait to spend the week with you chéri” he whispered in between kisses

you momentarily turned your back to the water to face charles. resting a hand on his chest, you whispered back “i can already tell i’m not going to want to leave”

you lightly press against his chest, leading both of you back in your shared room. placing his hand over yours, charles fell back gently on the bed, pulling you on top of him. you align yourself with the monegasque, feeling him begin to press his hips into yours. you felt his hand grip your cheek, pulling your lips to his. feeling charles hands migrate to the bottom of your shirt, you knew the rush of heat that flooded your body could not be attributed to the hawaiian climate. fighting your desire, you attempt to pull away

“baby–” you mumble against his lips, trying to pull him out of his trance of desire.

“charles– c’mon baby i have to start getting ready” running your hands up his body, you push your hands against his shoulders to force yourself off of the driver. he did not hold back his displeasure, groaning and falling back into the mattress.

“the sooner we leave the quicker we can come back, love!” you yell back towards charles, while making your way toward the bathroom to get ready. dedicated to your goal of making the most of the trip, you picked your favorite dress out of your suitcase. might as well kick the trip off with a bang, right?

you pulled every trick in the book. you did your makeup to make your eyes pop. you styled your hair in the way you knew charles loved. the jewelry you put on was flashy, but not tacky. before slipping on your favorite dress, you put on charles’ favorite ferrari red lingerie set. the lace hugged your curves perfectly, giving you a perfect boost of confidence before going out. you slipped on a maroon satin mini dress, leaving little for the imagination. you knew you looked good, and anyone else you come across will know too.

after giving yourself a onceover, you stepped into your favorite pair of louboutins. you walked out of the bathroom, the clicking of your heels drawing charles attention away from his phone and up to you. he gasped quietly, sucking in air while biting his bottom lip.

“holy shit y/n– there’s no way we’re leaving this room” he choked out.

you giggled at your boyfriends awe before replying; “as amazing as that sounds, you know we would never hear the end of it if we’re late”

charles pulls himself off the bed, meeting you halfway. he gently pushes you up against the doorframe of the bathroom

“let them talk baby–they’ll get it once they see this dress” he says quickly before kissing you passionately

cutting him off before things get too heated, you push him away; “charles, seriously, lets not give them a reason to make fun of us on day one. we’ll regret it i promise”

charles groans dramatically, knowing you’re right but not wanting to admit to it. you grab your purse off your nightstand and give yourself one last look in the mirror before turning back to charles to ask; “ready?”

charles pauses for a moment, deciding whether or not to put up one last fight. he ultimately replies “ready,” before holding out his hand for you to grab.

you make it to the club with perfect timing, meeting up with the other drivers and their partners. charles politely greets the other drivers and with just a single glance at your outfit the other girls give you a knowing look.

as the drinks started flowing, you knew this was going to be a memorable night (if you can remember it in the morning). with enough liquor in your system, you joined the dancefloor with the other wives and girlfriends, while charles hung back in a booth.

you knew that when you learned over the bar to get another drink you were giving everyone a peak at the lacy set under your dress. with every sway of your hips, the skit of your dress rose higher and higher up your hips. you were having the time of your life, failing to realize that you were driving charles insane. you momentarily locked eyes across the room, and while you flashed a smile, charles lowered his eyebrows in dismay. as you turned back towards the dancefloor you felt charles’ arms wrap tightly around your waist

“i think you have had enough dancing for the night, hmm?” charles whispered into your eye

“baby c’mon…the night is just beginning!” you giggle back

“the fun will begin once we get out of here…it’s time to go” charles growls into your ear. your desire to fight back died as soon as you saw the passion in his eyes. a wave of heat flushed through your body, and you allowed the driver to grab your wrist and pull you out of the darkly lit club.

the uber ride back to the hotel was tense. as charles hand slipped higher and higher up your thigh, you had to use all of your will to not climb onto him in the backseat. as soon as the car shifted into park, charles was pulling you out of the seat and up to your room.

as soon as you heard the door shut behind you, charles pushed you back against it. alternating running his hand along the bottom of your dress and pinch the fabric, charles growled out

“you happy now? finally getting the attention you clearly desperately wanted in this dress?” his words sparked heat in your core and you failed to muster any reply, simply whimpering in response.

“mmhm? now that it’s just us, my bébé is shy?” he questioned. his hand finally migrated up your thigh to where you really needed him. he snapped the elastic of your thong against your core, continuing his teasing.

“charles…please…” you continued to whine. you knew you sounded pathetic, but your need continued to build in a way that led you to not think clearly.

as soon as the ‘please’ left your mouth, you felt charles remove his hand from up your dress and placed it carefully around your neck. he bent his knee between your thighs, holding you up against the door.

“you know bébé–if you asked that sweetly before we left i may be nicer right now. instead, you thought teasing me in front of the boys would end better for you. so right now i’m going to remind you that you’re mine and only mine.” he growled into your ear before migrating lower and lightly biting at your neck.

“i’m sorry” you apologized with a light smirk. making charles jealous was never your priority, but if it happened along the way you were going to enjoy the ride.

“prove it then” he snapped back. he increased pressure on your neck, slowly pushing you down until you dropped to your knees. you looked up at him, giving him the most seductive eyes you could muster. he bit down on his lip in return, not wanting to praise you just yet. he nodded down at you, giving you silent permission to continue. you slowly unbutton his jeans. you know continuing to tease him is a dangerous game, but you know secretly charles likes it when you take your time with him.

you tug at his jeans, pulling his boxers down with them. his hard length bounces, hitting his abs. you take the opportunity to lick a long lick from the base to head of his length before taking his sensitive tip in your mouth. charles groans, throwing his head back as you take him deeper and deeper down your throat.

as your eyes begin to water, charles stretches out his arms before pressing his palm against the door to balance himself. the warmth of your mouth felt like heaven and he was doing everything in his power to ground himself.

your hands migrate to the back of his thighs, pulling him into you to take him even deeper into your mouth. you continue flicking your tongue below his tip, drawing obscene noises out of the driver.

he is able to center himself enough to look down and make eye contact with you. he quickly realizes he made a mistake, using your hair to divide the two of you.

“i’m not finishing down your pretty mouth tonight, cherí,” charles groans. just as you start processing his words, charles is pulling you off the floor and towards the bed. before either of you hit the mattress, charles is unzipping your dress. as the satin dress falls to the floor, your lace-clad body is presented to the monegasque. after taking in the sight before him, charles lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding

“mon ange” he says, gasping for breath. once you’re face-to-face you give him a quick peck on the lips before whispering in his ear “use me baby, i’m yours.”

charles pushes you back first onto the bed. he pauses for a moment to take in the view in front of him. still clad in lace with your heels, lips swollen, eyeliner running, hair tousled…you were a dream come true. he can’t hold back for long before collapsing on top of you. you pick yourself lightly off the mattress, leaving just enough space for you to unclasp your bra. as soon as you pull the red lace off your body, charles is attacking your skin with his lips.

he runs his hands down your torso before looping his fingers into the waistband of your panties. he finally pulls them off after what felt like an eternity. his hands graze your thighs before making their way back to your core. he slowly runs a single finger where you needed him most.

“you're already so wet for me, bébé. no need to even prepare you, huh?” he says with a dry laugh. you didn't find it as funny, whining in return

“charles– please i need you so bad” you plead. he takes pity on you, sinking his middle finger into you. you moan slightly, you need for his touch your body had been begging for began to subside.

he continues pushing his middle finger in and out of you at what can only be considered a painstakingly slow pace. you continue your whining and muffled pleads, knowing it won’t do much at the moment

“who does this pussy belong to? hmm?” the speed of his words is a complete juxtaposition of his pace inside you.

“yours charles, yours!” you exclaim, “please do anything baby” you whine out. he was clearly not completely satisfied, but he took enough pity on you to move his thumb up towards your throbbing clit. the minute his thumb made contact with your throbbing bundle of nerves, you arched your back off the mattress. you attempted to moan out charles name, and although his title may not have been clear, your pleasure was.

as he began slowly rubbing circles on your clit, he added another finger inside you. you did not realize how deep the need inside of you was until this moment. you had no clue what to do with your body, alternating between gripping the sheets and running your hands through charles hair.

“now cherí, i’m going to be good to you today and let you get off on my fingers, you know why?” he questioned you, while quickening his trusting pace inside you.

you attempted an answer, but the fear of giving the wrong response and overwhelming pleasure led it to be incomprehensible. charles laughed slightly before filling you in,

“because i’m the only one who can make you feel this way bébé. none of the boys at that club would be able to make you feel this good with just his fingers” he announced. you nodded your head rapidly,

“only you baby–” you repeated like a mantra as you fell over the edge. your body spasmed and your stomach clenched and you screamed out. charles continued working you through your orgasm, slowing down his pace as you caught your breath. he slowly removed his fingers from where they were curled inside of you. he licked his middle finger quickly before holding them to your mouth. you began sucking on his fingers,

“now you can feel and taste how good i make you feel bébé” he says with confidence, knowing the power he holds over you.

he pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. his wet hand moves down between your thighs, pushes them open just enough to make room for him. he continues leaning in closer to you before he whispers

“ready?” he asks carefully. you nod, using all your strength to mutter out a quick “yes.”

you feel his length slowly penetrate you, every inch pulling another gasp out of your lungs. he hands grip your waist as he immediately begins rocking in and out of you, filling you up with every rock of his hips. every thrust brought you closer and closer to your edge, and charles knew. he moves his hand from your waist back to your sensitive clit, causing you to let out a high-pitched moan at the additional stimulation. before you can process the added pleasure, you hear charles begin to speak,

“could any of the other guys in the club make you feel like this baby? hmm?” charles growls into you ear, frustration from earlier simmering back up

“only you charles! no one else, baby” you squeal out quickly. charles’ pressure on your clit gets faster as his thrusts get harder, pulling you closer and closer to your edge

“who’s are you bébé?” he growls out, keeping his explosive pace

“i’m yours baby! only yours! please” you scream out, gripping the bedsheets in an attempt to ground yourself

“go ahead cherí, cum for me” charles says in the calmest tone of the night. with a scream of his name, your walls flutter around him as you cum on his cock. so wrapped up in your own pleasure, it wasn’t until charles grabbed your hips tightly and slowed his pace you felt him filling you with his cum.

he stills over you, both of you panting and fighting to catch your breath. charles leans to kiss you quickly before slowly pulling out of you. he rolls next to you on the bed, both of you still fighting your air. charles makes his way to the bathroom, grabbing a towel to clean you off. as you feel the cloth running up the thigh, you remind charles

“you know it’s always been you, right? and always will be?” you remind charles

“mmhm i know cherí,” he replies calmly.

he leans over to press light kisses on your neck before continuing, “...but i never mind a reminder” ;)

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 1)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut

"Daddy? Can I ask you something?" Your and Charles' four-year-old daughter Louise, asks.

She was sitting in her car seat in the backseat of Charles car while he was driving her back to your place in Monaco. It was Sunday evening, the weekend was coming to an end and with that, Charles' time with his daughter for the week was also over.

"Of course, cherie. What is it?" He asked, briefly looking away from the road in front of him to look at his daughter behind him.

"When are you going to live with me and mommy again?" She asked innocently batting her big black eyelashes and waiting for an answer.

Charles's heart broke a little when he heard. This was the first she had asked him that since Charles had moved out of your shared apartment a year ago, and there was no way he could have prepared himself for this question.

"Oh, baby.." He sighed sadly with a pain in his chest. "I-I don't know. Maybe one day again, I hope.."

"But I want you to live with us now. I don't like it when you have to leave us."

He really didn't know what to say to her. He didn't even know how to explain the situation you found yourself in to himself, let alone to her. He could see Louise whenever he wanted, but this was some kind of agreement that the two of you had and most often it was that you had her during the week and he had her on his race-free weekends even tho sometimes he took her with him on races as well. So moments like this, when Sunday night comes and he has to return Louise to you by next Friday, were the hardest for him.

"I know, baby. I do too, it's just that at the moment, that's not possible, you know?" He said quietly tightening his grip on the steering wheel and leaning his head on the back of the seat.

"But mommy wants you to live with us too. I don't understand why don't you then?"

"Wh-what?" His breath paused briefly as he looked at Louise in the rearview mirror. "How do you know that, Lou?"

"Well, I asked her?" She sighs almost rolling her eyes at him, like, duhh how else would I know it?

"You asked her?" He chuckles. "And what did she say?"

"She said the same thing as you, maybe one day again. But I want to know when!" She says already irritated with always the same answer to her always the same question.

"Well, my love, if mom really said that, then I hope very soon." Charles says smiling, hope clearly audible in his voice. He wanted you to reconcile and be a family again so much that even this was enough to lift his spirits and restore hope in your relationship.

The drive to your apartment is over and soon Charles is knocking on your door holding Lou in his arms.

"Hello, baby!" You say excitedly as you opened the door, reaching out to Lou to take her in your arms.

"Hello" Charles greets you smiling.

"Hey, Charles" You greet him back taking Lou in your arms and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "How was the weekend? Was she good?"

"Of course, as always. We went to get new toys, her grand-mère came to visit and then we went for a walk and for ice cream. It was a lot of fun." Charles says.

"You got new toys, missy? Again?" You ask tickling her and making her laugh. "Good, good. Well, thanks for bringing her back."

"It's no problem. The next weekend is the race weekend so unfortunately I won't be able to have her."

"I know, I know." You say biting the inside of your cheek feeling a bit bad knowing how hard that was for him. "Are you gonna say bye to papa?"

"Can papa put me to bed?" Louise asked.

"But it's only 8:30 baby? You wanna go to sleep already?"

"But I want daddy to do it." She says.

You were a little taken aback because you felt like she didn't want you to do it like you usually do, but of course you didn't want to deny her her wish for Charles to be the one to do it this time.

"Well, if he wants to, then sure" You say looking at him.

"Of course I want to. Come here, baby" He takes her back from your arms kissing her temple and starts walking with her to her room.

You didn't follow them because you decided to let them have a moment for themselves, but you couldn't help but remember the nights you and Charles used to do it together. Him on one side of the bed, you on the other, Lou in the middle while Charles reads a bedtime story and you both listen.

You really missed that.

You really missed him.

But it was hard for you to admit it so you swallowed your tears once again and pretended it didn't bother you.

And so while Charles was putting your daughter to sleep, you occupied yourself with sorting the laundry that was left over from earlier today in your bedroom. After about half an hour, Charles came to greet you goodbye knocking on the door frame of your bedroom.

"Hey"

"Oh, hey. Did she fall asleep?" You asked.

"Yeah, she-" His attention was soon caught by an oversized black man's hoodie that was turned inside out and lying on your bed. His gaze was glued to it, and for a moment you weren't sure what he was looking at, so you looked in that direction too.

"I can't believe it" He sneered in disappointment.

"What?"

"Are you really having someone else here in our bedroom when Lou is with me?"

"Excuse me? What? What are you-" You were shocked and stunned by his accusations.

It was indeed a man's hoodie. But since it was turned inside out, Charles didn't recognize that it was actually his sweatshirt that he had forgotten to take when he moved out, and you loved it so much that you never wanted to give it back to him. And Charles being Charles, he jumped to a conclusion without letting you have a chance to speak and explain yourself.

"I can't believe it, y/n. You could have at least let me know that you decided to move on and see other people." He continued without stopping and anger slowly rose within you. "And how can you even bring him here? To our apartment? To our bedroom?"

You were offended and you didn't even want to justify yourself anymore, you just wanted to hurt him back because he thought such a thing.

"And why do you care if someone was here, huh?" You asked crossing your arms.

"Why do I care? Because while you're busy having other guys over here, our daughter is asking me if we'll ever live together again. That's why!" He said angrily, barely holding back from slamming his fist against the wall because he was so hurt by this situation and the very thought of you being with someone else.

"S-she asked you that?"

"Yes and I almost died when she did."

You didn't know what to do at that moment. You were sad and angry at the same time, but most of all hurt for your daughter. Before you could say anything, Charles turned and left the room.

As soon as the apartment door closed, you burst into tears. He left before you could tell him that it was actually his hoodie and that at nights when you can't sleep, like you couldn't last night, you put it on because it feels like he's there.

He didn't even give you time to tell him that you wear it when you miss him too much. Just like you did last night.

part 2

[5sospenguinqueen]

Play Pretend | Charles Leclerc x Law Student! Reader

Summary: He's Lightning McQueen. You're Elle Woods. But, when Charles misses you, he makes it known that perhaps your career isn't as important as his wishes to start a family.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Baby fever? Miscommunication.

Female reader with various faceclaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

2024 but some events switched around 

I'm trying to make all of these different to each other so I'm sorry that this one was less baby fever and more baby mention.

Main Masterlist

next.

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, francisca.cgomes and others 

YourUserName the cause of stress v. the support systems   tagged: charles_leclerc, YourBestFriend

6,883 comments

User1 i love how all her captions ft her degree are legal themed 

charles_leclerc ❤️💛

charles_leclerc mon ange, what are you doing in that second photo

→ YourUserName it’s probably best you don’t know, char

→ YourBestFriend cocktails were involved

→ charles_leclerc this is why i don’t like leaving her with you 

→ YourBestFriend cry me a river, vroom vroom boy 

lilymhe i still think i would be a better support system than charles

→ YourUserName and i fully agree. let’s run away together

→ alex_albon whoa, whoa, whoa. get your own girlfriend

→ charles_leclerc she already has her own girlfriend! 

→ charles_leclerc wait, no

→ User2 the prettiest girlfriend

User3 i swear charles and y/n are the cutest f1 couple

→ User4 they always look so infatuated with each other 

→ User5 umm, how? she's literally never at races 

→ User6 because she’s off being successful in her own way, and charles supports that? plus, she’s always snapped in ferrari merch on race days whether she’s there or not

→ User7 omg yes! when a classmate took a pic of her leaving a final in bright red, and she was easily the most spottable person in that hall 

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by pierregasly, arthur_leclerc and others

charles_leclerc welcome home baby leo  tagged: YourUserName

12,298 comments

YourUserName my two favourite boys ❤️

User8 did you see in the background of one of the pics, they have his “birth certificate” framed and it says leo leclerc-y/l/n. he truly is their child

roscoelovescoco can’t wait’s to see’s a new’s friend in’s the paddock’s 

→ User9 roscoe-leo play date when please

→ User10 not until 2025 😂

User11 but let’s all take a moment to appreciate how cool leo’s parents are. he has an f1 racer for a dad, and a fashionable law student for a mum

→ User12 haha his parents are lightning mcqueen and elle woods 

pierregasly thanks mate. now kika is going to want one

→ YourUserName and you should give her one. i need a mum friend 

User13 first they adopt ollie and now leo. who’s next

→ YourUserName oscar

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User1 the interviewer was asking about future races and charles wasted no time in bringing up his girlfriend. he’s so down bad 

User2 the way his face lights up when he talks about her. he really does love her. 

User3 oh Charles, honey, that’s not giving what you think it is 

User4 any other woman slightly uncomfortable with the way this was worded?

→ User5 lets all take a moment to remember that english isn’t his first language. he obviously meant well, and the love in his eyes shows that he’s excited about a life with y/n, it just wasn’t worded in the best way 

User6 the interviewer was so skeezy for that last comment though

User7 i feel so bad for y/n. she’s always so supportive of charles' races, even when she’s not there, and charles is talking about how he can't wait for her to be done with her degree so she can follow him around the world 

→ User8 i don’t think he meant it that way. he looked horrified when the interviewer interpreted it that way but the interview ended before he could clarify further 

User9 do we think mom and dad are fighting after his *slightly* misogynistic comments about making her a kept woman

→ User10 i really hope not but my heart says yes because he basically said he’ll turn her into a travel wife who only cares about his career but said nothing about her career that she’s working really hard on

User11 i didn’t realise how much i depended on y/n’s post race posts until i didn’t get one

→ User12 she always posts the most panty-dropping post race charles pics 

User13 i miss them already 

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User1 oh god, it’s official

User2 brb just gonna go cry my eyes out for an hour 

User3 literally half of her insta posts have disappeared because they were all charles 

→ User4 the only thing keeping me sane is that any post where he wasn’t the main focus but slightly in them have been kept 

User5 can someone check on ollie? see how he’s coping as a child of divorce 

liked by OllieBearman

User6 yes, yes. this is all very sad but now that i’m done crying, can we talk about what is going to happen with leo? is this going to be a shared custody agreement?

→ User7 how could i forget about leo. do you think they’ll see each other at child drop off or make arthur be the middle man?

User8 i can't believe they just got a puppy together and now they’re going to be co-parenting instead :( 

User9 maybe this is just a minor speed bump in the road to their everlasting happiness? (yes, i’m hoping that they’re simply taking a small break)

→ User10 may all your delulus come trululu

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lilymhe, arthur_leclerc and others 

YourUserName the verdict is unanimous… I’m stressing

3,880 comments

YourBestFriend this barbies practices law

→ YourBestFriend not long left, babe. just a couple of exams and we’re qualified adults

→ YourUserName i don’t think we should ever be classed as qualified adults lol 

→ YourMum i still can't get over the fact that you two used to play pretend lawyers as little girls and now you're actually going to be one

lilymhe good luck, y/n. you’re gonna smash these! 

→ YourUserName if not, fancy running me over with your golf cart? 

arthur_leclerc good luck, y/n/n. try not to drink too much caffeine 

→ YourUserName i’m not that bad! 

→ arthur_leclerc you cannot lie to me. i have had to listen to you after three red bulls

→ landonorris betrayal! 

User1 she’s so real for that last slide tho. like miss y/l/n you are gorgeous and we’re glad you know it

YourClassmate how do you look so nice despite being in the library until 2am?

→ User2 dude, no. that line is not going to pull the stunning y/n y/l/n

→ User3 literally, the love of her life is charles leclerc and this guy thinks he’s going to win her over with a bad line 

User4 guys, is anyone else missing the sweet comments charles would always leave 

→ User5 he would be agreeing with the last slide and telling her how beautiful and smart she is 

→ User6 how about we don’t remind her of her ex-boyfriend the day before her life-changing exams

carlossainz55 good luck🤞🏼

→ User7 not sainz being messy on main

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by pierregasly, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_leclerc there is nothing like racing in italy for ferrari. i wish we had a better result, but that was the maximum today. we’ll try again next week. 

8,449 comments

User9 did you see his interview of him on his way out of the paddock? man was in a rush with poor leo tucked under his arm

→ User10 it’s y/n’s week with leo so charles was running out there because it was time to go see his favourite girl 

→ User11 he was not wasting a minute to see the love of his life 

User12 charles racing faster to go see his ex-girlfriend who he’s wildly obsessed with than he did all weekend 

→ User13 bestie you better pray he doesn’t see this 

→ User14 why? ‘cause he’ll have to fight the urge to like it 

User15 i’m so happy that it’s y/n’s week with leo because we’re going to get the most adorable puppy pics on her story all week

→ User16 also it means that his parents will be conversing 

User17 i love that we’re all depending on leo to get f1’s favourite couple back together 

Baby Fever Angst Series

(This wasn’t due out until tomorrow but I’ve released it earlier in honour of THE MONACO WIN BABY!!!!!!) 🥳🍾🥳🍾

Tag list

@lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @callsignwidow @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @elijahslover @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @brsr @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @dullypully @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @glow-ish

[violetszone]

Whats your kink?

Charles x fem!reader

From this request

Summary: You've been trying to find Charles' kinks for a long time But you didn't learn this until you started taking birth control pills.

A/n: again, i don't know what i wrote,i'm too tired to read and edit it sorry...

WARNINGS: Google translated French,breeding, Quick finish,not edited writing, fully smut, unprotected sex (God, please use protection my friends.)

You always thought Charles had some weird kink and you'd find it The reason for taking this as a mission was that it started like this: One New Year's Eve, while you were playing a game with your friends, someone asked Charles this question, and he stared at you for a few seconds and then answered no. Since that day you've been trying to bring this up without letting him know.

Of course, finding this was harder than you expected because you were at the very beginning of your relationship when it happened, and now you had been dating for almost 2 years.You tried everything you thought would excite him, but they couldn't. Until one day you came home from the doctor's check-up and said that you started taking birth control pills.

You could have sworn you saw a twinkle in Charles' eyes at that moment, even if only for a brief moment.Of course, nothing happened for a while until you started using the pill regularly and one night the lust for both of you became unbearable.

Charles had returned from a meeting in Italy and you were waiting for him at home. The moment he got home, he left his backpack at the door and pulled you towards him and pressed you to his lips, kissing you passionately. Before you knew it, you were entering your bedroom, half-naked in Charles' arms.Charles kissed your entire body, licking and biting the sensitive spots he knew would turn you on, you were burning underneath him.

When he put his hand into the bedside drawer, he frowned and got up, cursing. You looked at Charles, out of breath "what's wrong?"Charles rummaged through the drawer for a while and looked at you with disappointment and sat down next to you. "I'm sorry my love, there is no condom, I must have forgotten that, I'm sorry"

You rose up on your arms, looked at him and spoke hesitantly. "I'm on pills you know that-" Charles bit his lower lip, examined your face, then shook his head no "There is no guarantee and it will leave you in doubt, I can't do this" you put your hand on his shoulder and climbed onto his lap, "but I can do it. Please Charles, I miss you so much." While you leave little pecks on Charles' lips and neck he moaned softly and his hands came up to your waist.

You whispered "please" against his lips as he slowly pulled you away from him He laid you back down on the bed and returned to his previous position, stroking your hair. “I have to do whatever my sweet thing wants.” While his words made you smile, Charles' hand slipped into your underwear, causing you to moan. "Look at this, is this all for me Y/N hm tell me. Do I make you this wet every time I touch you?" You moaned and closed your eyes as Charles's two fingers entered you. When one of your hands reflexively tried to hold Charles' arm, Charles pinned your hands to the bed with his free hand.

He fingered you, giving you brutal pleasure as you writhed and moaned underneath him. Just as you were about to reach climax, Charles pulled his hand away, you made a sound between a moan and a whimper and opened your eyes. While he took off his trousers and underwear with one hand, he sucked the fingers of his other hand that gave you pleasure "What a gorgeous girl you are hm. You will cum on my cock, beauty, you heard? I will make you cum on my raw cock. Look how excited you are.Do you want my cock beauty? "

You moaned and moved your hips towards Charles.Charles rubbed his dick with one hand and pressed your hips to the bed with his other hand "behave" You whined when he growled "Fuck, don't you have those tits, you're destroying me, especially when those tight dresses squeeze them, my god i want to fuck them some time" He pinched your nipple with two fingers, making you moan, He came closer and licked and sucked and bit your tits ""Cha-ah!" You made a sound that was a mix of moaning and screaming, and he put one hand over your mouth.

"shhh be quiet beauty, we wouldn't want the neighbors to hear what a loud slut you are, would we?" As your eyes filled with tears of pleasure, you nodded your approval. Charles took his hand from your mouth, connected his lips with yours and kissed you passionately. "Let me love you baby" While kissing your neck, he started to slide his length into your wetness.

"oh fuck Charles...o- oh my god" When Charles was completely inside you, he paused and looked into your eyes, "fuck sweetie, this is heaven." Charles slowly started to move inside you. Feeling each other completely for the first time was very different for both of you, you felt like you were going to die.

As Charles' movements speed up, you felt yourself getting closer to climax and dug your nails into his back. "My fuckkk please omg! Charles I'm gonna-" Charles moaned as he squeezed your breast with his free hand "cum baby, cum on my cock" While your back was arched , you held on to Charles's arm, which held your chest. While your body was shaking, you closed your eyes and moaned.Charles' movements became sharper and harder as you cum.

"Fuck baby, I'm gonna cum, fuck, I'm gonna fill you up hmmhhh. Putain, tu es si sexy, je vais remplir ta taille de mes bébés. Let me fucking breed you" (Fuck, you're so hot, I'll fill your belly with my babies) You just moaned what Charles said, you were out of breath, after a few seconds he started to cum inside you, He came deep down to the last drop.Then hugged you tiredly without putting all his weight on you he gave you a kiss on your cheek, came out and lay down next to you.

You started laughing as you stared at the ceiling, out of breath. Charles frowned and looked at you “what's the matter?” You turned sideways and placed a kiss on Charles' arm. "Breeding kink. Really? I would never have guessed.I've been trying for a year in vain " Charles rubbed his face with his hand and looked into your eyes again. "Have you been doing those weird sex things for a year to find my kink? God baby.." he chuckled, you rotated your hips and placed one of your legs over Charles's. Both of your pleasure juices were still flowing out of you. Charles groaned at the sight and closed his eyes.

"Omg you really have a breedink kink" Charles put his finger to your lips "shut up, god" you giggled your head on his shoulder "and my tits? seriously?" This time Charles took his arm off you and tried to turn around, and you laughed. "Come on Charles I'm just kidding...I actually liked it really" Charles turned and hugged me "hey Charlie, stop looking at my ass please" Charles laughed at your words, inhaled your scent and pulled back from the hug and played with your hair, "I'm sorry, it was just so beautiful." You put a small peck on his lips and smiled "i know baby thank you for that" You leaned your head on his chest again and started to doze off while he caressed your hair and kissed your head.

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ CONTENT CREATION (CL16)

pairing: charles leclerc x f!reader

summary: when ferrari hire a new content creator to help their social media presence, fans start noticing a certain friendship developing between her and their star driver.

*face claim: dina denoire (but please imagine her as you see fit)

scuderiaferrari just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 209,885 people

scuderiaferrari we’re all smiling and relaxing on media days📸

view all comments

user who is taking such good photos when did ferrari care about their social media

user okay loving all this content we are getting lately but what changed admin

user charles wearing white jeans gives me anxiety

user ferrari cooking something

ferrari just posted a reel ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 451,209 people

scuderiaferrari charles’ comments after the race have left us craving something 🍕

view all comments

user SO THAT WAS A GIRL’S VOICE RIGHT.

user IS THE NEW HIRE A GIRL

user so you DID hire a new media person… i knew all this content was too good to be true

ferrari just posted a tiktok ੈ✩‧₊˚

84k likes, 1.2k comments, 1k shares

video captions:

[carlos: is my person attractive?

charles *laughing*

carlos: that tells me everything!

charles: yes she is!

carlos: is it y/n then?

charles: i’m saying nothing]

ferrari charles and carlos play who am i featuring the members of our ferrari team!👀

top comments

user CHARLES WHAT DO U MEAN UR SAYING NOTHING.

user WHO IS Y/N AND WHY DOES SHE HAVE CHARLES LAUGHING LIKE THAT

user okay but carlos knowing he was immediately y/n from the way charles blushed👀 what does he know that we don’t she must be hot

user admin give us a y/n reveal💳💳💳

ferrari just posted a tiktok ੈ✩‧₊˚

39.8k likes, 415 comments, 890 saves

ferrari what time do our team arrive for our meeting?

top comments

user THIS IS THE FAMOUS Y/N???? SUDDENLY I UNDERSTAND CHARLES

user UMMM WHO IS THE GIRL

user double checking their team on the website it would appear she’s the content creator👀

user the one charles keeps mentioning???

user wait what time did the meeting start😭

yourusername 5… some of us were late

user IS THIS HER ACCOUNT BC IF SO…???? IM PANICKING SHES SO HOT

yourusername hi😭😭 yes this is me!!!

user oh my god she’s so hot

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by charles_leclerc and 56,408 others

yourusername first few months of many travelling the world have been a dream. grazi ferrari❤️

view all comments

user FINALLY FOUND UR ACCOUNT IVE BEEN WANTING TO SCREAM ABOUT HOW HOT YOU ARE FOR AGES

user was so focused on you i didn’t even notice the photo of charles

charles_leclerc no photo credits?

yourusername WAH WAH WAH

user how does it feel to liVE MY DREAM

yourusername pretty incredible tbh

ferrari just posted a video ੈ✩‧₊˚

[video captions:

CARLOS: who is most likely to be late because they overslept?

CHARLES: *laughing* probably y/n. she’s always late. i don’t think i’ve seen her be on time to a single meeting yet. she’s also notoriously hard to wake up and sleeps through her alarms and being shaken!

CARLOS: *teasing* you speak from experience, no?

CHARLES: *laughing* i’ve definitely struggled to wake her up a few times!]

twitter reacts ੈ✩‧₊˚

charles_leclerc just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 561,356 others

charles_leclerc enjoying the summer break

view all comments

user IS THAT Y/N?

user so ferraris content creator gets to see charles shirtless ? where do i apply

yourusername nO pHoTo CrEdItS?!😤😤😤

user GET HIM

user not to be that person but if they went on holiday together that means they probably shared a hotel room right…

user oh they’re totally doing it

user can’t blame her at all i would too

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by charles_leclerc and 98,406 others

yourusername some well deserved time off🫶

view all comments

user UMMM THE SECOND PHOTO??? ITS GIVING BOYFRIEND

user BESTIE WE ALL KNOW UR TOGETHER JUST MAKE IT OFFICIAL‼️

user this is confirmation in my head

formula1 just posted a video ੈ✩‧₊˚

[video captions:

CHARLES: y/n how do i look?

Y/N: you look alright.

CHARLES: just alright? oh my god my heart is broken.]

top comments

user WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUR HEART IS BROKEN CHARLES WHY IS HER OPINION SO IMPORTANT TO YOU👀

user oh so they spend the whole summer break together and now they’re in love????

user charles and y/n just announce you’re dating already i beg

user a whole formula 1 video and the first thing charles thinks of is to ask for y/n’s opinion… yeah we’ve lost him guys

user fr and i can’t even blame him have you SEEN her

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by charles_leclerc and 98,406 others

yourusername thanks idiot for mentioning my name constantly on the internet. glad to know i’m always on your mind (you’re on mine too)

view all comments

user OH MY GOD I KNEW IT

user TEARS THEYRE SO CUTE

user not ferrari playing matchmaker😭

charles_leclerc i love you. sorry i had to scream about it, glad i can do it double time now

charles_leclerc just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 561,356 others

charles_leclerc shout out to ferrari for introducing me to the girl of my dreams and only being minorly annoyed when i decided to make her mine

view all comments

user SO REALLLL

user MOTHER AND FATHER!!! ITS OFFICIAL

user when will I have my fanfic worthy love story

carlossainz55 i can’t wait to third wheel for the rest of our career together

yourusername you love us really

carlossainz55 i do. i really do

—————

taglist (found here): @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @ironmaiden1313 @champagnelovers101 @alessioayla @hobiismyhopeu @mingkyungseokie @woozarts @he6rtshaker @iluvvmeeee @goldenalbon @lucyysthings

as always, comments, likes, reblogs asks etc etc etc always greatly appreciated🫶 had a lot of fun w this one hehe

- giselle xx