#cast of monte carlo

[enumchase]

3 pretty best friends <333

[pendragaryen]

(x)

[theonottsbxtch]

FOR YOU, ALWAYS | CL16

an: this was a request! i loved wiritng it and now i love the idea of historical romance prince!charles, thank you for requesting it 💞 also i listened to experience by ludovico einaudi the entire time i wrote this

summary: charles has always hated his life, he thinks, he doesn’t know really. but then he meets someone, she challenges him, she makes him try and all of a sudden he knows what he wants.

wc: 12k

The grand dining hall of the Château de Monte Carlo was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through its ornate windows. Prince Charles of Monaco sat at the long mahogany table, his jaw tight as his parents, the Sovereign Prince and Princess, laid out their expectations with the weight of unshakable certainty.

"You must understand, Charles," his mother said, her voice poised yet firm, "a union with Princess Evelyn of England is not merely desirable—it is necessary. The alliance could strengthen our position in ways you cannot yet fully grasp."

His father leaned forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table. "This is not a matter of choice. You are the crown prince. Your duty outweighs any personal hesitation."

Charles’s fingers tightened around the stem of his untouched glass. “And what of my life? Am I to simply be a pawn in your political games?” His voice was calm, but a sharp edge lay beneath the surface.

His mother’s gaze softened slightly, though not enough to dissuade her resolve. “You are the oldest, my son. The weight of the crown has always been yours to bear. This... is part of that burden.”

He didn’t argue further, though every fibre of his being resisted. Instead, he rose, offering a clipped bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moments later, Charles pushed open the heavy doors to his private chambers, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of his room. His temples throbbed with the remnants of the conversation, and he felt the weight of his parents’ expectations settling heavier than the crown he would one day wear.

Inside, the faint rustle of fabric caught his attention. The servant girl—her name unknown to him, as it was meant to be—was smoothing the fresh sheets over his bed. She froze upon seeing him, her hands faltering mid-motion.

“Your Highness,” she said quickly, dipping into a small, practised curtsey. “I didn’t realise you were returning so soon. Shall I leave and return later?”

He waved a hand absently, stepping toward the settee by the window. “No. Stay. Finish your work.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to his face, then back to the task at hand. He sank into the settee, his head tilting back against the carved wood as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Do you ever wonder,” he began, his voice soft yet tinged with frustration, “why some of us are given so much freedom, yet chained in ways that others cannot see?”

She paused, her hands gripping the edges of the linen she had just tucked in, unsure if the question was meant for her.

When she did not answer, he looked at her—truly looked at her—for the first time in a long while. Her expression was guarded, her posture poised, as though expecting reproach. “You can speak freely,” he said, a rare hint of gentleness colouring his tone.

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again before she carefully responded, “I think, Your Highness, that even those with freedom often long for something else.”

He smiled faintly, though there was no humour in it. “Something else,” he echoed, the words hanging between them like a challenge to a fate he could not escape.

She quickly turned her attention back to the task at hand, smoothing the sheets in swift, precise movements, as if afraid that lingering would invite trouble. Charles, however, was not done with the conversation.

“And what would you long for?” he asked, his voice quieter now but laced with curiosity. “If you could have… anything?”

Her hands stilled, though she didn’t lift her gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Your Highness. People like me don’t waste time with such thoughts.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The firmness in his tone made her look up briefly, her eyes meeting his for the first time. They were dark, unyielding, yet not unkind. She hesitated, as though weighing the consequences of speaking too openly.

Finally, she murmured, “I suppose… I’d long for choice. To decide my own path, no matter how humble.”

Charles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with an intensity that made her shift slightly under his gaze. “Choice,” he repeated, almost to himself. “The one thing I’ve never had.”

She blinked at his words, her brow furrowing in confusion. He noticed the look and gave a soft, bitter laugh.

“You think I have everything, don’t you?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the opulence surrounding them. “All this, and yet I’m to marry a woman I’ve never met. Smile on command. Produce heirs like some stud horse for the dynasty.”

“Your Highness—”

“Spare me,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m aware I sound insufferable. Poor me, the prince in his gilded cage.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile threatening to appear, though she suppressed it quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say so, Your Highness.”

“And yet you’re thinking it,” he said, leaning back against the settee, a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. “Go on. You’ve already said more than most would dare. Speak freely.”

She hesitated, then, emboldened by his unusual mood, offered carefully, “I think… it’s easier to envy a cage when it’s lined with silk.”

Charles let out a bark of laughter, surprising them both. For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by something lighter.

“Touché,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps I deserve that.”

She resumed her work in silence, and he watched her, his mind turning over her words. There was a simplicity in her presence, a quiet sense of purpose that felt like a reprieve from the endless demands of court life.

As she moved to leave, her task completed, she paused by the door. “Your Highness,” she said, her voice tentative.

He glanced up, his expression expectant.

“Sometimes… cages are only as strong as we believe them to be.”

Before he could respond, she slipped out, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and the echo of her words, which refused to leave him in peace.

The words haunted Charles for days. Cages are only as strong as we believe them to be. They played on a loop in his mind, following him from morning meetings with ministers to the hollow dinners with his parents, where talk of his engagement to Princess Evelyn consumed every conversation.

By the third day, he relented. Not to the sentiment behind her words, but to the reality of his life. Duty, it seemed, would always triumph over desire. He formally agreed to the arrangement in a cold meeting with his father, his voice devoid of emotion as he signed the papers that would announce his betrothal to the world.

That evening, restless and seeking solace, he ventured into the royal gardens. The roses were in full bloom, their scent heavy in the warm air, yet they brought him no comfort. The paths, so meticulously maintained, felt as constricting as the marble walls of the palace.

The crisp evening air offered a solace the grand halls could not. He strolled along the manicured paths, his mind still heavy with the decision he had made, when movement near the servant’s entrance caught his eye.

It was her.

She was dressed simply, carrying a basket as she slipped through the narrow door at the edge of the palace walls. For a moment, he simply watched her, a sudden curiosity flaring to life. Then, before reason could temper him, he followed.

She moved with purpose, her steps quick as she crossed the gravel path leading to the servants’ gate. Charles kept his distance, careful to stay within the shadows. The sound of the gate creaking open carried through the still night, and he quickened his pace.

“Wait,” he called softly as the gate began to swing shut behind her.

She spun, startled, her hand flying to her chest when she saw him. “Your Highness!” she whispered, her tone panicked. She glanced around quickly, as though expecting someone to appear from the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you,” he said simply, his voice low, “and I followed.”

Her expression shifted from shock to alarm. “You shouldn’t have. If anyone sees you out here with me—”

“They won’t,” he said firmly, stepping closer.

“But if they do…” Her voice dropped further, almost a plea. “I’ll be dismissed—worse. Do you know what they’d do to me for leaving the palace grounds with the prince?”

He stared at her, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of something other than despair. “Please,” he said, the word escaping him softly but with undeniable weight.

Her eyes widened at his uncharacteristic vulnerability. She shook her head, taking a step back. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

“I’m not ordering you,” he said quickly. “I’m asking.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind clearly racing. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and thrust it toward him.

“Fine,” she said, her tone sharp but her movements careful as she draped it around him. “If anyone asks, you’re my cousin visiting from the countryside. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

Charles nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Understood.”

She turned and began walking quickly down the narrow dirt path beyond the gate. He followed, cloaked in her simple, worn garment, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the fabric.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity before the lights of a small village came into view. She turned onto a side lane, leading him to a tiny house at the edge of town, its thatched roof weathered but charming.

“This is it,” she said, her voice clipped as she gestured to the modest dwelling.

He stared at the house, a stark contrast to the palace he called home. “You live here?”

“Yes,” she said, clearly defensive. “It’s small, but it’s mine. No one tells me what to do when I’m here.”

He didn’t respond, too busy taking in the details: the flower boxes beneath the windows, the faint glow of a single candle in the window.

“Now you’ve seen it,” she said, her tone impatient. “You should go back before someone notices you’re missing.”

But Charles shook his head. “No,” he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the little house. “Not yet.”

Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, finally looking at her. “But now that I’m here… I can’t imagine wanting to leave.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed again, softer this time.

“Fine,” she said, stepping toward the door. “But if anyone asks, I don’t know why you’re here, and I definitely didn’t bring you.”

She pushed the door open, stepping inside with a cautious glance behind her. Charles followed, ducking slightly to avoid the low wooden beam over the doorway. Before she could say a word, a voice called from inside.

“Back already? I thought you—”

The voice cut off as a man, younger than Charles but older than the servant girl, appeared from the far corner of the small room. He froze, his sharp blue eyes flicking between her and the prince. “What in God’s name…”

“Damn it!” she hissed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought you were working the late shift at the docks tonight!”

“I was,” her brother said, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders. His rough shirt and patched trousers bore the telltale marks of dock work—salt stains and grime clung to the fabric. “But the shipment was cancelled. Now you tell me why the bloody prince of Monaco is in our house. Did you kidnap him?”

“Kidnap him?” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous. He followed me!”

Charles, for his part, seemed utterly unconcerned by the commotion. His gaze wandered over the small room with childlike fascination, taking in the chipped table, the cracked ceramic plates stacked neatly in the corner, and the patchwork curtain separating the single sleeping area. He paused to admire a string of dried herbs hanging near the hearth, as though he’d never seen anything so fascinating.

“Your Highness,” the brother said, stepping in front of him with an awkward, hesitant bow. “I mean no disrespect, but do you… do you need me to call someone? Or are you in danger?” He looked over his shoulder at his sister. “Are we in danger?”

“No one is in danger,” Charles replied, his voice calm. He turned to her brother with a polite nod. “Thank you for your concern. I’m here of my own accord.”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes landed on a wooden crate near the wall, and before either sibling could stop him, he lowered himself onto it. The crate creaked but held, and he leaned back with a sigh, a serene smile spreading across his face.

The girl spun on him, her exasperation bubbling over. “What are you smiling about?”

He looked up at her, his expression earnest, almost boyish. “It’s beautiful.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Here,” he said, gesturing around the room. “It’s so cosy. Everything has its place. It’s warm, lived-in… peaceful.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “You call this beautiful? Your palace is five hundred times the size, and you think this is—”

“I know what my palace is,” Charles interrupted, though his tone held no irritation. “Cold. Grand. Silent. This… this feels alive.”

She crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she stared at him. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him. “It’s a shack,” she said finally, her voice softer but still tinged with disbelief.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “But it’s your shack. And it’s more honest than anything I’ve ever known.”

Her brother exchanged a glance with her, his expression suggesting that he thought the prince might have lost his mind. She only shook her head, sighing heavily as she walked to the table and placed her basket down.

“This is a mistake,” she muttered to herself.

“Perhaps,” Charles said, still smiling, “but it’s the best mistake I’ve made in a long time.”

She busied herself unpacking the basket, placing a few withered carrots, a handful of potatoes, and some crusty bread onto the table. Her brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still watching Charles with wary eyes.

“If you’re staying, Your Highness,” she said, her tone clipped as she focused on the food, “I hope you don’t mind scraps.” She hesitated, then glanced at him. “And you can’t tell anyone at the palace that I take the extras. They’d—”

“Dismiss you,” Charles finished, his voice soft. “I won’t tell. You have my word.”

She gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing slightly, and began peeling the potatoes. Her hands moved deftly, her brother stepping in to fetch water from the small barrel near the door. Charles sat quietly on his makeshift chair, watching the two of them work in a rhythm.

“Do you need help?” he asked after a moment.

Her brother let out a short laugh, but she only shook her head without looking up. “No, Your Highness, but thank you for the offer. I imagine peeling potatoes is beneath you.”

“Not everything is beneath me,” he replied, and while his voice was carrying a hint of dry humour, there was some seriousness to it.

She didn’t respond, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into a battered pot over the small fire. Soon, the room filled with the simple, comforting aroma of soup.

When the meal was ready, she placed three mismatched bowls on the table and ladled out the steaming broth. She set one in front of Charles without ceremony, then handed one to her brother before sitting down herself.

Charles took a tentative sip, and his eyes widened slightly. “This is excellent.”

Her brother snorted. “It’s boiled scraps, mate. You must really have it rough if you think this is fine dining.”

“Max,” she warned, shooting her brother a glare.

Charles chuckled, dipping a chunk of the crusty bread into the soup. “Maybe it’s not fine dining,” he admitted, “but it tastes real. Honest.”

Her brother rolled his eyes but said nothing more, focusing on his meal. The three of them ate in relative silence, the tension in the room easing slightly as the warmth of the food spread through them.

When the bowls were empty, she cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly on a small shelf. Charles leaned back, his contented smile returning as he watched her move about the room.

“You should go,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. She didn’t turn to face him.

His smile faltered. “I don’t want to.”

Her hands paused for a moment before she resumed tidying the table. “You’ve seen what you wanted to see. This is my life. And you… you have your own life waiting for you back there.”

Charles stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

She walked toward the door, not meeting his eyes as she grabbed her cloak and gestured for him to follow. Her brother gave Charles a long, unreadable look as he rose to leave, but he said nothing, only shaking his head as the prince ducked back out into the cool night air.

They walked in silence down the dirt path, the lights of the palace glowing faintly in the distance. When they reached the servants’ gate, she stopped and turned to him, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“This is where we part ways,” she said firmly.

He took a step closer, and when she looked up, she saw something in his expression—gratitude, yes, but something deeper, too. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle. He held it for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over her calloused fingers.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For the soup. For everything.”

Before she could respond, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was brief, but it sent a wave of warmth up her arm, leaving her stunned.

He stepped back, releasing her hand, and gave her one last look before slipping through the gate and disappearing into the shadows.

She stood there for a long time, staring at the empty path, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

The next few days at the palace dragged on in a monotonous blur for Charles. His mornings were filled with tiresome meetings about the engagement, his afternoons with rigid etiquette lessons to prepare for public appearances with Princess Evelyn. Every second felt like a tightening noose around his neck.

Finally, the day came for him to meet her. Princess Evelyn of England arrived with her entourage in an ornate carriage, her entrance every bit as grand as expected. She was perfectly polite, perfectly poised—and, to Charles, perfectly insipid.

They sat across from each other in one of the palace’s many drawing rooms, chaperoned by a small battalion of attendants and his ever-watchful parents. She spoke at length about her family lineage, her charity work, and her plans to modernise court life, but her words washed over him like a stream of lukewarm water.

When it was his turn to speak, he managed only the barest pleasantries. He was certain she noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but if it bothered her, she gave no indication.

By the end of the meeting, he felt more drained than he had in years. As she curtsied and left the room, he caught his mother’s pointed glare, but he ignored it.

Before she could say anything to him, he glanced at the ornate clock on his wall. It was nearly the same time as the day she would be fluffing the pillows on his settee. A peculiar sense of anticipation stirred in his chest.

Without a second thought, he made his way to his bedroom. As he opened the door, his eyes immediately fell on her.

She was there, as if summoned by some unspoken wish. She was standing by the settee, her back to him as she carefully fluffed the pillows. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, and entirely unlike the flurry of maids bustling about elsewhere in the palace.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Perfect timing,” he said loudly, causing her to jump slightly.

She turned, clutching the pillow to her chest. “Your Highness!” she said, startled. “I— I can come back later if—”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted dramatically, throwing himself onto the bed with a theatrical sigh.

She froze, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed, as he sprawled across the silk covers, one arm flung over his face.

“Let me tell you about the most dreadful afternoon of my life,” he groaned.

Her brow furrowed as she set the pillow back in place. “The dreadful afternoon where you met the woman you’re going to marry?”

“Precisely,” he said, sitting up slightly to gesture at her. “You understand my plight already.”

“I understand you’re being ridiculous,” she replied, smoothing the cushions on the settee.

“Ridiculous?!” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. “Do you know what she said when I asked her about her favourite pastime?”

“I don’t,” she said flatly, clearly trying to stay focused on her task.

“She said,” he continued, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm, “Oh, I do adore embroidery. There’s something so meditative about it.”

She stared at him. “That… doesn’t sound terrible.”

He sat up fully now, gesturing emphatically. “Doesn’t sound terrible? It’s horrific! What am I to do with someone who finds stitching flowers onto fabric the height of excitement?”

“You could try embroidery yourself,” she suggested dryly, unable to resist a small smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Very funny. No, what I need is someone who… who challenges me. Someone with fire.”

She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to the pillows.

“Instead,” he muttered, flopping back onto the bed, “I’m shackled to a walking lesson in decorum.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the settee. Finally, she turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.

“Maybe,” she said carefully, “you should spend less time thinking about what you don’t like about her and more time figuring out what you’re looking for.”

Charles opened one eye to glance at her. “And if what I’m looking for isn’t an option?”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she shook her head and turned back to her work.

“Then you make do,” she said simply.

He watched her for a long moment, his chest tightening inexplicably.

“Is that what you do?” he asked softly.

She paused but didn’t turn around. “Every day, Your Highness.”

Without another word, she grabbed her items and walked out, softly closing the door behind her.

Charles had barely settled back on the bed, still pondering her cryptic answer, when the door to his chambers burst open.

His younger brother, Arthur, strode in, his golden hair slightly dishevelled and a boyish grin plastered across his face. “Charles! I just saw her—the princess of England. She’s… stunning. Gorgeous. A masterpiece, really. You lucky bastard.”

Charles groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Arthur, must you always barge in uninvited?”

Arthur ignored him, plopping himself unceremoniously into one of the velvet chairs near the fireplace. “I mean it. If I were you, I’d have proposed on the spot. Did you see her eyes? Like polished emeralds.”

“She’s… fine,” Charles muttered, his tone flat.

“Fine?” Arthur’s voice rose in mock indignation. “Brother, I’d trade places with you in an instant.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “What is it? Not enough excitement for you? Too… proper?”

Charles sat up, his expression exasperated. “If you find her so attractive, Arthur, marry her yourself.”

Arthur laughed, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Oh, if only it worked that way. But alas, you are the crown prince. The heir. The one who gets the girl and the throne, while I’m left to look charming at parties.”

Charles shook his head, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might be if the roles were reversed. Could Arthur really be happy living a life of obligation, of gilded cages and loveless arrangements?

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the servant girl. Her small house, her laughter with her brother over bowls of soup, the way she moved through life with an independence he’d never known.

“What would it be like,” he murmured, almost to himself, “to marry someone who isn’t royalty? Someone who isn’t bound by these ridiculous rules?”

Arthur blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. Then he laughed, loud and incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

Charles turned his head sharply, fixing his brother with a challenging look. “I’m serious. What would it be like to marry a commoner? To live a life free of all this… pomp and pretence?”

Arthur’s laughter faded, replaced by a look of disbelief. “You are mad. Do you have any idea what that would mean? The scandal? The uproar? Father would have a fit. Mother would faint on the spot. And the people? They’d riot.”

“Would they?” Charles asked, his tone calm but insistent. “Or would they understand? Would they respect a prince who chose love over duty?”

Arthur shook his head, a faint sneer creeping into his expression. “You don’t know what you’re saying. A prince doesn’t marry a milkmaid or a seamstress. It’s not a fairytale, Charles. We’re not… like them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

“Not like them,” Charles repeated softly, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Arthur hesitated, then shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “It means we have a responsibility. A legacy to uphold. Marrying into royalty isn’t just tradition—it’s survival. You think Father and Mother arranged your engagement for fun?”

Charles didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, his mind churning. Arthur’s words grated against something deep within him, something that longed to push back against the boundaries of their carefully constructed world.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low, “the legacy isn’t worth the cost.”

Arthur stared at him, his disbelief giving way to concern. “Charles… you’ve been spending too much time alone. Or worse—reading poetry again. Get your head out of the clouds, brother. This is your life. Learn to accept it.”

With that, Arthur rose, clapping Charles on the shoulder before striding toward the door. “And if you won’t,” he added with a grin, “I’ll gladly keep the princess company. You’re a fool not to appreciate her.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Charles alone in the echoing silence of his chambers.

But his mind wasn’t silent.

It churned, restless and defiant, filled with images of a life he might never know.

The chill of the autumn night bit at Charles’s skin as he hurried along the winding path toward the small house. A week had passed, and though he told himself repeatedly that it was improper—foolish, even—he couldn’t shake the gnawing thought of her.

He hadn’t seen her since their last conversation in his chambers. Every day without her had stretched longer than the last. No wry comments while she smoothed the wrinkles from his sheets, no gentle jabs at his dramatics.

The house appeared before him, small and humble against the starlit sky. Light peeked through the cracks in the shutters.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked.

The door opened a crack, her face appearing in the dim light. The moment she recognised him, her eyes widened in alarm, and she yanked him inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Your Highness!” she whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the door as though to block the outside world. “Are you out of your mind? I’ll be hung if they find you at my door!”

He tried to smile, though he knew she was right. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

Her expression turned exasperated. “That’s not a valid reason to sneak out of the palace, Prince Charles.”

“Isn’t it?” he countered lightly, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed the truth of how much he’d missed her.

Her sigh was heavy with frustration, but something softened in her gaze. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said again, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She moved away from the door, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.

It was then that he noticed the redness around her nose, the slight rasp in her voice.

“You’ve been ill,” he said, stepping closer.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, waving him off as she moved toward the small kitchen space. “A cold. Happens every year when the weather turns. I’ll survive.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly, glancing around the room.

“Life doesn’t wait for the sniffles,” she said with a faint smirk, though her movements were slower than usual as she reached for a bowl.

“Then let me help,” he said, surprising both of them.

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You? Help? What do you know about cooking?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he admitted, grinning. “But I’m an excellent student.”

She stared at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to humour him. Finally, she handed him a knife and motioned toward a small pile of vegetables. “Fine. Peel those. Try not to cut yourself.”

He took the knife gingerly, studying the carrot as if it were a puzzle. She chuckled softly, the sound warming the small space, and stepped beside him to show him the proper angle for peeling.

The next hour passed in a flurry of quiet laughter and careful instructions. He fumbled with the knife, his first attempts earning teasing remarks from her, but he improved quickly under her guidance. Together, they chopped, stirred, and seasoned until the small pot on the stove began to bubble with a fragrant stew.

As they worked, the conversation drifted.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” she said, handing him a spoon to stir.

He smiled. “Careful. If you keep complimenting me, I might come back for more lessons.”

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Cooking isn’t glamorous work, Your Highness. It’s just… survival.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “but there’s something… grounding about it. It feels real.”

She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You really hate that palace life, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead focusing on the steady motion of the spoon in the pot. “I don’t hate it,” he said eventually. “It’s just… hollow. Every decision is made for me. Every word is calculated. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be in all of it.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “You’re lucky, though,” she said softly. “Even if it’s hollow, you have a place. A name. People like me… we’re just the shadows keeping the fire alive.”

He stopped stirring, her words settling heavily in the space between them. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said after a moment.

She tilted her head, her expression sceptical. “No?”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re more than that. You’re clever. Strong. Independent. You see things I never could.”

She blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his voice.

“That’s what I like about you,” he added softly, almost without thinking.

The words hung in the air, and he froze, realising too late what he’d said.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pot on the stove.

His own face burned as he fumbled for something to say, but nothing came. The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, until she finally spoke, her voice quieter than before.

“You should taste the stew,” she said, not looking at him.

He stepped forward, dipping the spoon into the pot and taking a tentative sip.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice softer now.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, though she still didn’t meet his gaze.

The evening deepened, the chill of the autumn air seeping through the thin walls of the small house. Charles noticed her slight shiver as she ladled the stew into two mismatched bowls, the threadbare shawl around her shoulders doing little to shield her from the cold.

He stood abruptly, unfastening the clasp of his heavy cloak. She turned to look at him, startled, as he stepped behind her and draped it gently over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling the thick fabric around herself instinctively.

“You’re cold,” he said simply, sitting back down and picking up his bowl.

She hesitated, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “But you’ll freeze without it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a small smile. “I’ve survived colder nights, army and all of that.”

The warmth of the cloak seemed to envelop her, and she relaxed slightly, sitting down across from him. For a moment, they ate in silence, the quiet clinking of their spoons the only sound.

When their bowls were empty, Charles glanced around the modest room, noticing for the first time the lack of a hearthfire.

“Do you light a fire at night?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

She shook her head. “Can’t afford firewood,” she said matter-of-factly, collecting their bowls. “It’s not so bad. We manage.”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, though the thought of her and her brother enduring nights in such cold unsettled him deeply.

She didn’t seem to notice his reaction, busying herself with tidying up.

Later, as he prepared to leave, she hesitated by the door, holding his cloak out to him.

“Take this back,” she said softly.

He pushed her hand gently back toward her. “Keep it,” he insisted. “For tonight.”

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the words faltering. Finally, she nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

He smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the night, the chill biting at him instantly as he made his way back to the palace.

She played with the royal clasp of his cloak as he left and wondered what her life would be like if she wasn’t just a servant and he wasn’t the Crown Prince of Monaco.

No less than a few days later, her brother barged into the small house, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards.

“Why,” he began, his voice loud and incredulous, “is there months’ worth of firewood outside the house?”

She looked up from where she was patching a worn-out scarf, distracted. “What are you talking about?”

“The firewood,” he repeated, gesturing wildly toward the door. “There’s a mountain of it, just sitting there! Did you rob a lumberyard?”

She frowned, setting down her work and walking to the door. When she stepped outside, her eyes widened at the sight of the neatly stacked pile of firewood by the side of the house.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered, completely bewildered.

It was then that she noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the top of the stack. Pulling it free, she unfolded it to reveal a note written in a familiar, elegant hand.

Keep warm – C

Her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Her brother leaned over her shoulder, reading the note. “C?” he asked suspiciously. “Who’s C?”

She folded the note quickly, tucking it into her apron pocket. “No one,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

Her brother narrowed his eyes but didn’t press further, shaking his head as he muttered something about princes and their peculiarities.

She was fluffing the pillows on the freshly made bed when the door to the prince’s chambers swung open. Charles strode in, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her. Without hesitation, he leapt onto the bed, landing with a dramatic bounce that sent a pillow tumbling to the floor.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, grinning. “And you’re better!”

“And you just ruined the bed I made.” she chided but then moved on to adjusting a vase on the side table. “Well I must say, a lit fire at night changes a whole lot.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then sat up, feigning ignorance with an exaggerated shrug. “Oh? A fire, you say? That’s… good to hear. Fires are quite helpful, I’m told.”

Her smirk widened. “I’m sure someone told you that.”

“Perhaps,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But we’re not here to discuss firewood logistics, are we?”

She rolled her eyes, walking around the room to dust the mantel. “Then what would you like to discuss, Your Highness?”

He sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. “The princess of England.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. “Oh?”

“I have to meet her again,” he groaned. “Another tea, another tedious conversation about fabrics or her needlework or some other mind-numbing topic. I swear, I’d rather duel blindfolded than sit through it.”

She snorted, biting back a laugh. “Blindfolded? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said, peeking at her from under his arm. “It’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Of course it is,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Because what’s more reasonable than a prince skewering himself just to avoid small talk?”

He sat up, clutching his chest theatrically. “You wound me, madam. Truly, your lack of sympathy is cruel.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, shaking her head as she set the duster aside. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, grinning.

She turned back to the mantel, but when the silence stretched, she glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and intent.

Her brow furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and quickly looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

“You absolutely were,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a suspicious look.

“No, I was… thinking,” he said, his voice a touch too casual.

She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”

“About…” He scrambled for an answer, then pointed toward the bed. “About how well you made this bed. Truly impressive. Best I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes again, but a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “Right,” she said, picking up her duster. “Well, I’ll leave you to your very important thinking, then.”

He watched her go, his chest tightening as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Over the next few days, Charles found himself increasingly distracted. Whether strolling through the palace gardens or enduring another tiresome tea with the princess, his thoughts invariably drifted to her. The way her wit kept him on his toes. The quiet determination in her movements. The occasional flicker of softness beneath her sharp remarks.

It was maddening.

When he was near her, he found excuses to linger. When she wasn’t around, he searched for her without realising it. And as much as he tried to push the growing ache in his chest aside, he couldn’t deny what was happening.

He’d fallen for her.

It was late afternoon when he returned to his chambers after a gruelling diplomatic meeting. To his delight, she was there, dusting the intricate carvings on the wooden frame of his bed. She didn’t notice him enter, humming softly to herself as she worked.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat.

She jumped, spinning around to face him, clutching her duster like a weapon. “Do you have to sneak up on me?”

“It’s my room,” he said, smirking. “I can hardly sneak into my own space.”

She scowled, turning back to her work. “You’re insufferable.”

“So you’ve said,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “But you keep coming back. Perhaps I’m growing on you.”

“I come back because it’s my job,” she retorted, moving to dust a nearby shelf.

He followed her, leaning lazily against the furniture. “A job you seem to excel at. Though I wonder… do you enjoy tormenting me as much as I enjoy tormenting you?”

She shot him a sharp glance, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Someone has to keep your ego in check, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pluck the duster from her hand. “You do it so well,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned closer, her eyes darting to his before flicking away. “You should stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he leaned closer still, his face mere inches from hers.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” she said, stepping back slightly, only to find herself against the edge of the shelf.

The tension in the air was palpable, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His gaze was locked on hers, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Charles?” his brother’s voice called from the hallway.

Panic flared in her eyes, and Charles acted on instinct, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the large wardrobe at the side of the room.

“What are you—” she began, but he pressed a finger to her lips as he opened the wardrobe door and ushered her inside.

The space was small, barely enough for the two of them. She pressed herself against the back wall as he stepped in, closing the door behind them.

The darkness was absolute, and the only sound was the quiet shuffle of their breaths.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

A beat passed, and she whispered back, her voice laced with frustration, “If we get caught, it’ll be my neck, not yours.”

“No one’s getting caught,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

In the confined space, his hand brushed against hers, and he froze. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers moved to her face. His touch was light, tentative, as though he feared she might vanish at any moment.

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, brushing against her skin with agonising slowness. Her breath hitched, and in the silence, it felt deafening.

“Why are you…” she began, but her voice faltered as his fingers brushed the line of her jaw, lingering there for a moment before sliding to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You’re too close,” she replied, though her tone lacked conviction.

The faintest smile curved his lips, though she couldn’t see it in the dark. “You’re not stopping me,” he said softly.

Before she could respond, his brother’s voice echoed from the other side of the room. “Charles, where are you?”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers. “Stay still,” he murmured, his hand still cradling her cheek.

She closed her eyes, the tension in the small space suffocating and electric all at once.

Footsteps receded as his brother left the room, grumbling something about missing him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Charles let out a slow breath, his hand dropping from her face. He opened the wardrobe door slightly, letting in the dim light of the room.

“Safe,” he said quietly, stepping back to let her out.

She stepped past him, her cheeks flushed and her breaths uneven. “You’re reckless,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze as she hurried to gather her duster.

He smirked, leaning against the wardrobe door. “And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Get back to work, Your Highness,” she said, her tone sharp but her voice unsteady.

He chuckled softly, watching her go.

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Charles’s chambers, painting golden streaks across the plush rug. She was there again, this time at his desk, meticulously polishing the brass handles of the drawers. She worked with the same quiet efficiency she always did, her movements steady, purposeful.

Charles, reclining lazily on the settee, had been pretending to read a book for the past ten minutes. In truth, he’d barely turned a page. His attention was drawn, as it so often was these days, to her.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Have you ever taken a moment to rest?”

She glanced at him briefly before returning to her task. “I rest when my work is done.”

“And when is it done?” he pressed, setting the book down and rising to his feet.

She didn’t answer immediately, her focus still on the brass handle in her hand. “When your chambers sparkle, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “It already sparkles. You’ve polished this desk so many times I can see my reflection.”

She huffed softly, clearly unimpressed. “There’s still dust.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing hers as she gripped the cloth. She stilled, her breath catching as his fingers lingered over hers.

“You’re relentless,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her eyes flicked to his, wide and uncertain. “And you’re in my way.”

He smiled, his expression teasing but his gaze intent. “I’m rarely in anyone’s way. It’s a novelty.”

She tried to step back, but he moved with her, closing the distance between them. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Observing,” he said, his voice soft, warm, as if he were sharing a secret. “You’re endlessly fascinating to watch, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, but he reached out, gently tilting her chin so she’d meet his eyes again.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Why not?”

“Because…” She faltered, her lips parting as she searched for words. “Because you shouldn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand still holding her chin. The air between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them dared name.

“You’re trembling again,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles.

“I’m not,” she said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

“You are,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her jaw in the lightest of touches.

Her breath hitched, and her hands tightened around the cloth she still held. “This is dangerous,” she managed, though her tone was weak.

“For you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Or for me?”

She couldn’t answer, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

His hand moved, the backs of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, then down to her neck, where his thumb rested lightly against her pulse. He felt it hammering beneath his touch and smiled softly, almost as if he were marvelling at it.

“You feel it too,” he said, his voice low and intimate, as if the world beyond this moment didn’t exist.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she finally pushed lightly at his chest. “You… need to stop.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze locked on hers. Then, slowly, he stepped back, though the tension in the air lingered like a storm about to break.

She turned away quickly, grabbing her cloth and pretending to busy herself with the desk again, though her hands shook so much she nearly dropped it.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice stopping her in her tracks.

She didn’t turn back to him, but she nodded slightly, her voice quiet. “Don’t do it again.”

But neither of them believed that.

That night the crackle of the fire in the grand drawing room filled the silence as Charles poured himself another glass of brandy. His younger brother lounged in the chair across from him, a glass already in hand.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Arthur said, swirling his drink. “Even more so than usual.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “Have I?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You spent half of tea with the English delegation yesterday staring at the window. I’m pretty sure they could have declared war, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Charles chuckled, though it lacked his usual mirth. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight.

“Arthur,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

His brother tilted his head, curious. “What?”

“What would you think of… being the next heir to the throne?”

Arthur blinked, then laughed, loud and incredulous. “What, you’re not planning on dying anytime soon, are you?”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

Arthur leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Then why would you ask that?”

Charles swirled his drink, his gaze distant. “Just… wondering.”

Arthur snorted, leaning back again. “Abdicating is social suicide. If you’re even entertaining the thought, I’d advise you to stop immediately.”

Charles stayed silent, his thumb brushing idly along the rim of his glass.

The quiet stretched, and Arthur froze mid-drink, lowering his glass to the table with a sharp clink. His eyes widened, and his voice dropped. “You’re not thinking of abdicating… are you?”

Charles didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he stared into the fire.

“Cha,” Arthur pressed, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on with you? Who’s put this absurd idea in your head?”

Charles glanced at him, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not absurd.”

“It is when you’re the crown prince of Monaco,” Arthur snapped, sitting up straighter. “You’d give up everything—power, privilege, our family’s legacy—for what? A whim? A fleeting fancy?”

“It’s not a fancy,” Charles said sharply, his voice cutting through the room.

Arthur blinked, taken aback by his brother’s rare flash of anger. “Then what is it?”

Charles leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring hard at his brother. “What if I told you it’s something real? That I’ve found something—someone—who makes me feel more alive than anything this throne ever could?”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious,” Charles said, his tone firm.

Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t just about a servant, is it?”

Charles’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “How—”

“Please,” Arthur said, waving a hand. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been sneaking out, the looks you give when you think no one’s watching? The firewood? You’re an open book.”

Charles leaned back, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I underestimated you.”

“And you’re underestimating the chaos you’d cause,” Arthur shot back. “Do you have any idea what this would mean for the family? For Monaco?”

Charles’s expression hardened. “For once, I’m thinking about what it would mean for me.”

Arthur stared at him, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “You’d walk away from all of this?”

“If it meant being with her?” Charles said, his voice soft but resolute. “Yes. I would.”

The weight of his words settled over them, and for once, Arthur didn’t have a quick retort.

The next few days were torturous for Charles. Each moment stretched longer than the last, his thoughts dominated by her. Every step he took through the palace halls felt meaningless without catching sight of her—her quick smile, her quiet resolve, the way she challenged him without fear.

He thought of her words, her laughter, the way her cheeks flushed when he teased her. More than that, he thought of the way she made him feel—seen, understood, even cherished in a way that no title or crown could replicate.

His heart ached with the weight of it, with the need to tell her, to unburden himself of the truth that had taken root so deeply he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

But how? How could he look her in the eye and admit what he was so sure would unravel the tenuous balance between them?

One morning, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the palace gardens. It was the time of day she often brought fresh linens from the storage to the castle, she usually crossed the gardens. He lingered, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Frustrated, he returned to his chambers, pacing the space restlessly, thinking. No, waiting to next see her. When she finally arrived, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, his breath hitched.

“You’re pacing,” she said, placing the tray on the table. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I’ve been restless,” he admitted, stopping mid-stride. “And you’re late.”

She raised an eyebrow as she set the tea. “Didn’t know I was on your schedule.”

He crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate. “I notice when you’re not here.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed arranging the tea things. “I’m just a servant, Your Highness. Surely you have better things to notice.”

“That’s not true,” he said, his voice dropping.

She looked up at him, her expression guarded. “It should be.”

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t her place to decide what mattered to him, but the vulnerability in her gaze stopped him. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Have you eaten today?”

She frowned, clearly caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d wager you haven’t,” he said, stepping closer. “You work yourself to the bone.”

She shrugged, turning back to her task. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, his tone softer now. “Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

She hesitated, glancing at the door. “If someone sees—”

“No one will,” he said, moving to pull a chair out for her. “Please.”

Her eyes darted between him and the chair before she sighed, giving in and sitting reluctantly.

He poured her a cup of tea, his movements unhurried. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, and he felt the now-familiar spark that always seemed to follow her touch.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, looking down at the tea.

“Do what?”

“Treat me like I’m someone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone important.”

His chest tightened. “You are.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and something else—something that made his breath catch.

For a moment, he thought about saying it, about laying it all out before her. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the fear of what her reaction might be.

The next day, Charles found himself waiting for her in his chambers again, anticipation thrumming through him. When she arrived, her arms full of fresh linens, he immediately noticed the faint circles under her eyes.

“You’re overworking yourself again,” he said, standing from his seat near the window.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone brisk as she moved to change the bedding.

“You’re not,” he countered, moving closer.

She straightened, turning to face him. “Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“Because…” He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. “Because you matter to me.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching. “Charles, don’t—”

“I’m not trying to overstep,” he said quickly. “But you should know—I can’t ignore it anymore.”

“Ignore what?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. She stepped back instinctively, breaking the moment.

Over the next few days, he was quieter, more pensive. He found himself watching her more often, the words he wanted to say always on the tip of his tongue. But every time he opened his mouth, the weight of the risks stopped him.

What if she didn’t feel the same? What if she did, but couldn’t say so?

The questions tormented him, each one drawing him closer to the inevitable conclusion: he had to tell her.

But how could he make her understand the depth of his feelings without ruining everything?

Charles really tried to wait it out, he tried so hard.

But when the rain lashed outside his chambers where he sat in the dimly lit room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

He worried.

It was late, far later than when she usually came, but he had waited, a knot of tension in his chest.

When the door finally opened, and she stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, drenched from the rain with his laundry in a covered basket, his heart leapt.

“You’re soaked,” he said, standing quickly. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

She shrugged, setting the basket down by the door. “Work doesn’t stop for a storm, Your Highness.”

He frowned, crossing the room to her. “Take off that cloak; you’ll catch your death.”

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing past him toward the hearth, but her shivering betrayed her words.

He moved closer, pulling her gently toward the warmth of the fire. “Why do you always insist on pretending you’re fine when you’re not?”

She stiffened under his touch. “Because I have no other choice.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He reached for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her cold fingers. “You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

She pulled her hands back, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and caution. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, his heart pounding. “I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore.”

“Pretending what?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

“That I don’t feel this,” he said, stepping closer. “That I don’t feel everything for you.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching. “Charles…”

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out, raw and unguarded. “I’ve tried to fight it, to ignore it, but I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Before she could even stop them, tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, stepping back. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

“I do,” he said firmly, closing the distance between them again. “I’d give up everything—this title, this life—if it meant being with you.”

Her tears spilled over then, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice breaking. “If I’m not happy here—if I can’t have the life I want—what good is any of this?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re saying,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve lived in a palace your entire life, with servants, banquets, comfort. You don’t know what it’s like to live without it. To go to bed on an empty stomach. To wake up not knowing if you’ll have work the next day. I can’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it to me,” he said desperately. “It would be my choice.”

She shook her head again, her tears falling faster now. “And what happens when you realise you can’t live like that? When the reality of it sets in? You’ll resent me. And I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice pleading as he reached for her hands again. “I swear to you, you won’t.”

“I don’t have a good life,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can barely take care of myself. How could I take care of you?”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he said, his hands tightening around hers. “I just need you. I don’t care about the rest.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his, her tears glistening in the firelight. “You’re asking me to believe in something that feels impossible.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” he said, his voice breaking as his own tears threatened to fall. “Please. Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me. Let me love you the way you deserve.”

Her resolve wavered, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She wanted to believe him—desperately—but the fear of what they would face, of what they would lose, loomed over her.

“Cha…” she began, her voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Say yes. Just… say yes.”

For a long, agonising moment, the only sound was the rain pounding against the windows and the crackle of the fire.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “But don’t push me away. Not now. Not when I know you feel this too.”

Her lips quivered, and she closed her eyes, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“And you’re everything,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion.

After pacing around his room for a few days, thinking of how he was going to tell his father, Charles went to his study.

The atmosphere in the king’s study was heavy with tension, the air almost crackling as Charles stood before his father. The older man sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his expression dark and unreadable. The storm that had raged days earlier seemed to have shifted inside these walls, centering on the room as if the universe sensed the coming conflict.

“I need to speak with you,” Charles began, his voice steady but tight.

The king set down the pen he had been holding, his gaze sharp. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Charles replied, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve made a decision.”

The king leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I see. Go on, then.”

“I’m going to abdicate.”

For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the room.

Then, the king’s expression darkened further, his voice sharp and incredulous. “You’re what?”

“I’ve decided I don’t want the throne,” Charles said firmly. “It’s not the life I want anymore.”

The king rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he loomed over the desk. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? What you’re throwing away?”

“Yes,” Charles said, meeting his father’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve thought about this—more than you know. I don’t want this life. I want…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “I want to live my own life.”

The king scoffed, shaking his head. “And what life would that be? One of obscurity? Of poverty? You’ve never gone a day without comfort, without privilege. You know nothing of what it’s like out there, and you think you can just… give all of this up?”

“I do,” Charles said, his tone resolute.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “This is about her, isn’t it? That servant girl. Your mother mentioned her but I did not believe her.”

Charles’s chest tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes. It’s about her. But it’s also about me. About what I want, who I want to be. And I know I don’t want this.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the king snapped, his voice rising. “You think love is enough to sustain you? That some fantasy of a simpler life will keep you warm when reality sets in? She can’t give you what you need, Charles.”

“She gives me what I want,” Charles shot back, his voice fierce. “And for once, isn’t that enough?”

“No, it isn’t!” the king roared, slamming his hand on the desk. “You’re a prince! You have a duty—to your family, to your people. You can’t just walk away because of some fleeting infatuation.”

“It’s not fleeting,” Charles said, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “I love her. And I’d rather live a life with her—whatever that looks like—than spend one more moment pretending to be happy here.”

The king laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You’re naïve. You don’t even know how to survive out there.”

“She’ll teach me,” Charles said, surprising even himself with the certainty in his voice. “I want to learn. I want that life—with her.”

The king stared at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “You’re throwing away everything you’ve ever known for a life of struggle. For what?”

“For love,” Charles said simply.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The king finally sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up again, his expression was weary but no less stern.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Maybe,” Charles replied. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze searching his son’s face as if looking for a crack in his resolve. But Charles stood firm, his decision made.

“You’ll regret this,” the king said finally, his voice heavy with warning.

“Perhaps,” Charles said. “But I’ll never regret choosing her.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, leaving his father staring after him in silence.

The rumours spread like wildfire. Whispers followed Charles wherever he walked, his every step trailed by servants and courtiers exchanging furtive glances and hushed speculations. The air in the palace buzzed with the shock of his decision, but none of it mattered to him. Not the disapproval etched into his father’s face, nor the incredulous murmurs of the courtiers. His mind was focused solely on her.

He found her in the palace laundry room, folding linens with the quiet efficiency that always seemed to calm her. When he walked in, she froze, her fingers clutching the corner of a sheet.

“You,” she began, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “You really went through with it?”

He stepped closer, his hands tucked behind his back, his face calm but his eyes alight with purpose. “I told you I would.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “I thought—Charles, I thought it was just talk. Something you’d get over once you realised how insane it is.”

“Well, I’m officially insane,” he said with a faint smile, stepping closer.

She dropped the sheet onto the table and turned to face him fully, her arms crossed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The crown, the throne, your entire future—it’s gone. All of it. For what?”

“For you,” he said simply.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Finally, she shook her head, her voice trembling. “You’re impossible. Do you know what this means? I can’t work here anymore, not if you abdicate. The palace won’t keep me.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I wouldn’t ask you to stay here. We’ll leave—together.”

“Leave?” she echoed, blinking at him.

“Yes,” he said, stepping closer until he was just in front of her. “I’ve been thinking about it. We can go somewhere no one knows us, where we can start fresh.”

She stared at him like he’d grown another head. “Where would we even go?”

“Italy,” he said with a small smile.

“Italy?” she repeated, her brows furrowing.

“Yes, maybe Marenello,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “It’s beautiful, the weather is perfect, and… I don’t know, it just feels right.”

She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Charles, I don’t even speak Italian.”

He tilted his head, his smile widening. “Then, for once, I’ll get to teach you something.”

His words hung in the air, so tender and unexpected that she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled at her reaction, and before she could say anything else, he stepped even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through her. “You’re serious about this,” she whispered.

“Completely,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m not afraid of starting over, not if it’s with you.”

For a moment, she let herself believe it could be possible—this crazy, impossible dream of theirs.

“When?” she asked softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice full of quiet resolve. “After I sign the abdication papers.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, searching eyes. “And then what?”

He smiled, his expression both calm and full of determination. “And then we start the life we’ve always wanted.”

She didn’t want to be vulgar, she really didn’t but she had to be honest.

She was shitting herself at the thought of being summoned into the King’s office with the entire family.

The office was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the palace muffled by the thick doors. Charles sat at the massive oak desk, the official abdication papers spread out before him. Arthur stood off to the side, his arms crossed, watching the scene with a mix of bewilderment and unease while his parents stood by the desk with a clear look of disdain etched on their faces.

She stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked smaller than usual, her nerves evident in the way her fingers twisted together. Her wide eyes darted between Charles and the papers, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them.

Arthur broke the silence first. “Are you sure about what you’re doing, Cha?”

Charles’s pen hovered over the signature line, but he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at her. She met his gaze, and in that instant, the rest of the room faded away. The worry in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as if she was holding back words—it was as if he was falling in love all over again.

“You don’t have to do this for me, Cha,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He smiled at her, then, without hesitation, he bent his head and signed his name in bold strokes across the paper.

The moment was electric, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the room. When he finally set the pen down, it felt as if the world had shifted, as if something monumental had been set into motion.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Well, there it is,” he muttered, his voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “You’re officially insane.”

Charles stood, his movements deliberate as he turned to face her. “Go back to your house,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that made her breath hitch. “Pack your things. Tell your brother. We’re leaving at six.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting as if to protest, but before she could say a word, Arthur muttered something about needing air and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone, his parents following shortly behind.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, their gazes locked as the gravity of what had just happened sank in.

“You…” she began, her voice trembling. “You really did it.”

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to her.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, he cupped her face gently in his hands. The world seemed to pause, the space between them charged with an intensity that neither of them could deny any longer.

And then he kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was savouring the moment he had dreamed of for so long. But when she leaned into him, her hands clutching his jacket as if to anchor herself, the kiss deepened, becoming a silent promise of everything they were about to face together.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

She blinked, her eyes shining as she searched his face. “I love you too,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. Because she did, she didn’t know when she exactly fell in love with him. Maybe it was when he first came to her house and looked at it with wonder rather than judgement or maybe it was when they shared that intimate moment in the wardrobe.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Then go,” he said. “Pack your things. This time tomorrow, we’ll be miles away from here. Together.”

She nodded, her resolve strengthening as she stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and slipped out of the office.

Charles stood there for a moment, the weight of what he’d just done settling in his chest. But for the first time in his life, he felt truly free.

the end.

[lecl3rcw]

Keeping Up With The Leclercs |

a/n: this is the more detailed version of the chapters!! y/n has no face claim, the pictures I use are just for reference.

———————————————————————————

It was an unusually rainy day in Monte Carlo as the Leclerc twins sat at their mother’s house. y/n was on live with her fans building a lego set while arthur was playing the piano in the back.

“y/n what’s the lip oil you use, it’s so pretty, aw thankyou! I use the Dior lip oil in the shade poppy coral!” She smiles showcasing the product before putting it away.

“oh by the way, I’m back home in Monaco for a bit so that’s my brother playing the piano, he’s very good at it” she says as she continues to build a Lego sit, well atleast until her brother arthur comes into the screen.

“c'est tellement moche” that’s so ugly he says chuckling as her jaw drops. “tu es du genre à parler” you’re one to talk

Soon, Arthur had started helping her as the soft rain pattered against the window of their maman’s cozy house. “y/n who’s your favorite sibling, hmm…” she goes into deep thinking as arthur looks at her expectantly, “Lorenzo” she simply says as arthur scoffs “Not your twin brother?” ��…definitely not” she chuckles as they engage in their usual sibling banter.

“I guess someone’s upset a certain someone is out of their league” Arthur nudges her, she gave him a warning look, “aw what’s the matter? You upset that Jo-” before he could finish she puts a hand on his mouth “fermez-la!” Shut up!

arthur chuckles as he nodded “bien sûr chéri” sure cheri he says as they continue building it. It was a studio ghibli's "howls moving castle" and it was so cute. Once they were finished they showed it to the people watching the live, “it’s so cute!” She says admiring their work. It was late so they decided to end the live saying goodbyes to everyone who watched.

y/n.leclcerc posted a story

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc, charlottedipietro and 67,000 more…

Now, she was in the middle of packing up her suitcase as Arthur scrolled through his phone laying down on her bed. "So how long are you going to be in the US for?" Arthur casually asks, "hmm about a month, and then ill meet up with Charles and Alexandra in Venice for a bit" she says as she packed everything.

"Damn, booked a lot of jobs for once? I'm surprised anyone would cast your ugly face" he chuckles making her roll her eyes, "don't you have some relationship problems to worry about" she fires back making his face drop. "Thats not fair! you know Carla-" before he finishes, their mother Pascale comes in as well.

"Salut Maman" hello mama they say unanimously, as she smiled at them. "Tu pars déjà ?" you're leaving already? she asks y/n as she sighs, "oui mama" yes mama she says hugging her mom. Pascale wraps her arms around the girl tightly, "ton voyage a paru si court, reviens plus souvent à Monaco ma petite fille" your trip felt so short, come back to Monaco more often my little girl. y/n smiles, "I promise I will maman" she says as she packs the last of her things.

Pascale takes a seat next to Arthur on y/n's bad, "so what all do you have planned for the month?" Arthur asks. y/n sits down, "I'm actually not sure, Lucille sent me an entire list of my schedule, I'm actually so grateful for my manager" she chuckles as she pulls up her schedule on the phone. "How is Lucille by the way?" Arthur says his cheeks a bit red, she glares at him "You stay away from Lucille" she says as his face drops "What! why!" he says as Pascale looks at them in confusion, "why cherie?" she asks confused as well.

"A. you're a terrible boyfriend, B. you have to sort things out with Carla because I love her, and C. I'm not going to let you mess up a good thing going on for me" she says crossing her arms, Arthur groans "I am not!" he says to his twin who scoffs "Do you know the amount of friendships I have lost because of you and Charles?" she says. "Fine fine ill stay away from Lucille quelle galère" what a drag he says rolling his eyes. "Maman tell him to stay away from Lucille" she says, "ok ok je pense qu'il comprend" ok ok i think he gets it she says in her usual soft voice. Once things settle down, Arthur and Pascale exit the room so that she could get some rest before her very long and tiring flight.

The next morning as she's brushing her teeth she gets a call from Lucille, "Goodmorning y/n! I just sent you a screenshot of the boarding pass!" Lucille chirps, "Thankyou so much Lucille, ill see you when I land" she says as she hangs up. She quickly gets her hand bag ready making sure she has her essential such as her passport, and some self care products.

Arthur and Pascale drive her to the airport, she hugs both of them tightly, "I'll miss you guys" she says pulling away, "yeah yeah I guess I will too" Arthur says playfully rolling his eyes to which she punches his shoulder. "oh ma petite fille, envoie-moi un message quand tu atterris" oh my little girl, text me when you land as she pulls y/n into another tight hug to which she reciprocates. "oui maman" yes mama she says before finally going into the line. "she waves to them with a quick I love you and before she knows it, she's on the plane.

y/n.leclerc's story

charlesleclerc replied > safe travels cherie!

alexandrasaintmelux replied > see you soon ange!

she smiles as she responds to their messages, she shuts her phone off after a while. Her head resting on the airplane window as she extends her legs since she was in first class. her work in the US hadn't even started yet and she was already feeling so stressed. she had 38 modeling shoots, two runways, and about 7 public events, one of them including seeing one of her biggest crushes in just a month. she decides to just shut her eyes and let it go to the back of her head.

y/n.leclerc

monaco 24' you will be missed <3 @ alexandrasaintmleux, @ arthurleclerc, @ chanel

liked by lorenzotl, charlesleclerc, and 1,200,0000 others.....

alexandrasaintmleux mon petit amour💌 my little love

^ y/n.leclerc mon ange 💞 my angel

lorenzotl vous me manquez les gars ☹️ miss you guys

^ y/n.leclerc tu me manques davantage😔💞 miss you more

chanel that's our ambassador!🫡

^ y/n.leclerc my fav brand💌

lec1ercs sososo pretty

lilymean1 your white dress is so pretty! where's it from!

^ y/n.leclerc Chanel! the 2023 summer drop :)

asmcloset I love her friendship with Alex

[cherryl4na]

❥•°❀"monte carlo passion and fury"

abstract || lando dnf's in monaco and takes that anger out on you.

female!reader || smut. dirty. nasty as hell. angry!lando. fluff ending. 1.6k words

After a disappointing race at Monaco, Lando ended up with a DNF, leaving him seething with frustration and anger. So consumed by his emotions, he didn't care about potential fines for skipping media duties; all he wanted was to escape to his apartment. Quickly changing out of his race gear, he grabbed your hand and hurriedly led you to his sleek Lamborghini Miura parked nearby. The engine roared to life as he skillfully navigated the streets of Monaco, the city's glittering lights blurring past as he drove with a mix of intensity and determination. In the quiet moments between the rush of wind and the hum of the engine, you could sense both his disappointment and his need for solace, finding comfort in your presence beside him.

Arriving at Lando's Monaco apartment was a relief from the chaotic energy of the city streets below. The sleek, modern building rose into the night sky, its facade illuminated by soft, ambient lighting that cast gentle shadows across the entrance. Lando's steps were purposeful as he led you through the lobby and into the private elevator.

The elevator ride was silent and tense, the only sound the soft hum of the descending lift. The apartment door closed with a decisive click behind you, shutting out the world momentarily. Inside, the air was thick with Lando's frustration, the sleek, modern decor a stark contrast to his turbulent emotions.

He didn't speak as he led you through the living area, passing by the expansive windows that framed the glittering lights of Monaco's nightlife. His grip tightened as he turned abruptly towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms, his knuckles white with the intensity of his emotions. With each hurried step, the faint scent of cologne mingles with the musty air. Finally, he steers you into the bedroom.

The door swung open with a forceful push, revealing a sanctuary that mirrored Lando's conflicted state—clean lines disrupted by scattered belongings, the bed rumpled in disarray. Without a word, he stepped inside, his back tense and shoulders squared, a silent invitation, or perhaps a plea for understanding in the midst of his turmoil.

Releasing his vice-like grip on your hand, Lando stepped back, his fingers slowly unfurling as he leaned against the bedroom wall. His expression was a tumultuous mix of anger and frustration, etched deeply into the lines of his face. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows that danced across his features, highlighting the furrow of his brow and the tight set of his lips.

His eyes, usually vibrant with determination, now bore into you with a piercing intensity. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of his emotions, palpable in the tense silence that hung between you. Each breath he took seemed laden with unspoken words, as if he struggled to find the right way to express the turmoil raging inside him.

Lando's voice erupted with anger and frustration, sharp and demanding. "Strip down, now," he barked, his tone cutting through the air like a whip, filled with an intense, simmering rage. His stance against the bedroom wall was tense and rigid, his eyes blazing with a fiery mix of emotions.

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his fury, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting harsh shadows that emphasized the lines of tension etched into his face. Every word carried a heavy force, laden with his racing disappointment and the raw edge of his emotions.

In the charged silence that followed, his command hung in the air, leaving you to confront the turbulent storm of his anger and the unsettling demand it carried.

Lando's frustration reached a breaking point. With a sudden surge of anger, he grabbed your clothes and tore them off with a forceful pull. The fabric yielded reluctantly, the seams splitting with a sharp sound that filled the room. His movements were swift and assertive, driven by a turbulent mix of emotions—rage, disappointment, and a profound sense of loss.

Each article of clothing fell away, discarded in a heap on the floor, as if symbolizing the weight of his racing disappointments. His hands, usually gentle and precise, now gripped the fabric with a fierce intensity, fingers trembling with the strain of his emotions. The air crackled with tension, thick with the scent of adrenaline and the bitter residue of his unspoken frustrations.

Exposed and vulnerable, you stood before him, with determination, now burned with a mix of regret and longing. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the silence heavy and charged with the raw energy of his actions.

Breathing heavily, Lando stood before you, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his emotions. His hand rises, gripping your hair tightly within his fist, a gasp escaping your lips. Getting closer to your face, his breath against your lips, he states with a firm tone to signify that he is not playing any games, "Stop being such a little brat. You're better than that." With his grip still in your hair, he throws you onto the bed, causing you to land on your stomach. 

Stripping down to nothing, Lando moves to get behind you. His strong, veiny hands find your hair once more, pulling your head up and tilting it back to look at him. Smacking your cheek a bit, he commands you. "Open," and once you do, immediately following his instructions to not get him angrier, he spits aggressively into your mouth before patting your cheek, forcing you to swallow which you do. You can’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside your body at his dominance caused by anger and rage. It makes your mind melt, feeling as if you're just a puddle on the floor after a thunderstorm. 

Pushing your head back down to the bed, he releases your hair so he can leave a hard smack on your ass, causing you to let out a small yelp from the contact. Lando’s hands move to your hips, forcing you to arch your back, stomach against the bed before slamming into you.

You cry out at the sudden feeling, meanwhile he just laughs at you darkly, telling you, "You can take it, can’t you? Yeah, you can because you're my good little slut. Doing so good f'me yeah? My good little slut. All for me and only me." He groans as he continues to pound into you, faster and harder, but making sure to get all the right places for you. He’s not that selfish to forget his good girl's pleasure, even if you can be a brat sometimes. 

At some point, he grips your hair for the second time that day, pulls you up and back to his chest. That same hand, oh, that hand of his, moves around to grip your neck a bit tight to where it’s pleasurable while the other wraps around your waist. He pounds into you harder and harder, getting angrier and angrier till you finally come, a mixture between a moan and a scream leaving your lips.

Smirking, the hand in your hair grips it tighter as he whispers into your ear, his voice low and raspy and so sexy. "Good girl, yeah, that's it... Gonna come inside you and fill you up. You'd like that wouldn't you, you little whore. Fill you up with my babies, hmm? That what you want? Yeah it is." He then chuckles, his hips thrusting faster and faster, like an untamable beast before finally groaning loudly into your ear and proceeding to release inside you.

After a few moments, once he’s done, he places you back down on the bed softly and gently, pulling out of you slowly so as to not hurt you as he watches his release flow out of you slowly. He then kisses the top of your head, whispering sweet praises into your ear before getting a warm towel and cleaning you up gently. 

After the intense rush of emotions and sensations had settled, Lando lays down onto his bed and pulls you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you. His breathing was steady now, his heartbeat slowing to a reassuring rhythm against your skin. The room was filled with a comforting silence, broken only by the soft murmur of his voice.

"I didn't mean to lose my temper earlier," he began, his tone filled with regret. "I was just so frustrated with how things went on the track."

You lifted your head from his chest to meet his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "It's okay, Lando," you assured him, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek. "I understand. Racing means everything to you."

He nodded, his expression softening with gratitude. "Thank you for being here with me, for understanding," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You nestled closer to him, feeling his warmth enveloping you like a comforting embrace. His fingers traced soothing patterns along your back, a silent reassurance that he was there, that everything was alright.

"I care about you so much," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never want you to doubt that."

His words washed over you like a gentle wave, filling your heart with warmth and tenderness. You tilted your head up to capture his lips in a soft kiss, conveying all the love and understanding you felt for him in that moment.

Lando smiled against your lips, his hand cradling the back of your head gently. "I'm lucky to have you," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

"And I'm lucky to have you," you replied sincerely, intertwining your fingers with his.

Together, you lay there in each other's arms, basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment. In Lando's embrace, you found solace and strength, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

©2024 cherryl4na. - please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

an || so...yeah. this was a nasty one. i enjoyed writing it, though, and i hope you enjoyed reading it. till the next one!

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Charmed in Monte Carlo

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: During a solo vacation to Monaco, Y/n's evening at the Monte Carlo Casino takes an unexpected turn when a mysterious flirtation leads to a charming and playful encounter

______________________________________________________________

Y/n had been planning this solo trip to Monaco for years. No one had ever been available to join her, but this time, she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She booked the trip, packed her suitcase with the finest summer outfits, and hopped on a plane to the luxurious city she had long dreamed of.

When she arrived, the bright Mediterranean sun greeted her, casting a golden hue over the pristine streets and sparkling water. Y/n immediately felt at peace, like she’d made the right decision to come here on her own. The first few days passed in a blissful blur of exploration. She strolled through Monaco's elegant boulevards, shopped at chic boutiques, dined in gourmet restaurants, and sat at sun-soaked cafés, content to people-watch as life unfolded around her.

Each café stop became its own little adventure. She sipped espresso in Le Café de Paris while tourists flocked to the nearby casino, and at a quieter spot near Port Hercules, she watched as yachts sailed in, glittering against the sapphire waters. She couldn’t help but imagine the lives of the people who owned them—what their stories were, how they spent their days. There was something about Monaco, the intersection of old-world charm and modern luxury, that felt intoxicating.

On her fourth evening in Monaco, she decided to visit the famous Monte Carlo Casino, the ultimate symbol of the city’s elegance and charm. This was the part of the trip she had been most excited about. She wanted to experience the casino’s history, glamour, and its opulence firsthand, even if she wasn’t much of a gambler.

Dressed in a sleek, fitted black dress with a plunging neckline that showed off just enough to be intriguing, she felt a surge of confidence. She paired it with strappy heels and a bold red lip, knowing she looked good but not caring if anyone else noticed. This trip was for her, after all.

The casino’s entrance was grand, with an air of exclusivity, but Y/n walked in as if she belonged there. Inside, the crystal chandeliers sparkled like diamonds, and the floor was abuzz with the sound of laughter, the clatter of chips, and the whirl of roulette wheels. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat for a moment, taking in the sight of it all. The grandeur was even more overwhelming than she had imagined.

Not wanting to jump straight into the gaming tables, she headed to the bar and ordered a cocktail—a French 75 to match the elegance of the night. She found a spot by the side, leaning against a pillar, the perfect vantage point to indulge in her favorite pastime: people-watching. From her spot, she observed glamorous couples dressed to the nines, elegant women draped in couture, and men in sharp tuxedos throwing around bets like they were nothing. It was fascinating.

"Looks like someone’s lost in thought," a smooth, amused voice said from behind her, startling her slightly. She didn’t turn around, deciding to play along.

"Is it that obvious?" she replied, taking another sip of her drink, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"Only because you’re doing that classic lean against the pillar, drink in hand, gazing out like you’re in a Bond film," the voice continued, warm and teasing. "All you’re missing is a tuxedoed guy with a bad poker hand."

Y/n chuckled, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. "Are you volunteering for the role?"

There was a brief pause, then the man behind her laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Not unless you’re looking for someone to dramatically lose all his money at blackjack. Though, I’m better company than most Bond villains."

"Confident, aren’t we?" she mused, entertained by his playful banter but still not turning to face him.

"Confidence is key, or so they say," he responded smoothly. "Besides, I couldn’t help but notice you standing here, looking like you belong in a movie yourself."

Y/n raised her glass to her lips, hiding her smile. Whoever this was, he was good—too good. The kind of flirtation that felt practiced but was enjoyable nonetheless. "A movie, huh? Does that mean you’re the mysterious stranger who makes me an offer I can’t refuse?"

"Something like that," the voice agreed, now sounding closer, almost as if he’d shifted behind her. "Though, I’d settle for a laugh and your company over a drink."

"Well, you���ve managed to get me to laugh already," Y/n replied, feeling a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with her drink. She glanced sideways but still didn’t turn around, enjoying the anonymity of their conversation.

"I’d call that a win," he said, clearly smiling now. "Do I get a bonus if I keep you laughing?"

"Maybe," she teased. "But it depends on how good you are at keeping the mystery alive."

"Oh, I’m very good at keeping secrets," he said, his tone dropping playfully. "But I’ll let you in on one: I’m not usually this charming. I’m just trying to impress the most captivating person in the room."

Y/n snorted softly. "You’re laying it on thick now."

"Hey, if it works, I won’t apologize."

They went back and forth like that, the conversation flowing so naturally it felt like they’d known each other for ages. Y/n was curious but also didn’t want to break the spell by turning around. Whoever he was, he was making her laugh, and she liked the mystery of it all.

Eventually, though, her curiosity got the better of her. After yet another playful jab from the man behind her, she finally turned around, ready to face the charming stranger.

Her breath hitched when she saw who it was.

"Lando Norris?" she blurted, her eyes widening in disbelief.

The British Formula 1 driver stood there, leaning casually against the bar, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "In the flesh," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You weren’t expecting me, were you?"

Y/n stared for a second, still processing the fact that one of the most famous young drivers in the world had been flirting with her for the past ten minutes. "I… definitely wasn’t," she admitted, her surprise morphing into laughter.

"Well, I’m glad I could provide some shock value," Lando teased, clearly enjoying her reaction. "But if it helps, I was enjoying being the mysterious guy behind you. You know, no fame, no racing cars—just a guy in a casino."

She shook her head, still smiling. "And here I thought I was just talking to some regular guy trying his hand at flirting."

Lando’s grin widened. "Oh, I am definitely trying my hand at flirting. Famous or not, that part’s all me."

Y/n laughed again, this time more relaxed. "Well, you’re doing a pretty good job. I’ll give you that."

"Only pretty good?" Lando raised his eyebrows in mock offense. "I was hoping for at least 'very good.'"

"Let’s just say the jury’s still out," she teased back, feeling a lightness in the air between them.

Lando tilted his head, considering her words. "Alright, fair enough. But how about I buy you another drink, and we’ll see if I can sway the jury in my favor?"

Y/n smirked, raising her glass. "You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Norris."

[nayziiz]

Come Home | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky of Monte Carlo, she sat alone in the cosy living room of their apartment, her fingers anxiously tapping on her phone screen. It had been several weeks since she last felt the comforting warmth of his embrace, his familiar scent wrapping around her like a protective shield against the world's chaos. Work commitments and race weekends had kept them apart for longer than either of them had anticipated, and with each passing day, the ache of his absence grew more pronounced.

The apartment felt emptier without him, his laughter no longer echoing through the halls, his belongings neatly tucked away in drawers and closets, waiting for his return. She longed for the simple pleasure of having him home, to share mundane moments that held a special magic when they were together.

After a particularly exhausting day at work, all she craved was the solace of his arms, the reassurance of his presence. She had tried calling him several times throughout the day, but each attempt went unanswered, his phone seemingly out of reach. Anxiety gnawed at her insides as she imagined all sorts of scenarios, her mind spiralling with worry.

Perhaps he had gotten caught up in meetings or encountered unexpected delays on his journey home. Or maybe his phone had died, and he was currently en route, completely unaware of her attempts to reach him. But as the minutes stretched into hours, her concern morphed into a deep-seated fear, a nagging voice whispering worst-case scenarios in her ear.

Unable to sit still any longer, she rose from the couch and began pacing the length of the living room, her heart pounding against her chest like a caged bird desperate for freedom. Every passing second felt like an eternity, each unanswered call a sharp stab of disappointment.

But just as despair threatened to consume her entirely, the familiar sound of keys jingling in the lock filled the air, and her breath caught in her throat. With trembling hands, she rushed to the door, flinging it open to reveal the silhouette of the man she loved, his tired eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

Before she could utter a word, Lando enveloped her in a tight embrace, his arms providing the sanctuary she had been yearning for. In that moment, everything else faded into the background, leaving only the two of them, tangled together in a silent embrace.

“I'm so sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier,” he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re home, that’s all that matters,” she assured him.

“I’ll always come home to you, baby,” he told her before pressing a kiss on her forehead.

And as she melted into his embrace, she knew that no matter how far apart they may be, they would always find their way back to each other, their love serving as a guiding light through even the darkest of nights.

[monzamash]

I just read itch and have been thinking of this. I do not know if your request are open but a blurb of you and Charles after sex in bed and Charles is watching you call every gym related, workout shop in Monaco to find a bench after the one in his gym broke

loved this so much that it inspired a little blurb x

parlez-vous français? (sequel to itch) charles leclerc x you (femreader) | 960 words 18+, minors dni

The workout afternoon delight that had you and Charles panting and sending echoed moans through an otherwise silent house had required a change in location after one too many “deadlifts”. Maybe the bench press wasn’t up to the challenge but you took the risk, knowing the consequences and it was an accident, of course, one waiting to happen according to the man brushing his warm fingertips down your spine; the unspoken promise you made hanging in the thick air.

“So,” He drawled, smug smile lacing every syllable.

“When will you replace my bench press, huh?”

A grumble fell from your lips at his leading question, head buried in a pillow and still coming down from the high that had sent your mind, body and spirit into orbit. Your tired eyes caught his glimmering with humour, tickled that you were now responsible for buying him a new bench, in Monte Carlo no less.

“But my French is so bad…”

Charles’ soft laugh sifted through your ears, his giggle showing his hand and now you knew that this was his plan all along. He was the reason it broke, not you. He was the one who insisted on fucking you faster, harder, deeper until your legs were shaking and he had the neighbours downstairs questioning whether there was an earthquake warning for the city. He had you on all fours, rocking back on his dick like your life depended on it, loosening you and apparently every screw on the frame below. Screaming out for mercy.

And now he has the audacity to look at you with those mischievous blue eyes that had gotten you both in trouble more times than you could count, thrilled that you would have to fumble your way through a phone call for him. Ah, the irony.

“I’ll help you do it. Here,” Charles held out his phone to you, number already there for your convenience and you sighed, relieved that wouldn't have to embarrass yourself.

“Merci,” You flirted, taking a moment to appreciate how beautiful he looked post-sex, eyes still hazy from the afterglow when he leaned down and pressed his swollen lips to your bare shoulder.

The line rang for a couple of nervous seconds, until a man with a thick French accent answered. “Oh, uh, hello! I mean – bonjour!”

Fuck, you already felt way out of your depth.

“Um, I am wondering if you have –“

“Pas d’anglais.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion – you’d heard that phrase before but you couldn’t quite remember why or where so you turned to Charles, who watching you intently, eyes already glowing with elation as you pressed the phone to your sheet covered chest. You could feel the blush slowly creeping up, all the way from your toes.

“What does pas d’anglais mean?” You asked, hushed voice and panicked.

Charles’ smile slipped into a smirk, “It means no English.”

“Oh, then you really need to take over,” You said so matter-of-factly that you didn’t even think twice before shoving the phone into his own naked chest.

But what you didn’t expect was a tutting from your usually sweet, saviour-complexed boyfriend and the phone to be pushed back towards you, head shaking and a smile the size of the moon looking back at you.

“Absolutely not. You promised, so try your best,” Charles encouraged, knowing full well that there was no way you could bluff your way through this one. Not a chance.

“I hate you.”

The growl in your voice made Charles laugh into his palm as you nervously brought the phone back up to your ear, heart racing and wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

“être désolé, um, do you – uh, vendez-vous… du materiel…”

You were genuinely trying and blindly casting your mind back to all of the French language-learning audiobooks you had listened to when you first started dating Charles; but time and life always seemed to get in the way of you actually learning or retaining any French at all and you weren't proud of that.

“How do you say gym equipment?” You quietly asked in Charles direction, completely frazzled before noticing that he had picked up a book and was pretending to be immersed in the worn out pages.

That was until you slapped his bicep and grappled at his face, “Help me!” You scolded above a whisper, grasping his cheeks and begging him to come to your rescue like he said he would.

When you angled his chin up to yours, he could see the fear in your eyes; cheeks flushed the same colour as they were merely moments ago, mind reliving how sweet you looked making him come.

How could he be so cruel?

Charles placed his book down and reached up for the phone, quickly rambling off a string of sentences before hanging up. You were dumbfounded and a little short of breath and he couldn't help but giggle when he looked back to you, fuming. He loved the way your forehead creased whenever you were mad, especially at him and the pout on your soft pink lips were tempting him to lean down and kiss them. But right now, as you stared him down, he knew he needed to do some damage control before trying to smooth it over with a kiss.

“Andrea has tried to give me his old one for months now so I was not worried about breaking it, really. I was just teasing,” He explained warily while brushing your hair back from your face.

And trying his hardest not to laugh at how adorable you looked.

“être désolé, mon chéri,” He added with a sweet smile, “You did try and what you did say sounded very good…”

You huffed out a defeated laugh, still feeling a little silly that you couldn't even get through a simple phone call. In truth, it was the wake up call you needed, even if it meant enduring his cruel prank.

“You really need to give me lessons if I’m going to stay here with you. Like, I need bootcamp style French lessons, baby…”

Charles chuckled and gave you a reassuring nod as he slowly leaned forward and sweetly captured your pouting lips, "We can start right now…”

The deep timbre in his voice sent a shivers dancing down your spine as you reached up and cupped his stubbled cheeks in your hands; his lips grazed the shell of your ear and whispered, “J’ai envie de toi.”

A pleasured hum tumbled out while you memorised the trail Charles was leaving down your already reddened neck, mouthing at the marks he had left earlier. It was pure bliss exchanged in soft moans as he guided you onto the soft sheet below, the promise of his words ringing in your ears as your hazy mind translated, I want you.

[natailiatulls07]

Can you please do sunshine reader with Charles and she happens to be Arthur best friend since childhood and Charles is hopelessly in love with her and makes it know but she’s so oblivious?

Bestfriends brother

Charles Leclerc x female!reader

Arthur Leclerc x bestfriend!reader

Summary - Is it wrong to fall in love with your bestfriends brother??

Warnings - swearing, Charles being absolutely whipped?? Shitty French translations

Face claim: Olivia Rodrigo

-

f1gossip

Spotted: Only a few days into this seasons summer break; Y/n L/n, a close friend of the Leclerc brothers, is seen back in home town Monte Carlo

Liked by username and 4,725 others

username Her fashion is to die forrr

username Ngl her and Arthur would be the cutest couple EVER

= username Shhh it’s obvious that Charles LOVE her!!

username I love her so much!!

username So wanna be her, I’d sell my first born child to be her 😩

username Where was she going??

= username Pascales salon I think

= username She only goes there for her hair 😍

= username Love a loyal girl!!

charles_leclerc posted a story

username Can we talk about Charles’ recent insta story??!

username He is so whipped for her istg

username Like Lorenzo and Arthur were also in the story but Charlie only tagged Y/n LMAO

username AND WITH TWO WHITE HEARTS!! HER SIGNATURE HEART STYLEEE

username Charles is so in love with her but she is sooo oblivious, it’s killing meeee

username You can also tell that Arthur knows but he’s not saying just to tease Charles!!

yourusername

Summer break, new hair (Thank you Pascale!!) and lazy yacht days 🤍

Tagged: charles_leclerc arthur_leclerc leclerc_pascale

Liked by charles_leclerc and 596,628 others

username STUNNING PEOPLE

leclerc_pascale N'importe quoi pour toi chérie 🫶🏻

= yourusername Mes femmes préférées de tous les temps 🤍🤍

= username Love their mother daughter relationship sooo much 😍

username Is that Charles taking a photo of you??

= username Holy shit it is!!

username Jealousy jealousy 😖

charles_leclerc

No caption

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by arthur_leclerc and 986,483 others

username He is very open about this omfggg

username Just one post of absolutely gorgeous pictures of your brothers bestfriend with no caption, in a word ‘WHIPPED’

arthur_leclerc That’s just Y/n you know that right???

= charles_leclerc Yes I do idiot

= arthur_leclerc You wanna say something about that????

= charles_leclerc No

= yourusername ???

username Not Arthur trying to get Charles to admit it and Y/n not having a clue!!! I CANT

username How long will this go on forrrr?? Pleaseeee

Capital fm UK interview

username FINALLY SOMEONE TOLD HER ABOUT HIS CRUSH ON HER

username War is over!! 🥳

username We just need to see them kiss now and then I can die happy 😊

username Thank you Capital fm UK 🫶🏻

CapitalOfficial Somebody had to get the job down and we’re not patient people 😚

username 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

yourusername posted a story

yourusername

My best friend's brother is the one for me 😚🤍

Tagged: charles_leclerc

Liked by arthur_leclerc and 987,854 others

username Thank fuck that’s over!!

username Treat her right Charles 👀

username Happy for you two 😘

arthur_leclerc I was wondering how long you were going to be obvious for lmao

= yourusername I seriously had no clue omfg

username Cutest couple everrrr

charles_leclerc Would’ve waited forever for you

= yourusername I truly don’t deserve you 🤍

username Awwww my heart!!

-

[zacian117]

Promise of Sibling Love

Y/N Leclerc was Charles's biggest supporter and closest confidante. Despite their seven-year age gap, the siblings shared an unbreakable bond forged through years of shared experiences and adventures. Y/N had always admired her brother's determination and drive, and she was there for him through every high and low of his racing career.

As Charles rose through the ranks of Formula 1, Y/N remained by his side, cheering him on from the stands and offering words of encouragement before each race. She was his lucky charm, and he credited much of his success to her unwavering support.

But as the pressures of the racing world mounted, Charles found himself leaning on Y/N more than ever. She became his anchor, the one person he could always turn to for comfort and reassurance. And in return, he was fiercely protective of her, determined to shield her from the harsh realities of his demanding profession.

One summer evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and cast a golden glow over the city, Charles and Y/N sat on the balcony of their family's penthouse apartment, savoring a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos of their busy lives.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Y/N," Charles said, his voice tinged with sincerity. "You're the reason I'm able to keep pushing myself, to never give up, no matter what."

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes reflecting the warmth of the fading sunlight. "And you're the reason I believe in magic, Charles," she replied. "Watching you chase your dreams, overcome obstacles, it's like witnessing a miracle unfold before my eyes every single day."

Their conversation was interrupted by the distant sound of fireworks exploding in the night sky, illuminating the darkness with bursts of color and light. Charles reached out and took Y/N's hand in his, holding it tightly as they watched the spectacle together.

"Promise me we'll always be there for each other, no matter what," Charles said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, her heart overflowing with love for her brother. "I promise, Charles. Always and forever."

And as they sat together, gazing out at the glittering skyline of Monte Carlo, they knew that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other—a bond stronger than any race, more enduring than any victory. For Charles and Y/N Leclerc, sibling love was the truest treasure of all.

[kathlare]

homecoming haven

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie returns home after a week of filming, finding Lando exhausted and struggling with the aftermath of a difficult race and the harsh online comments that followed.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: fluff, kinda suggestive content, little smut (not that explicit)

request over here!

July 29th, 2024 - Monte-Carlo, Monaco

The late afternoon sun was casting a warm glow over Monaco’s streets as Amelie unlocked the door to their apartment. She pushed it open, her suitcase trailing behind her, and immediately sighed in relief. After a whirlwind week of filming, being home felt like a breath of fresh air.

She kicked off her shoes by the door, her ears catching the faint hum of a Formula 1 race recap playing on the TV. A familiar sight greeted her as she stepped into the living room—Lando, sprawled out on the couch, his hoodie pulled up over his head, a blanket draped over his legs. His body language screamed exhaustion, and the muted TV light did little to mask the tension in his features.

Amelie’s heart ached. She’d been keeping up with the Belgian Grand Prix and knew he hadn’t had the weekend he’d hoped for. Add the ever-critical comments on social media, and she could imagine the toll it was taking.

Quietly, she set her bag aside and tiptoed over, perching on the armrest of the couch.

—Hey, handsome,— she murmured, brushing the hood back to reveal his face.

Lando’s eyes fluttered open at her touch, a slow smile breaking through his tired expression. —Hey, love. You’re back.—

—Of course I’m back. Where else would I go?— she teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

He chuckled weakly, reaching up to pull her down onto the couch with him. She let out a playful squeak as she landed next to him, his arms wrapping around her waist.

—Missed you,— he mumbled against her shoulder, his voice low and heavy with fatigue.

—Missed you more,— she replied, running her fingers gently through his hair. —Now tell me, what’s going on in that head of yours?—

Lando hesitated for a moment, his grip on her tightening slightly. —Just... everything. The race didn’t go how I wanted, and then the usual crap on social media started piling up. Feels like I can’t catch a break sometimes.—

Amelie frowned, cupping his face so he’d look at her. —Lando, you’re one of the best drivers on that grid, and anyone who can’t see that doesn’t matter. Don’t let those idiots get in your head, okay?—

He sighed, leaning into her touch. —I know you’re right, but it’s hard not to let it creep in, you know?—

Amelie nodded, her heart breaking for him. She knew how much he poured into his career and how deeply he felt every setback. —I do know,— she said softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. —But that’s why I’m here, to remind you how amazing you are. And how much you mean to me.—

Her words coaxed a small smile from him, and she felt a flicker of hope. —Alright, enough sulking,— she declared, sitting up and tugging his hand. —I’ve been away all week, and I’m not letting you mope around when we could be making the most of our time together. Come on, up you get.—

Lando groaned dramatically but allowed her to pull him up, her determination infectious. —What do you have in mind, troublemaker?— he teased, a hint of his usual spark returning.

Amelie grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. —I’m thinking a movie marathon, maybe some comfort food, and I definitely want a rematch in Mario Kart because I’m still convinced you cheated last time.—

Lando laughed, a genuine sound that made her heart soar. —Cheated? You just can’t handle losing, love.—

—Says the guy who conveniently “forgot” to mention shortcuts on Rainbow Road,— she shot back, poking his side as he laughed even harder.

They moved to the kitchen, where Amelie set about gathering snacks while Lando leaned against the counter, watching her with a fond smile. She could feel his gaze and turned, catching him staring.

—What?— she asked, feigning innocence.

—Nothing,— he replied, shaking his head slightly. —Just... I love you. You’re good at this, you know? Making me feel better.—

Amelie smirked, setting the popcorn bowl on the counter as she walked up to him. She slid her arms around his waist, standing on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

—That’s because I’m the best girlfriend you’ll ever have,— she teased, her grin widening when she felt his arms wrap around her. —Now, are you going to help me carry all this, or are you just going to keep looking pretty over there?—

Lando raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. —I can do both, actually. But since you asked so nicely...— He grabbed the snacks, playfully bumping her hip as he walked past.

They set up the living room in record time, Amelie draping a plush blanket over the couch while Lando fiddled with the TV remote. The first movie was a mutual favorite, but neither of them really paid attention. Lando lay stretched out, his head resting on Amelie’s lap, as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair.

Amelie leaned back against the couch, her fingers gently carding through Lando's soft curls as the opening credits of Nothing Hill rolled on the screen. The tension in his body seemed to melt away with each stroke, and the small smile on his lips was enough to warm her entire chest.

—Still my favorite movie choice,— Lando murmured, his voice muffled as he nuzzled into her lap.

—That’s because you have excellent taste, babe,— Amelie replied with a smirk, her fingers pausing momentarily to scratch the back of his head.

His eyes fluttered shut, and he hummed appreciatively. —Don't stop, though. That feels too good.—

Amelie chuckled but continued the motion. —You're shameless, you know that? I leave for a week, and you fall apart.—

Lando cracked one eye open to look at her. —You saying I’m high-maintenance?—

—Extremely,— she teased, leaning down to peck his forehead.

He snorted, tugging her hand down to kiss her palm. —Seriously, though. Thanks for being here. I don’t think I’d be able to shake all this crap without you.—

Amelie smiled softly, her heart swelling at his words. —That’s what I’m here for, you idiot. You think I’d let you mope around and stew in your own misery? Not on my watch.—

Lando laughed lightly, the sound easing some of the residual tension in the room. —You’re bossy, but I like it.—

—Good. You’re stuck with me,— she shot back, her grin turning playful.

As the movie played on, their banter slowed, replaced by a comforting silence punctuated by the occasional chuckle from the screen. Amelie’s hand didn’t leave his hair, and she felt his breathing steady, the stress from the weekend slowly ebbing away.

By the time the credits rolled, the room was dim, lit only by the flickering light of the screen. Amelie shifted slightly, but Lando didn’t move. His arms had somehow found their way around her waist, keeping her anchored to him like a lifeline.

—You asleep?— she whispered, her voice soft.

—Nope,— he replied, his tone lazy. He tilted his head to look up at her, his blue eyes catching the faint light. —Just thinking.—

—Dangerous territory for you,— she teased, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. —What about?—

Lando hesitated for a beat before pulling himself up to sit beside her. —Just... how lucky I am to have you,— he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

Amelie’s chest tightened, her cheeks warming. —Lando...—

—No, seriously,— he cut her off, his gaze steady on hers. —You’ve been everything to me lately. Even when I’m being a grumpy bastard, you’re here, making me feel like I can handle all of it. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Amelie.—

She leaned forward, her hand cupping his cheek as she pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was tender but full of conviction. —You don’t have to do anything without me. I’m not going anywhere, okay?—

Lando nodded, his forehead resting against hers. —Okay.—

The moment hung between them, thick with unspoken promises. Then, as if on cue, Lando’s lips quirked into a mischievous smile. —So... about that rematch in Mario Kart?—

Amelie groaned, pulling away just enough to swat his chest. —You’re insufferable!—

—But you love it,— he shot back, grabbing her hand before she could escape.

—Unfortunately for me, I do,— she replied, laughing as he pulled her onto his lap.

The rest of the evening blurred into a series of small, intimate moments—shared laughter over a bowl of popcorn, whispered teases as they argued over which movie to watch next, and countless stolen kisses.

As the night deepened, Amelie and Lando found themselves tangled in the sheets, their movie marathon long forgotten. The blanket that had once been draped across the couch now lay in a heap on the floor, discarded in favor of the warmth they shared.

Lando’s hands had become bolder, exploring the curves of Amelie’s body with a hunger that matched the intensity of their kisses. She could feel the tension of the past week slowly melting off him with each touch, the stress of the race and the online criticism fading into nothing as her lips met his in a fiery embrace.

Amelie’s breath caught in her throat as his hands slid under her shirt, his fingers skimming her skin with a lightness that sent shivers down her spine. She responded in kind, her hands tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the subtle strength of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Every movement between them was a dance, a familiar rhythm they’d perfected over time.

—You’ve been on my mind all week,— Lando muttered between kisses, his voice thick with desire. —I couldn’t focus on anything else. Just... waiting for you to get back.—

Amelie smiled against his lips, her fingers tugging at the hem of his hoodie. —I’ve missed you, too, baby,— she murmured, pulling the hoodie off him with a small tug. —Now, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.—

His hands found their way to the buttons of her shirt, each movement deliberate, slow, as though he was savoring every moment of her closeness. He had always been like that—careful, passionate, and when it came to her, completely lost in the moment.

Amelie’s breath quickened as his lips trailed down her neck, sending waves of heat crashing through her. —Lando,— she gasped, her fingers tugging at his hair, urging him closer.

His response was a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. —Yeah, love?— he asked, his voice a teasing whisper.

—You drive me crazy,— she replied, her fingers now working at the waistband of his sweatpants.

He grinned against her skin, a mix of humor and heat in his gaze. —That’s the idea, isn’t it?—

Before she could respond, Lando’s lips were back on hers, intense and insistent, as if trying to prove just how much he’d missed her. The kiss deepened, their bodies moving together, each touch igniting a fire that only they could stoke.

Amelie’s heart raced as she pulled him closer, their movements growing more urgent, more desperate. The world outside their little bubble no longer mattered—just the two of them, tangled together in their own whirlwind of passion.

As the night stretched on, they found themselves lost in each other’s touch, unable to stop, caught up in the overwhelming desire that had built between them during their time apart. Time seemed to slow, every kiss, every caress leaving them breathless and yearning for more.

Eventually, they collapsed against the pillows, their bodies entwined, breaths coming in short gasps as they lay there in the aftermath of their shared intimacy. The room was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of the city below.

Lando brushed a strand of hair from Amelie’s face, his expression softening. —That was... exactly what I needed.—

Amelie smiled sleepily, curling into him. —I know, Lan. Me too.—

And with that, they let the world fade away, cocooned in each other’s warmth, knowing that no matter what the outside world threw at them, they had each other.

[giveafike]

i need a jealous ben fic NOW‼️

TLDR: just normal girlfriend!fem reader x Ben Shelton until you get hit on...

Word count + info: 5.1k! Whole lotta dialogue (lots of jealous/sassy ben and teasing). Mentions of Carlos Antagonist Alcaraz (NO HATE ALL LOVE! I HAD TO PICK SOMEONE, SORRY DONT CRUCIFY ME) Also, lwky wanted to fight y/n in this, idk stop being a bitch lwky.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW, jealous ben, possessiveness, neck kisses mentioned - that's about it!

Azzie Notes ✚: WOAH! NO "PLEASE" ANON??? hehe, I'm kidding, you got it. Made a twt btw (azziegivesafike), find me on there. I'll add anon asks there in my bio if you still want to ask stuff without feeling bad <3 but we can talk and yap over there! spoilers on there too.

When this goes up, i should be wrapping up the next Benny post (NSFW)... so keep an eye out! Halloween special coming out on Halloween too! Sorry for starving u guys for so long, but there's stuff on the way!

————————————————————————

Yours - B.T.S.

It's a perfect day in Monte Carlo. The Mediterranean sun blazes bright over the red clay courts and a salty breeze from the sea drifts in on the warm air. The tournament grounds are buzzing with energy, with players, coaches, and friends milling about. You’re seated in the empty stands, overlooking an outdoor practice court as Ben works through his drills. The clay glows a rich terracotta, and each of Ben’s serves echoes powerfully across the court, every stroke executed with his usual, intense focus. Sweat beads on his brow and neck, tiny rivulets rolling down his face, yet his focus never wavers. His damp curls cling to his forehead as he catches his breath between points, his shirt sticking in faint ripples across his torso. You smile, watching him move, not just admiring his talent but also the way he pours himself into every swing, even for a practice session.

You and Ben have been dating for just over a year, and despite both your schedules, you make time to see him, even if it’s only during practice rounds and training. He’s always been strong, both in his love for you and in his commitment to his sport. Having you there seems to centre him; he stands a little taller, pride filling each swing as he puts on a show to make you smile. You, of course, are always proud of him. You see the work and dedication he brings to everything, especially to you. To him, you’re a calm anchor in a sea of intensity, the one he confides in, his steady rock.

Ben’s love for you feels inevitable. Your humour, your intelligence, and your quiet confidence make you a magnetic presence. You’re not just his girlfriend; you’re his best friend, his advisor, the one who helps him open up. You’re his partner in every sense. However, your natural magnetism does bring on many others, and today was no different.

As Ben finishes a rally, you hear the scuff of trainers approaching. You glance up to see Carlos Alcaraz strolling toward you, hands casually tucked in his pockets, his grin as easy as ever, a small bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he starts, his warm Spanish accent wrapping around the word like a charm. He gestures to the empty seat beside you. “Mind if I join?”

You nod, shifting over slightly. You kept your tone light, you had caught his eye and made small talk before, you weren't one to be starstruck or dazed by now. “Of course, plenty of room, Carlos. How’s your day been?”

Carlos settles in, leaning back with a relaxed sigh. “Just finished my session. This weather’s amazing, a bit warm, no?”

You laugh softly. “It is, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to hide in the shade, I don't know how you tennis players handle the heat.”

Carlos chuckles, casting a look toward Ben as he drills. “Ben’s looking strong out there.”

“He is,” you reply softly, eyes trailing back to Ben with a soft gaze, who, you know, can feel you watching him. Ben's tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he squats, rocking from one leg to the other as he waits for the next serve, his eyes narrowed across the court. You couldn't help but stifle a small laugh, adoring the image ahead of you.

Carlos leans back, draping his arm casually along the back of your chair, not in a suggestive way but one that feels natural. At least, it doesn't feel like anything. You can't help but notice the closeness but brush it off. Carlos has always been friendly.

“So,” Carlos starts, turning slightly towards you, his dark eyes examining your face, “do you ever get bored watching all this tennis? Being around it every day?” There’s a playful tone to his voice, his dark eyes sparkling.

You laugh lightly, shaking your head as you look back to Carlos. “No, not when it’s Ben. He keeps things interesting and exciting. I love seeing him play”.

Carlos gives you a knowing smile, his eyes holding a hint of mischief, lingering a moment longer than usual. “Ah, yes. Lucky guy,” he says with a grin. “Must be nice to have someone always in your corner.”

“Yeah, I'd like to think so,” you say lightly, shrugging off the comment.

Carlos is charming, but it’s likely just friendly banter. You turn back to Ben, watching as he powers another serve into the clay, the impact sending a cloud of dust into the air. Both you and Carlos take a sharp inhale at the unexpected force of the hit.

You notice Ben’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening as he catches sight of you watching. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand, and for a moment, his next few shots come off harder than usual, landing dangerously close to the lines, his movements more forceful, even a bit reckless, for a practice session. The ball slams into the ground with a fierce intensity, almost as if he’s competing, trying to prove something. You blink, then shake your head with a small smile. Maybe he’s just having a moment of intense focus.

Carlos clears his throat before returning his eyes to you. “So, will you be staying for long here?” Carlos asks, his tone conversational, yet you feel the conversation lingering on the edge of something more.

“Oh, we’re not sure. Might play it by ear,” you respond, glancing over at him. “How about you?”

“Depends,” he says with a playful shrug. “I may stick around if there’s something interesting keeping me here.”

You giggle politely, assuming he’s talking about tennis, but something in his tone gives you pause. You feel a flicker of unease but push it aside, convincing yourself it’s just your imagination.

Ben, however, is clearly catching on. His next few serves are downright explosive, practically booming throughout the court as the ball hits the clay with an almost competitive edge. When he looks over again, his eyes narrow slightly, his lips pressed into a firm, tight line. His hands are at his sides as he mutters to himself quietly. Between points, he glances your way, brows drawn slightly, muttering to himself just loud enough for you to notice. You catch the faintest pout tugging at his expression like he’s quietly vying for your attention. Between shots, he meets your eyes with a raised brow as if to say, 'Are you watching me?' You stifle a smile and arch an eyebrow back, letting him know you are.

Carlos leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, casually closing the distance a little. “You seem like you’re used to this lifestyle. Like travel, tournaments, attention ..all of it.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten used to it. It’s a different pace, but I only get to see glimpses of it when I-” you start to say, but your attention is pulled toward Ben, whose movements are starting to change.

Without warning, the ball cracks loudly off his racket, and he sends a blistering forehand down the line with an intensity that seems to echo across the court. His jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed, as he wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand. You blink, momentarily thrown, and struggle to refocus on Carlos, though Ben’s shift in mood has left you a bit unsettled. Is he just having an intense moment of focus, or did something happen to set him off? Whatever it is, his gaze shifts to you more often, dark, narrowed and brooding. You offer a small smile to yourself, more confused than amused, and turn back to Carlos, finishing off where you had left off, though Ben’s presence looms larger than ever.

On the drive back to the hotel, tension sits heavy in the air. Ben tosses his bag into the back seat with more force than necessary, shutting the door a little too hard as he slides into the driver’s seat. You scroll through messages and check in on group chats, but the quiet storm brewing beside you isn’t lost on you. His hands grip the wheel tightly, his jaw is clenched shut, his gaze locked on the road with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. With a sigh, you set your phone on your lap and glance over.

“You know, your forehand was on fire today,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

He side-eyes you, his tone sassy as his lips pressed in a faint scowl. “Mmm. Sure.”

You raise a brow, undeterred. “Did you enjoy training? You seemed extra… um, focused.”

Ben lets out a sharp exhale, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “Focused,” he repeats, almost to himself. He’s quiet a moment longer, then shakes his head with a scoff. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You tilt your head, giving him a look. “Alright, spill. What’s up with you?”

Ben’s jaw tenses, and he keeps his eyes forward. “You really didn’t notice?”

“Notice what?”

He kisses his teeth with his tongue, clearly annoyed. “Carlitos,” he says finally, voice clipped. The name practically rolls off his tongue like a curse.

You blink, caught off guard. “Carlos?”

“Yeah. Sitting all close, leaning in, making you laugh,” he grumbles.

“Like he’s some kind of…” He shakes his head, muttering to himself. “Honestly, baby, you couldn’t see through that?”

A small lopsided grin tugs at your lips. “Ben, he was just being friendly.”

“Friendly,” he repeats with a scoff. His voice raises a bit as he glances over to you. “I know exactly what that kind of ‘friendly’ means. That's the kind of 'friendly' I was before I had my hands round you and I-”

"Ben! God, you can't be serious" You stifle a laugh, your jaw dropped as you look at him. Sassy Shelton came out strong today, clearly.

He sighs, running a hand over his face quickly. "Baby, he's not 'friendly'. That’s what he wants you to think. I know guys like him. Hell, I was a guy like him before you gave me a chance. Now he's trying to get your attention-- right in front of me, mind you -- and-”.

“Are you jealous, Ben?”

He gives you a look, eyes narrowed, though the blush creeping up his neck gives him away. “I’m not jealous. Like, the way he was actin’ around you, leanin’ in close, smilin’ too much. He was flirtin’, and you didn’t even notice - I just don’t like seeing some guy try to cozy up to you like that. ” He hesitates, then mutters, “Especially not while I’m right there.”

You chuckle softly, reaching over to place a hand on his arm. “Ben, I think you’re overreacting. Carlos is just... Carlos. It’s nothing.”

Ben shakes his head, still frowning. “You don’t get it. I’ve seen him pull that charm on other girls. He gets all friendly and sweet and cool, but it ain’t just for fun.”

“Well, I’m not other girls,” you say, squeezing his arm gently. “And I’m definitely not interested in anyone else but you.”

He stays quiet for a moment, his jaw working as he chews on your words. Finally, he exhales, his grip loosening slightly on the wheel. “I know… it’s just… I don’t like him thinkin’ he can try somethin’. I didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly amused now. "You’re really worked up over this, aren’t you? Were you pouting out there on the court?”

He huffs, looking away, a hint of a smirk breaking through as he rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

"I wouldn't but here you are, pouting, right in front of me." You tease, your voice lilting as you inch over to his face.

He lets out a deep breath, turning back to the road, his anger melting a bit but still lingering in his words. “I just think he should’ve backed off,” he mutters. “Especially when he knows you're mine".

“Ben, no one’s got my attention like you do. You know that. I'm yours.”

He finally lets out a reluctant smile, though he tries to hide it. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, his tone softer, “good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on sharing.”

The rest of the ride goes by easier as you talk about your own life, people and things, taking Ben's mind off of the court.

Later that evening, as you’re finishing up your skincare routine. The day's events have already faded from your mind, but you know Ben hasn’t completely shaken it off. He’s been quieter than usual since practice ended. Now he’s standing in the doorway, freshly showered, his hair damp, his grey t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame, and pyjama shorts slung low on his hips.

His hands are in his pockets, but his eyes are focused intently on you. He’s got that familiar look, pouty lips, eyes narrowed, the kind of look he gets when he wants to ask something.

You glance at him in the mirror and smile softly. “What’s up?”

Ben doesn’t respond right away. He pushes himself off the doorframe, stepping closer. “So...what did Carlos actually say to you today?” he asks, his voice quiet and soft.

The question catches you a little off guard, surely he can't still be on this. “Carlos?” you echo, frowning slightly. “You mean… earlier, at practice?”

He nods, but there’s no humour in his expression. “Yeah, baby. What’d he say?”

You chuckle softly, turning to face him. “Ben, come on, it was just a friendly chat. It wasn’t like that-”

“I didn’t say it was like that,” Ben cuts in, his voice sharper than usual, his tone still soft as he folds his arms over his broad chest, looking down at your face, almost with pleading eyes. “Just… tell me what he said.”

You hesitate, realising that he’s serious, the playfulness you expected absent. “He was just chatting. You know, we were talking about tennis, the match, practice…” you start, unsure why he’s so worked up. “At one point, he was asking if we, or was it just me? Whatever, asking if we were staying here and I said we haven't decided and then he said something about he might be sticking around. Like, if he found something ‘worthy,’ he’d stay longer or whatever.”

Ben’s jaw clenches, and he shakes his head slowly, bringing a hand up to wipe his face. “Worthy?” he mutters to himself, his expression hardening. His hands are still buried in his pockets, but you can see the tension in his shoulders. “He said that? Like, right to you? Exactly like that?”

You shrug, still not fully understanding why this has him so riled up. “Yeah, but I didn’t think anything of it. He didn’t mean anything-”

“Didn’t mean anything?” Ben interrupts, his voice climbing slightly, his hands waving exasperatedly. He steps closer again, almost looming over you. “He knew what he was sayin’. He knows how he sounds, baby. And you laughed at him.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Wait, you’re mad because I laughed?”

Ben huffs, looking down at you with frustration evident in every line of his body. “No, but babe- I’m mad ‘cause he pulled your attention away from me! You’re there to watch me, not talk to him. But he just slides in there, all smooth, and suddenly you’re caught up in some conversation with him, while I’m bustin’ my ass on court, looking over to see my girl caught my shot only to see some guy leaning over, making eyes at her!”

You bite back a smile at the raw honesty in his voice. He’s not playing games, not teasing, just genuinely upset. “Ben, I wasn’t ignoring you-”

“Well, you weren’t exactly watching me either!” he exclaims, cutting you off again. “I saw you, baby. You weren’t even lookin’ my way.” His voice softens, but it’s filled with frustration, his hand reaching for yours as he holds them, running his thumb over your knuckles. “You’re supposed to be there for me, and he’s over here making you laugh, takin’ your attention like it’s no big deal.”

You sigh, reaching out to rest your hand on his chest, trying to soothe the tension. “Ben, I’m always there for you. He was just making conversation.”

Ben’s eyes narrow and he drops your hands softly. He closes his eyes like he's mulling over everything before he suddenly opens his mouth to mimic Carlos’s voice, clearly irritated. “‘If you find somethin’ worthy, no?’” he says in a poorly executed accent, making you almost burst out laughing. “‘Maybe you’ll stay longer, si?’” He huffs, shaking his head. “What kind of friendly talk is that? He knows what he’s doin’. He talks like that on purpose.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his attempt to copy Carlos, even if you know he’s genuinely upset. “Ben, baby, stop. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Ben stares at you, a pout forming on his lips again. “I’m ridiculous for wantin’ my girl to be there for me? For not likin’ that some other guy’s got your eyes on him when they should be on me?"

Your gaze softens as you look up at him and bring a hand up to his face, your thumb tracing a line along his jaw. “Ben, I was paying attention to you. Maybe not in every single moment, but trust me, you had my attention. You always do.”

He still looks unconvinced, his lips pressing into a tight line. “It didn’t feel like it,” he mutters. “Not when I saw you smilin’ at him. Like, really smilin’. I didn’t like it.”

You let out a soft breath, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him closer. “Ben, I don’t care about Carlos. I only care about you.”

His hands finally find your body again, this time resting on your waist as he looks down at you, his eyes still stormy with frustration. “Yeah, well, he’s smooth, babe. And I don’t like sharing your attention with anyone. Not him. Not anyone.”

“Ben, you never have to. I’m all yours,” you reassure him, smiling as he finally relaxes in your arms, nestling himself into your neck as you feel a small smile against your skin, breaking through his earlier frustration. After a few seconds, he pulls away and stares at you for a long moment, then sighs deeply, the tension slowly leaving his body.

“Yeah�� I know,” he mutters, sounding defeated but still a little stubborn.

You press a kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering against his skin. “Why don’t you let me help you relax, huh? Come here.”

He reluctantly follows as you guide him to sit on the vanity stool. His pout is still present, but the frustration is starting to ebb away. You grab one of your serums and start gently applying it to his face, massaging it into his skin. He closes his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh as you work on his stress.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” you tease softly, fingers working in small circles along his jawline.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Ben mumbles, his voice soft, his head leaning into your palm.

You smile, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. “I do love you. But you’ve gotta stop worrying about Carlos. He’s not worth your time.”

Ben doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets you continue massaging the cream into his skin, the tension slowly draining from his body. After a while, he murmurs, “You think Carlos would wanna try this skincare routine?”

You roll your eyes, chuckling. “Ben, I don’t care what Carlos would want.”

He cracks a smile, his eyes still closed, clearly pleased with your response. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna share that either.”

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his lips, his hand finding its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. When you finally pull back, you see a small, content smile on his face.

“Feel better?” you ask gently, running your fingers through his damp curls. You gently place yourself on his lap, both of you sitting in front of the vanity mirror, skin glazed and soft.

“Yeah…” he admits quietly, nuzzling into your neck as his arms wrap around your waist. “I just… I just want you all to myself, baby.”

You press another kiss to his forehead, feeling him relax further as you gently play with his hair. “You already have me, silly.”

Ben hums softly, his lips brushing against your neck as he murmurs, “You’re all mine.”

And at that moment, all the jealousy melts away as he buries his face in the crook of your neck once again, smiling softly as your hands work their way through his curls, your touch easing all his frustrations into nothing more than soft, happy sighs and sweet murmurs.

The next day at the court, thinking maybe things have settled. After all, Ben had gotten everything off his chest last night, or so you thought. But the moment you take your seat near the sidelines, you see Carlos already lingering nearby, his eyes lighting up as soon as he spots you. His confident stride brings him over with the same swagger as yesterday, but this time there’s a shift. He’s more deliberate.

“Good morning,” he says, leaning casually on the railing. “Back to watch Ben again, eh?”

You nod, offering a polite smile. “Looking forward to it.” Ben's words and frustrations spin around your head, he wasn't one to overreact or be quick to be jealous, so seeing how upset he was yesterday, you knew this meant a great deal to him. You also felt more suspicious of Carlos, finding lingering undertones in his actions and words.

Carlos leans in, just close enough that you feel a flicker of discomfort. “You know, it must be hard, watching your boyfriend all day in this heat no? You must get so bored. Why don’t you come down to the lounge, we can grab a drink?” His tone is light, but there’s no mistaking the undertone. It’s flirty, persistent, and more than friendly. You can feel it, and it makes you shift in your seat. Ben might've been right to have been so built up about this.

“I’m good, thanks. I'm here for Ben,” your voice firm but still kind. You don’t want to cause a scene, but it’s clear he’s not taking the hint. You look across the court and see Ben shaking his racket a bit, his gaze leaving yours as he stares at the clay under him, his jaw clenched tight.

Carlos chuckles, ignoring the brush-off, his arm lingering along the back of your chair. “One drink can’t hurt, I promise I won’t steal you for too long.”

As he leans closer, you shift in your seat. At that moment, you catch sight of Ben, watching intently from across the court. He’s looking directly at Carlos, his expression sharp. There’s an intensity in his eyes you haven’t seen before, more than competitiveness, it’s protective.

Without hesitation, Ben strides over, his southern drawl thicker than usual. “Carlitos,” he says, each syllable measured, almost mockingly. “She’s with me, man.”

Carlos raises his hands, feigning innocence as he raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Relax, we were only talking.”

“Yeah? Then talk to someone else, she's not interested” Ben replies, his tone leaving no room for debate. Ben steps up onto the ledge, leaning over the rails, facing Carlos eye to eye.

“Alright, no harm. See you around.” Carlos smirks but backs off, tossing a wink your way before he leaves. Ben watches him retreat, his expression firm, his hand gripping the rail. His eyes are still trained on the Spaniard’s back, and you can see the fire in them.

“Ben,” you murmur softly, reaching for his arm, trying to calm him. “I told him I wasn’t interested.”

His gaze softens as he looks down at you. “I saw him, babe. Too close.” His accent draws out each word slowly, his voice still tight with frustration. “I don’t like the way he was lookin’ at you.”

“I handled it,” you say gently, standing up to face him. “And besides, I’m not interested in anyone but you. He was just trying to get under your skin.”

Ben’s gaze softens slightly, but there’s still that protective edge to him. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you a little closer. “I don’t care what he was tryin’ to do. He doesn’t get to talk to you like that. Not when you’re mine.”

You smile softly, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the tension slowly drain from him. “I’ve always been yours, Ben. You don’t have to worry about anyone else.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment, eyes closing as he exhales a shaky breath. “I know… I just hate seein’ anyone think they can….” His voice trails off, and he sighs, pulling you closer. You can feel his body start to relax, but there’s still an underlying frustration there. His hand tightens on your waist, the rail holding distance between you two and before you can say anything else, he sighs.

“I don’t want you sittin’ there no more,” he mutters, “You’re gonna stay with me.”

It’s not up for debate, he’s made his decision. And honestly, you don’t mind. He helps you come onto the court, holding you tight as he presses a kiss to your temple. Being by Ben’s side feels right, especially when he’s feeling this protective. You settle next to him, his arm draped over your shoulders, as he goes through the rest of his training. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Stay by me on my bench today, baby.”

After practice, Ben takes you to the player lounge. He’s quieter than usual, but you can tell he’s still stewing over Carlos. His leg bounces nervously as he sits beside you, his arm never leaving your waist. The lounge is almost completely silent, but all Ben can focus on is making sure Carlos doesn’t come anywhere near you again.

“Ben,” you say softly with a gentle smile, resting a hand on his bouncing knee, trying to ground him. “It’s over. He’s not gonna try anything. You made yourself clear.”

He lets out a frustrated breath, biting the inside of his cheek. “He better not.”

You tilt your head, watching him with a small smile. “You’re so worked up over this, huh?”

Ben glances at you, his lips tightening for a second before he sighs. “I just….” He trails off again, clearly struggling to find the words. “You’re mine, baby. That's all.”

You bite back a smile at the possessiveness in his voice. It’s extremely rare for Ben to be this openly jealous, but when it happens, it’s kind of adorable. You lean closer, your fingers brushing over the curls at the nape of his neck. “You don’t need to get all worked up. I only have eyes for one man.”

His body visibly relaxes at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing as you play with his hair. Ben’s cheeks flush slightly at the softness of your touch, and his eyes flicker to yours.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth softly. “Only you, Ben.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips before it breaks into that gummy smile you know and love, his cheeks tinting a slight shade of pink. His hand comes up to cup your cheek gently, and he leans into the kiss, pressing his lips against yours in a way that’s sweet and slow. It’s like he’s pouring all of his emotions into that one moment, letting go of all the tension that’s been building up.

After Ben pulls back from the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, you smile and gently run your fingers through his curls. He looks so at peace, the tension from earlier melting away, but you can’t resist teasing him a little.

“I didn’t know you could get so jealous,” you say with a playful grin.

Ben huffs a soft laugh, his eyes narrowing playfully as his cheeks flush. “I wasn’t that jealous,” he mumbles, but the way he bites his lower lip, the slight embarrassment in his voice, tells you otherwise.

“Oh really?” You arch a brow, leaning in closer so your lips brush the shell of his ear. “You didn’t sound jealous at all when you called him ‘Carlitos,’ like you were ready to throw him onto the court.”

Ben's blush deepens, and he buries his face in your neck, hiding his smile as you giggle. “Okay, maybe a little jealous,” he admits, his voice muffled against your skin. “But I don’t like guys like him hangin’ around you.”

You laugh softly, your fingers still toying with his curls as he nuzzles deeper into your neck, clearly flustered. “You’re so possessive, Ben,” you tease, your voice warm and affectionate. “It’s kind of cute.”

At that, Ben lets out a breathy, almost bashful chuckle, his lips brushing against your neck as he tries to stifle his own laughter. “Stop,” he mumbles, the smile evident in his voice. “You’re gonna make me blush even more.”

You tilt your head slightly, giving him better access to your neck, and he takes the invitation, pressing the softest, sweetest kisses against your skin. His lips linger there, warm and tender, as his arms wrap tighter around your waist. You feel his breath hitch as he tries not to laugh again, but his amusement bubbles up, and he giggles softly against your neck.

The sound makes your heart melt. Seeing Ben, so often confident and fiery, acting like this, soft, almost giddy in your arms, is a side of him that you absolutely adore and could never take for granted. You smile, feeling his giggles vibrate against your skin as his face stays tucked into your neck, hiding the full blush on his cheeks.

“Who knew the big, tough Ben Shelton could be so shy,” you tease gently, kissing the top of his head.

“Only around you,” he murmurs, his voice low but filled with affection as he pulls you even closer. His lips graze your neck again, lingering longer this time, and you can feel the smile still tugging at his lips.

He nuzzles further into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady now, no longer trying to hide his soft laughter. “I guess I do get a little jealous,” he finally admits, his voice quieter now. “I just don’t want anyone else thinkin’ they can have what’s mine.”

You smile and lean your head against his, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m always yours, Ben,” you whisper softly.

His body relaxes even more at your words, and he lets out a contented sigh. “Good,” he murmurs, still nestled into your neck, his face still rosy but his heart at ease. “Because I’m not lettin’ go.”

[lizardsfromspace]

If you look at the timeline of Most Expensive Movies Ever, most of them are some form of epic, and the ones that aren't are fantastical or historical in nature, which makes sense: obv, massive sets and visual effects and all-star ensemble casts and crowds of thousands of extras eat up cash, and several of these films were the first to do a certain effect, meaning they also had to develop the technology for it. This is true all the way back in the silent era on to today

But then you have the first one, the earliest known movie w/a budget over a million dollars, which was a moody drama about a horny con artist destroying his life and the lives of everyone around him, which cost more money than any epic before it bc noted freak Erich von Stroheim demanded they reconstruct all of Monte Carlo on a soundstage instead of filming at Monte Carlo. And also made the movie's first cut eight hours long

[onlyonetifosi]

Behind the camera -> chapter 6

<- previous series masterlist my main masterlist next ->

author note1: i love them your honor

uthor note2: if you want to be in the taglist comment it or send me a message <3 and i hope you like it

@reveriesources

The week passed in a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation for Yn. Thoughts of the upcoming weekend with Joris filled her mind, and she couldn't help but steal glances at her phone, eagerly awaiting his message. The day finally arrived, and Yn found herself nervously preparing for their rendezvous.

Joris, equally anxious and excited, arrived at Yn's house with a small bouquet of flowers. The doorbell rang, and Yn opened the door to find Joris standing there, a shy smile on his face.

"Pour toi," Joris said, presenting the flowers to Yn. (For you)

Yn's eyes lit up, and she graciously accepted the gift. "C'est magnifique, Joris. Merci!" (It's beautiful, Joris. Thank you!)

As they embarked on their weekend adventure, Yn and Joris explored the beautiful streets of Monte Carlo, sharing laughter and getting to know each other better. The shyness that initially lingered between them began to fade, replaced by a comfortable companionship. Joris had suggested a simple yet charming picnic in a nearby park, and Yn, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit, met him with a smile.

"Tu aimes la musique?" Joris asked, attempting to keep the conversation flowing. (Do you like music?)

"Oui, j'adore la musique," Yn responded, her eyes lighting up. (Yes, I love music)

They stumbled upon a street performer playing a melodic tune on his guitar. Yn and Joris found a quiet spot to sit and enjoy the music, their shoulders brushing against each other.

"Ça te plaît?" Joris asked, stealing a glance at Yn. (Do you like it?)

"Oui, c'est magnifique," Yn replied, her heart fluttering as she caught his gaze. (Yes, it's beautiful)

The picnic blanket was spread under the shade of a large oak tree, and as they enjoyed the homemade sandwiches and snacks, Yn couldn't help but feel a connection growing between them. The ease with which they talked, the shared laughter, and the occasional shy glances all contributed to an atmosphere that felt special.

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city. Joris, feeling a surge of courage, turned to Yn.

Joris, looking both nervous and determined, took a deep breath. "Yn, euh… il y a quelque chose que je voulais te dire." (Yn, um… there's something I wanted to tell you.)

Yn turned towards him, her curiosity piqued. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" she asked, smiling. (What is it?)

"Yn, il y a quelque chose que je veux te dire," Joris began, his voice tinged with a mix of shyness and sincerity. (Yn, there's something I want to tell you)

Yn turned towards him, her eyes reflecting the fading sunlight. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" she asked, genuinely curious. (What is it?)

"Euh, je… je t'aime bien, Yn. Plus que comme une amie," Joris confessed, his cheeks flushing with vulnerability. (Um, I… I really like you, Yn. More than as a friend)

Yn's eyes widened in surprise, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Joris, je… je ne m'attendais pas à ça," she admitted, her heart fluttering with a mixture of emotions. (Joris, I… I didn't expect this)

Joris looked down, nervously fidgeting. "Je comprends si tu ne ressens pas la même chose. C'est juste que je voulais te le dire." (I understand if you don't feel the same way. I just wanted to tell you)

Yn's heart skipped a beat as the weight of his words sank in. She looked into his eyes, a mixture of surprise and warmth reflected in her gaze. Y/N's heart raced, and a warm blush spread across her cheeks. She looked down at her plate for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "Joris, I feel the same way. I like you too"

A smile broke across Joris's face, a mix of relief and joy. "You do?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for confirmation

Y/N nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. "Yes, Joris. I really do"

Joris, summoning the courage he had gathered throughout the day, stammered, "Yn, euh, est-ce que tu voudrais bien être ma petite amie?" (Yn, um, would you like to be my girlfriend?)

Yn's heart skipped a beat, and she looked at him with a mix of surprise and joy. "Oui, Joris. Ça serait génial." (Yes, Joris. That would be great.)

The shy boy's face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. They shared a quiet moment, savoring the sweetness of the confession and the promise of something new.

As the weight of their confessions hung in the air, an electric tension enveloped them. Joris reached across the table, gently cupping Y/N's cheek with his hand. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

Unable to contain their feelings any longer, Joris leaned in, capturing Y/N's lips with his own. The world around them faded away as they shared a sweet, lingering kiss. It was a moment they had both been waiting for, a culmination of unspoken emotions.

When they finally pulled away, both were left breathless and wide-eyed. A shared bashful smile passed between them as the realization of what had just transpired set in

"Wow," Joris whispered, his cheeks tinted with a rosy hue "That was… amazing"

Y/N chuckled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, it was"

Realizing the evening had slipped away, Joris looked at his watch and furrowed his brow. "It's getting late, Yn. I should walk you home, just to make sure nothing happens"

Yn chuckled, appreciating his concern. "That would be nice, Joris"

Hand in hand, they strolled out of the park, the city lights of Monaco beginning to twinkle in the distance. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoms and the gentle murmur of their laughter, marking the beginning of a beautiful chapter in their young lives.

taglist: @love4lando @gcldtom @im-mi @topguncultleader @celesteblack08 @reblog-princess @sunf1ower16

[its-all-or-nothing94]

Racing Hearts - Part 1 // Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc, a beloved and celebrated F1 driver, yearns for a meaningful connection amidst the glitz and glamour of his high-profile job. As the Monaco GP is around the corner, he fatefully crosses paths with Y/N Y/L/N, an ordinary girl who captures his heart with her genuine personality and kind spirit.

Masterlist

Warnings: None

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

A/N: Sooo, this is my first F1 Story :) I hope you enjoy it. It's a typical romance for all you romance lovers out there ;) Like, Reblog, tell me what you think :D It's highly appreciated!

Disclaimer: This story is purely fictional, and any character portrayals are just how I wrote them - hence fictional! I don't know them, except my OCs.

Tagging: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @bellewintersroe (I thought, you might enjoy this ;))

The streets of Monaco shimmered under the golden rays of the sun, casting an ethereal glow upon the grand city. You stood at the edge of the bustling harbor, your eyes wide with wonder. You had arrived in this glamorous playground by chance, a spontaneous detour on your adventure across Europe. The winding cobblestone streets, the opulent yachts bobbing in the azure waters, and the hum of wealthy tourists filled the air, creating an atmosphere of indulgence and sophistication.

Your Y/H/C hair fell softly around your sun-kissed shoulders as your Y/E/C eyes scanned the crowd, searching for your best friend, Sofia. Minutes turned into an impatient eternity until, finally, a familiar figure emerged from the throng. Sofia Santoro, her dark hair cascading down her back, approached with a radiant smile that reached her warm brown eyes. You embraced, reuniting after weeks of exploration and discovery.

"Y/N!" Sofia exclaimed, her voice alive with excitement. "You won't believe the sights I've seen! And the food... Oh, you have to try the pastries here. They're heavenly."

You chuckled, your spirited personality shining through. Sofia lived here for a year now, and finally, you came to visit your best friend. "I can't wait to hear all about it, Sof. Monaco truly is a dream."

As you strolled through the luxurious streets, your laughter mingling with the splash of waves, an unexpected occurrence startled them. You stumbled, your steps faltering as if an invisible force had collided with you.

"What is it?" you asked your best friend, but Sofia just looked at you, confused.

"I didn't say anything... But hey, there is that store I told you about. Be right baaack", she sings as she walked away into the store across from the harbor.

You, meanwhile, stood at the edge of the Monte Carlo harbor, your eyes wide with wonder as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the glistening water. The air was thick with anticipation as if the city itself was holding its breath, awaiting the arrival of someone extraordinary.

You took a deep breath, the salty scent of the sea mingling with the aroma of fresh pastries wafting from a nearby café. Your heart fluttered with excitement as you adjusted the strap of your worn leather backpack, the only constant companion on your solo adventure across Europe.

"A breathtaking view, isn't it?"

You turned your head, Y/E/C eyes meeting the warm gaze of a stranger beside you. Chestnut hair, emerald green eyes, and a smile that could light up the night sky - it was as if destiny had brought you together at this very moment. Your heart skipped a beat as you stumbled back, blushing furiously.

"Uh, yes, it is," you stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The young man chuckled, a sound that was both melodic and infectious. "Apologies if I startled you. I couldn't help but notice your awe as you took in the beauty of Monaco."

Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, your Y/H/C waves tumbling down to frame your face. "It's just...I've dreamed of visiting this place for so long. And to see it like this, it's...magical."

"I couldn't agree more," he replied, extending a hand. "I'm Charles, by the way."

You couldn't say much as you were captivated by him. "Euh Y/N," you managed to squeak out, a shaky hand reaching out to meet his.

Your fingers intertwined an electric current passing between you. At that moment, the noise of the bustling harbor faded, and it was as if they were the only two people in the world.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N," Charles said, genuine warmth in his voice. "Are you enjoying your time in Monaco?"

You nodded, a shy smile gracing her lips. "I am. I've been traveling across Europe, and this is my last stop. My best friend moved here last year. Her dad is a designer, and she took over the store here. But it feels...right, being here."

Charles's eyes sparkled with interest as he leaned in closer. "And for how long are you staying?"

You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. But with Charles, there was a certain comfort, an inexplicable connection that compelled you to share the truth.

"I actually don't have a set schedule. I'm a freelance photographer taking a break, so I... have no obligations."

Charles chuckled, his cute dimples appearing on his cheeks. "That actually sounds quite nice. Not having any obligations, I mean."

You smiled at him as the bell on the store door rang, and Sofia made her way back to you. 

"Okay, I've got everything, we can... go," Sofia said, the last word hesitant, finally noticing Charles. "Uh, hi," she greeted, and Charles nodded in response with a small smile. 

A young man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Charles walked out onto the street from behind him. You guessed that this must be his brother. He called out something in French and waved at Charles, eyeing him for a second, before disappearing back into the restaurant. 

"I have to go," Charles said. "But maybe we'll see each other again, Y/N. It was really nice meeting you."

He nodded at Sofia before following his brother into the restaurant. You watched him leave with a content smile. 

"Oh my god! Do you know who that was?!" Sofia exclaimed as soon as Charles was gone. 

You looked at her, confused, while you shrugged. "He said his name is Charles."

"Yeah, Charles fucking Leclerc! The Formula 1 driver? Don't tell me you don't know him?"

Sofia raised her eyebrows at you, making you feel foolish. 

"What?"

Sofia put her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. "You just flirted with one of the most famous Formula 1 drivers there is. He's from Monaco, and you, my dear, didn't even recognize him."

"Why would I? I've never watched Formula 1!" you defended yourself. 

Sofia shook her head. "No, you haven't. But he definitely had his eyes on you, girl." Sofia smiled widely and nudged you.

"So? It's not like I'm going to see him again," You shrugged, turning your gaze back to the ocean. 

"Oh, don't be so quick to dismiss it, girlfriend. Monaco is a magical place. And if he wants to find you, he will find you, I promise."

Meanwhile, at the restaurant, the Leclerc family had gathered, rejoicing in the reunion of all the children back in Monaco.

"Who was that? Another tourist fan?" Arthur inquired, settling down beside their mother, Pascale, and their brother Lorenzo.

"No, actually, she wasn't," Charles responded. "I don't think she even knew who I was."

Pascale glanced at her two sons. "What are you talking about, mon chéris?" she asked just as their entrees arrived.

"Charles was talking to a girl outside. I thought she was a fan," Arthur explained, and Pascale turned her attention to Charles.

"A girl?"

Charles seemed slightly irritated by his younger brother. "It's nothing, Maman. We were just discussing Monaco, nothing more."

Pascale studied her son's face. She knew him well enough to sense that there was more to the story than met the eye.

She sighed. "Well, as long as you don't plan on rekindling things with that dreadful Isabella..."

"Maman!" Lorenzo interjected, shaking his head slightly.

"What? They're not together anymore, so I can speak my mind, can't I?" Pascale asked, looking at Charles, who shook his head, annoyed.

Charles loved his mother, but she had a tendency to be outspoken, even when it would be best to hold her tongue. Charles knew his mother had never approved of his ex-girlfriend, Isabella Rossi. They had met at a charity event in Monaco, where Isabella's wealthy businessman father and her career as a model brought them together.

Initially, Isabella was sweet and caring, and Charles had fallen deeply in love with her. However, after four years, his feelings changed. When he confided in his brothers, best friend Pierre, and his athletic trainer Andrea Ferrari, they all agreed that their relationship had become toxic.

Ending things with Isabella hadn't been easy for Charles. The life of a Formula 1 driver could be lonely, constantly jetting around the world. Having someone who cared about him was a comfort. But eventually, Charles accepted the fact that his feelings had faded, and he ended the relationship. Needless to say, Isabella didn't take it well.

That had been a month ago, and ever since, she had made numerous attempts to win him back. As the Monaco Grand Prix was just around the corner, she knew Charles was back home.

"You can, Maman, and you know it. But can we just enjoy dinner and talk about something else?" Charles asked, digging into his pasta.

"She was really pretty," Arthur chimed in, causing Lorenzo and Charles to look at him, perplexed. Arthur couldn't be referring to Isabella. Arthur, noticing his brothers' confusion, rolled his eyes. "The girl outside? She was really pretty. Are you going to see her again?"

Charles glanced at Arthur for a moment. "Why would I?" he asked, although deep down, he wanted to. There was something about Y/N that stirred something inside him as if she were something special.

"Why not? Don't tell me you don't want to see her again. I saw the way you looked at her, Charles."

Charles took a deep breath. "Even if I wanted to, Art, I don't have her number, just her first name. I don't even know where she's from."

Arthur looked at Charles with an exasperated expression. "Are you shitting me?"

"Arthur!" Pascale immediately intervened.

"Sorry, Ma. But seriously, Charles. You know that if you want to find her, you will. We all know that. So get off your ass and go find that girl!"

"Is she really that special?" Lorenzo asked, looking at Charles.

The middle brother hesitated and then nodded. "I don't know why, but I have this feeling that our story isn't finished yet."

Pascale kept a watchful eye on her son. She took a deep breath and spoke up. "Then why don't you look for her, Charles? If she truly is that special."

Charles looked surprised at his mother. Pascale wasn't one to believe in fate, but if even she was advising him to pursue it, then he knew he should.

He set his fork down and gazed at his family, one by one. "Okay, starting tomorrow, we'll begin searching for Y/N."

"We?" Lorenzo immediately questioned, but Arthur simply nodded and grinned.

Basking in the warm Mediterranean sun, you and Sofia lounged beside the pool at Sofia's opulent apartment the next morning, which her father had graciously rented for her. You relaxed, sipping on glasses of wine and sharing laughter as you reminisced about your European escapades. However, Sofia's mischievous grin indicated that she had something up her sleeve.

"Sooo, Y/N," Sofia said, her grin widening, "Oh my gosh! I can't get over what went down yesterday with Charles Leclerc!"

You blushed slightly, attempting to downplay the encounter. "Oh, come on, Sof. It wasn't that big of a deal. We just chatted for a few minutes. It doesn't mean anything."

Sofia playfully raised an eyebrow. "No big deal? I saw the way he looked at you, and trust me, that wasn't ordinary. Charles is a charming guy, but he's not usually so forward with strangers."

You took a sip of her wine, trying to conceal your excitement, and shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, he was simply being friendly, right? I mean, he interacts with fans all the time. I didn't even know who he was until you told me."

Sofia shook her head, her grin refusing to fade. "Are you serious? The way he gazed at you, Y/N. Trust me, he knows you left an impression."

You shook your head at your friend, well aware of Sofia's tendency to read too much into things. "Yeah, right."

"But Y/N, I've seen Charles with fans before. He's usually reserved, quiet. Yet with you, it was like there was something more. He couldn't take his eyes off of you," Sofia stated, sitting up from the sunbed and raising her sunglasses. "I'm serious!"

You looked at your best friend, your cheeks tinged with a hint of red. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. It was just a chance encounter, nothing more."

Sofia's eyes sparkled with excitement as she continued to prod. "Oh, come on, Y/N! You can't deny the connection between you two. It was written all over his face."

You rolled your eyes. "Could you just stop? I'm not even looking for someone at the moment, and you know that. After everything that happened with Oliver..."

Sofia sighed. "I know, I know. He was a jerk, and you've sworn off love. Got it." She slipped her sunglasses back on. "But I'm still rooting for the perfect celebrity love story." She reclined back into her chair.

You glanced over at your best friend, and then you couldn't help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

You lingered at the pool a little longer, enjoying the warm sun on your skin. Suddenly, Sofia's phone interrupted your peaceful moment. She quickly answered, speaking rapidly in both Spanish and French. After hanging up, she turned to you with an apologetic look. "Please don't be upset with me," she pleaded, and you raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Sofia sighed, explaining, "There's an issue at my dad's store that he insists I handle personally. I'm really sorry, Y/N."

You studied your best friend for a moment before responding, "No worries, Sof. I can handle some alone time."

Sofia observed your determined expression. "Are you sure? I promised I would clear my schedule for you."

You sat up and grasped Sofia's hand. "Hey, don't worry about it. I've been traveling solo through Europe for the past six months, so I think I can handle an afternoon alone."

Sofia chuckled, grateful for her best friend's easygoing nature. That was one of the reasons she loved you so much.

Thirty minutes later, Sofia arrived at her father's store. "Okay, what's the problem?" she asked her employee, Cassandra, who explained the situation. The problem turned out to be more time-consuming than Sofia had anticipated. After three exhausting hours, they finally resolved everything. Annoyed, Sofia walked to the counter and set down her phone, which she had used frequently throughout the afternoon. Suddenly, the bell above the door jingled, causing her eyes to widen.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, her gaze fixed on the individual who had just entered the store. With a wide grin, she approached none other than Charles Leclerc, accompanied by his brother Lorenzo. "I knew you would come back."

Charles looked at her, initially confused, before recognition dawned on him. "Wait, I saw you yesterday, didn't I?"

Lorenzo glanced between Sofia and Charles, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yes, you did. At the harbor!" Sofia replied excitedly.

"So, we finally found her?" Lorenzo asked hesitantly, trying to make sense of the situation.

Sofia smiled at Lorenzo. "Yeah, it's not her," Charles clarified, causing Lorenzo's attention to snap back to his brother. "But she's the friend with the designer store."

Sofia maintained her smile, shrugging lightly. "That's me, and I'm thrilled you found me. But on the other hand... How?"

Charles chuckled. "Y/N mentioned that she was visiting a friend here who owns a designer store. So we went from store to store today, searching for a clue. And now we've found you."

"You searched all over for her?" Sofia asked, amazed. Charles nodded. "That's incredibly sweet."

A faint blush tinted Charles' cheeks. "So, can you tell me where she is?"

Sofia's smile persisted as she replied, "No."

Lorenzo's head shot up, confusion etched on his face. "No?"

"No... I mean, yes, but let me explain. She's at my place and, well... Okay, never mind. I have a proposition for you. Y/N and I will be at Jimmy'z tonight, so why don't you surprise her and join us there?" Sofia proposed, locking eyes with Charles before glancing at Lorenzo.

Charles exchanged a brief glance with his brother before turning back to Sofia. "We'll be there!"

Lorenzo looked at his younger brother, still perplexed. "We will?"

Charles met Lorenzo's gaze with a firm expression. "We will," he affirmed.

Sofia's grin widened, and she nodded enthusiastically. "Great! OMG, Y/N will be overjoyed when she sees you. She didn't want to believe me when I told her you would search for her and that you two had a special connection..." Sofia rambled, noticing Charles' amused expression.

"Sorry," Sofia finally said, realizing she had been babbling.

Charles chuckled. "It's okay. See you tonight." He took his brother's arm, and they exited Sofia's store.

A mischievous smile played on Sofia's lips as she watched them leave. Oh, Y/N was going to love this.

Upon returning home, Sofia found you emerging from the shower, clad in towels. As you applied moisturizer, Sofia entered the room with a smile on her face.

"Oh, you're back," you greeted your best friend.

"I am, and I come bearing gifts as an apology for taking so long," Sofia replied, placing a jaw-dropping black dress with golden sequins on your bed.

Curiosity piqued, you examined the beautiful garment. "Sof, no! I can't accept this, and you know it," you protested. You were well aware of Sofia's affluent background and her tendency to shower you  with gifts, but you always declined.

"Come on! It's from my store, and I insist, Y/N. I want you to have it," Sofia insisted, revealing a pair of matching shoes from behind her back.

Your fingertips trembled with anticipation as your gaze shifted from the mesmerizing dress to Sofia and back again. With a gentle, hesitant touch, your fingers delicately brushed against the luxurious fabric. It felt soft and smooth beneath her touch, its fine craftsmanship evident in every thread. The sensation sent a shiver of excitement through you, making you appreciate the dress even more. "No, Sof... I wouldn't even know when to wear it..."

"Oh, I do! How about tonight, at Jimmy'z?" Sofia proposed.

"Jimmy'z?" you questioned. "Oh, no, Sof! You know I despise those types of clubs..."

Sofia draped her arm around you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Well, that's a shame, but there's no way you're getting out of this one, my dear. I've already made all the arrangements."

With that, Sofia pranced out of your room, leaving her best friend in stunned silence. However, a smile crept onto your lips as you shook your head in amusement. Once again, you gazed at the dress. It truly was a stunning piece, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of wearing it tonight.

>> Part 2

[iwamaye2]

Chapter 1 - The First Test

Welcome back!! thank you to everyone who liked my latest chapter! I very much appreciate it. This chapter will showcase Toto and the Reader spending time together on his yacht, readers brief interaction with her father, and some steamy moments on the yacht and an interaction but steamy moment at a hotel!!

Requests are also now open!! :)

Mature audience only - 18+ readers only, Content warnings as follows: Sexual Content, Mature Themes, and Language.

The race weekend is in Monaco, the crown jewel for the Formula 1 calendar. The tight, twisting streets of Monte Carlo demanded extra precision and the ultimate powers of steel. Tensions are also high as the teams prepared for the most glamours race and events of the season.

You had been so busy with the preparations for the race that your late-night conversations over the phone with Toto had become brief. they were only snatched moments for whenever you could find them. But tonight, after a long day at the circuit, you were determined to spend time together, preferably away from the paddock this time. "Meet me at the harbor," Toto had texted earlier. "I have a surprise for you schatzi, I will have my driver pick you up discreetly."

As the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the yachts and the glittering water, you made your way to the harbor. Finally arrived you immediately spotted Toto waiting for you, opening your passenger door and looking effortlessly stylish in his casual attire. His presence exuded a calm confidence that you found both reassuring and irresistibly attractive.

"What's the surprise?" you asked, smiling as you approached him. He grinned, a glint in his eyes as he spoke "you'll see, come on darling." Toto led you to a sleek, luxurious yacht docked at the edge of the harbor. You couldn't help but be impressed by its elegance and size, and that it was much more elegant and bigger than your father's that you had spent numerous of family vacations on.

"Is this yours?" you asked, a little breathless. "It is mine," he said. "I thought we could both use a break from all the noise and pressure. Just you and me, away from everything for a little while." You followed him aboard, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. As the yacht set off, the city lights were twinkling in the background. You found a quaint spot on the deck, in the back with a perfect view of the sky, and city lights. The gentle rocking of the boat and the sound of the waves created a soothing atmosphere.

"This is amazing, Toto," You said, leaning against the railing and looking out at the sea. You faced him and said "Thank you." He walked to stand next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. "You work so hard, and sometimes it's good to just...breathe." You turned to face him, your heart swelling with affection. "Ive also been missing our talks," you admitted. "These last few days here in Monaco have been so hectic." "Ive missed them too," he said, his eyes locking into yours. "But I'm here now. And i've been thinking..." "About what?" you asked, curious but also a little nervous.

"About us," he replied, taking a deep breath. "This.... whatever this is between us, it is not easy. There are so many obstacles, your father, my children, the age gap, my recent divorce, so many people who wouldn't understand. But I want you to know I care about you. A lot. your heart started to race at his words. "I care about you too, Toto. More than I ever thought I would about anyone. He took your hands, his touch sending s jolt of electricity through you. " I don't know what the future holds, but I want to face it with you. No matter what happens on the track, we are in this together." You squeezed his hand, feeling a sudden surge of determination. "Together," you echoed, a smile and blush spreading across your face.

The yacht continued its journey, the world outside fading away as you and Toto were sharing a quiet, intimate moment. For now, the rivalry and pressure of the racing worlds were distant concerns. Here, under the starry sky, you were just two people who had found something special in each other. As the night wore on, you talked about everything and nothing, laughing and sharing dreams. When the yacht finally returned to the harbor, you felt a new sense of purpose and strength. No matter what challenges were sure to lay ahead, you knew you could face them with Toto by your side.

After a while, Toto had led you to a more secluded part of the yacht, a cozy lounge area with plush seats and soft lighting. The atmosphere was intimate, and you could feel the tension between you growing. He poured you a glass of champagne, and you both settled into the seats, closer than before. You nestled up against Toto's chest, and he began to lay this head against yours; you both in a close embrace. "To us," he toasted, his eyes never leaving yours. "To us," you echoed, clinking your glass against his. You sipped your champagne, the bubbles tickling your throat, and watched Toto over the rim of your glass. There was something in his gaze, a mixture of desire and tenderness that made your pulse began to quicken.

"Do you remember the first time we mer?" he asked, his voice low, deep, and velvety. You nodded, smiling at the memory. "I do. you caught me working late while I was working on some data." "I couldn't stop thinking about you after that," he admitted, his eyes darkening with emotion. "you are unlike anyone i've ever met Mien Schatzi." Your breath hitched at his words. "Toto, I...."

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in and kissed you this time. it was a gentle kiss at first, exploring yet tentative, but it quickly deepened. You responded eagerly, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the strength and his muscles between his shirt. The kiss grew more passionate, more urgent. Toto's hand roamed your back, pulling you closer until you were sitting on his lap. You could feel the heat of his body, the rapid beat of his heart matching your own.

"Y/N," he murmured again your lips, his voice thick with desire. "I want you." You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "I want you too, Toto. More than anything I could possibly want in this entire world." With a groan, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. he carried you to the master suite, the very large bed inviting and luxurious. He set you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're sure? after this there is no going back now?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of both lust and concern. "Ive never been more sure," you whispered, your hands reaching up to pull him down to you.

He kissed you again, more fervently this time, as his hands began to explore your body. You began to tug at his shirt, needing to feel his skin against yours. He quickly obliged, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. your fingers traced the lines of his muscles, marveling at the strength and beauty of him, to you, he did not seem like he was double your age at all, or that he even was technically older than your own father. Toto began to return the favor, his hands caressing your smooth curves, his touch igniting a fire within you. Clothes quickly began became a forgotten inconvenience, and soon you were both bare, skin against skin.

The feeling was electric, every touch sent shivers down your spine. Totos hands were everywhere, exploring, teasing, and driving you wild with need. He began to kiss a trail down your neck, his lips and tongue leaving a burning path in their wake. When he finally entered you, it was like an excpirence you've never felt before. The connection was immediate and intense, a perfect fit if you will. You had to latch your legs against his waist and leave your hands clenching on his shoulders. You gasped at the sensations, your fingers digging into his back.

"Toto," you moaned, the pleasure overwhelming. He moved slowly at first, savoring the moment, but it wasn't long before the pace quickened. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, the pressure building inside you until you thought you might explode. "Toto, I'm...I'm going to..." you couldn't finish the sentence, the pleasure too intense. "Let go," he whispered, his voice strained with his own impending release. "I've got you." With a cry, you did as he said, your body shaking with the force of your climax. Toto followed soon after, his release spilling into you as he groaned your name.

You lay there together, spent and satisfied, the gentle rock of the yacht lulling you into a state of blissful contentment. Toto held you close, his fingers stroking your hair, your body still trembling with the aftershocks, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered, the words a soft caress. "I love you too," you replied, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that whatever challenges were to lay ahead, you would face them together. In a world defined by two rival teams and two star crossed lovers defined by rivalry and competition, you had found a love that transcended the normal boundaries of the racing circuit. And that was worth fighting for.

Later in the evening, as you awoke and had to head back to your own hotel where your team was staying, without it seeming suspicious and not to draw concern as to where your were this late. You had parted ways with a lingering kiss, promising to see each other the next day. The warmth of his embrace and sincerity in his eyes stayed with you as you made your way to your hotel.

The morning after the rendezvous, the paddock was buzzing with activity as teams prepared for the first practice session. You arrived at the Red Bull garage early, ready to dive into the days tasks. As you reviewed the telemetry data from the previous races, you felt a familiar presence behind you. "Good morning," Totos deep voice greeted you. You turned, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him but also trying to remain calm and not to draw any suspicion. You said "Good morning. Ready for another day of competition?" He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Always. But I wanted to wish you luck before things get too hectic." "Thank you, Mr, Wolff," you said, your voice softening. "Good luck to you too." With a final lingering look, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a fluttering feeling of butterflies in your chest.

The days practice sessions were intense, with both teams Red Bull and Mercedes pushing their cars to the limit. You were so focused on your work you barely noticed the time passing. During a brief break, you caught sight of your father, Christian, watching you from across the garage. His expression was a mix of pride and concern. You made your way over to him, curious about what seemed on his mind.

"Hey dad," you greeted, wiping your hands on a cloth. "Everything okay?" He nodded, though his eyes remained serious as they always were. "You're doing a great job, Y/N. I just wanted to check in. Make sure you're holding up." You smiled, appreciating his concern. "I'm fine, really. Just a bit of pre race nerves." Christan's gaze softened. "I know this world can be tough, especially with all the rivalries and politics. But you've got what it takes, Y/N. I'm proud of you." "Thanks, Dad," you said, feeling a swell of gratitude. "That means a lot."

As you returned to your station, you couldn't help but reflect but reflect on the contrasting dynamics in your life. On one hand, you had the fierce competition and high stakes of the racing world right in your hands. On the other, you had found an unexpected and profound connection with Toto Wolff, a man who was supposed to be your rival as much as he was your father's.

The day continued with more practice sessions, each one more intense than the last. The Red Bull team was performing well, and you had a sense of satisfaction seeing your hard work pay off. But amidst the flurry of activity, your thoughts kept drifting back to Toto. Later that evening, after a long and exhausting day at the circuit, you received a text from him: "Meet me at my teams hotel bar. I need to see you." Your heart skipped a beat as you made your way to the bar. Dressed in a little black dress the atmosphere was relaxed, with soft lighting and the murmur of quiet conversations, while trying to be discreet. You spotted Toto sitting at a corner table, his eyes lighting up as you approached.

"Hey," you said, sliding into the seat across from him. "Everything okay?" He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "It is now, Libeling," he said softly. "I just needed to see you. Today was... Intense." You nodded, understanding the unspoken emotions behind his words. "It was but we made it through." Totos eyes held a depth of emotion that made your breath catch. "Y/N, I want you to know that no matter what happens, you're very important to me. This relationship between us... it is real Schatzi." " I feel the same way," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

there was a moment of charged silence, and then, unable to resist any longer, Toto leaned across the table and kissed you. It was a kiss filled with all the pent up emotions and desires you had both been holding back. When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. "Let's get out of here darling," Toto suggested, his voice husky with emotion. You nodded, and he led you out of the bar, both of you trying to be discreet, his hand was securely holding yours. Waiting for the elevator was a struggle. You both couldn't keep your hands off each other. Suddenly the elevator doors opened and the doors closed you both kissed passionately as time was running out.

Back in his hotel room, the intensity of your connection ignited once more. Toto closed the door behind you, and the quiet of the room felt intimate, almost sacred. Toto turned to you, rolling up his sleeves, his eyes dark with desire and lust he cupped your face in his hands. "You have no idea how much I've wanted you," he murmured. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you down for another kiss. This one was slow and deep, exploring and savoring. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed even closer together.

With gentle urgency, he walked you backwards towards the bed, never breaking the kiss. When the back of your knees hit the edge, you sank down onto the soft plush mattress, pulling him with you. He passed for a moment, looking down at you with a tender smile. "you're so beautiful Liebling," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. You blushed under his intense gaze and a soft smile spreading across your face "Toto..."

He silenced you with another kiss, his hands roaming your body with reverence. He took his time, exploring every inch of your skin, making you feel cherished and desired. The way he touched you was both gentle and passionate, his fingers leaving a trail of heated desire in their wake. You responded to his every caress, your body arching into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"Toto," you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. Releasing another soft moan you said "I need you." He looked into your eyes, his own filled with emotion. "Schatzi I need you too," he whispered, his voice raw with feelings. As he moved over you, you felt a deep connection, almost if your souls were intertwined. The world outside began to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment of pure intimacy. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word bought you both closer together, building a bond that was unbreakable. When you finally came together, it was like a perfect harmony, a dance of love and desire that left you both incredibly breathless. Afterwards, you lay in each other's arms, the room filled with a peaceful silence. Toto held you close, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "I love you," he whispered, the words a soft caress. "I love you too," you replied, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

Chapter 2: Racing Hearts TBA

Reader reflects on her romantic feelings for Toto

a passionate, stolen kiss in a quiet corner of the paddock.