#𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ spotlight ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ lucia ͏ ͏ ͏͏ romero

[0scarp1astr1]

˖ 𐔌 𝐀 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮࿐.۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || As Lewis Hamilton’s sister and a busy fashion designer, love was never a priority—until your best friend George, with help from his girlfriend, sets you up on a blind date. You meet a lovely guy without realizing who he is; now, you've broken a rule without knowing. And even when you find out..you both decide to keep it hidden.||

ᯓ★ Charles Leclerc x Fem! (Hamilton) Reader

ᯓ★ 3x Genre: Fluff, Angst, Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: Nothing major! Just a fight!

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: Charles Leclerc! This is the first solo fic on the blog for him. If it’s bad, I apologize. I write half of these when I’m half awake.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

Being born into the Hamilton family felt like a blessing—one you didn’t fully understand until you were older. To the outside world, the Hamilton name carried legacy, speed, and triumph. But to you, it meant warmth, laughter, and safety. And above all, it meant Lewis.

From the moment you were born, Lewis became your shadow. Your older brother—your protector, your secret-keeper, your greatest champion. There was never a time you could recall where he wasn’t right there, watching over you with that gentle big brother energy. He held you in his arms when you were just hours old, and from then on, something unspoken rooted deeply between the two of you. A bond no spotlight or fame could shake.

You both grew up chasing your own dreams, carving your own paths. While Lewis chased victory on tracks across the globe, you were sketching in notebooks, sewing by hand, and whispering dreams of runways and high fashion. But no matter how far apart your worlds seemed, he was always in yours.

“You’re gonna be something incredible one day,” Lewis would tell you when he saw your hands covered in thread and fabric scraps, frustration on your brow after a long day of failed designs. “You’ve got the eye. You’ve got the soul.”

He was there through every milestone. From the innocent nervousness of your first school dance to your senior prom, Lewis always made sure you were cared for. You remembered how he sized up your prom date with folded arms and a quiet stare before letting him take you out. Later that night, he texted you: “If he even looks at you the wrong way, I’m coming to get you. Love you, baby sis.”

And when your heart was broken—once, twice, more times than you’d admit—he was there too, letting you cry into his shoulder.

“Don’t let any man’s foolishness make you question your worth,” he whispered one night as he gently brushed a tear off your cheek. “You’re beautiful. Strong. You’re you. That’s more than enough.”

Those words stayed with you.

As you got older, your admiration for him only grew. You followed his career passionately, cheering from the stands every time your dad, Anthony, allowed you to travel. You were there at Silverstone, Monaco, even Singapore once. You knew every detail of his racing history by heart—not just because he was your brother, but because he inspired you. You wanted to succeed the way he did: with grace, with grit, with heart.

It was during one of those race weekends that you met George. He was younger, full of charm, and refreshingly down-to-earth. You hit it off instantly—laughing in the paddock over shared jokes, learning about cars in a way that actually made sense thanks to him.

“George is good people,” Lewis said one day with a nod of approval as he caught you two chatting. “I trust him with you.”

You smiled. “You trust him more than I trust your wardrobe choices sometimes.”

“Oi,” he chuckled, nudging your shoulder, “I’m a fashion icon.”

Eventually, your world extended beyond just racing. Toto and Susie took you under their wing. Susie became like an older sister to you—wise, elegant, and always ready for some “girl time.” You’d sit together during race weekends, sipping coffee while watching Jack toddle around.

“He looks so much like Toto,” you laughed one morning, watching the boy pick up a toy car and zoom it across the floor.

“He’s got his sass too,” Susie added with a wink.

They became your second family, tied together by shared passion and years of trust.

When Lewis sat you down one evening in Monaco, a thoughtful expression on his face, you knew something was coming.

“I’m leaving Mercedes,” he said quietly.

Your breath hitched. “What? Why?”

“It’s time,” he said simply. “Ferrari came calling. And I want a new challenge.”

You sat back, absorbing the weight of it. “Does this mean I shouldn’t hang around Mercedes anymore?��

He looked at you with soft eyes, shaking his head. “No. Don’t be silly. This is my choice—not a war. I have no bad blood with anyone there, and you shouldn’t either. They love you. Toto, Susie, George… they’re part of your life too.”

Relief washed over you like a tide. “Okay… I’m glad.”

But life wasn’t just about supporting your brother—you had your own. Your fashion career had started to bloom, albeit not without struggle. The late nights in Monaco spent hunched over your desk, bleeding ideas onto sketchbooks. The moments where doubt gnawed at your resolve, whispering that maybe you weren’t cut out for this world. But in those moments, your phone would buzz with a message from your dad: “Keep going. You’ve never been a quitter.” Or Lewis would FaceTime you from across the world, just to check in.

“Show me the latest,” he’d grin, propping the phone on his dashboard.

You’d hold up a design, trying to hide your nerves. “It’s not finished…”

“It’s fire,” he’d say immediately. “I can already see it on a runway in Milan.”

You’d roll your eyes, but your heart would feel lighter.

That was the magic of being a Hamilton. Yes, the name carried weight, but the love in your family—the support, the loyalty, the belief in each other—that was what truly made it a gift.

And through every twist, turn, and race, you never forgot it.

The Monaco flat gleamed in the golden hue of noon. Sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, dancing off the marble floors and bouncing off the scattered chaos of your workspace. Bolts of fabric draped across chairs, colorful swatches layered like a mosaic on the table, and dozens of hand-sketched designs lay half-finished. Pencils, measuring tape, coffee cups—organized chaos, exactly how you liked it.

You didn’t flinch at the sound of the door unlocking. Not even a glance.

But then you heard the soft, familiar panting and gentle taps of paws.

"Ah, you brought my dog!" you gasped with a grin, turning around as Roscoe trotted in like he owned the place.

A warm chuckle followed, rich and familiar. “Firstly,” Lewis said, stepping in behind him, “he’s my dog. Secondly, I brought him because I’ve been texting you all damn day and haven’t heard a peep.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly. “Wait—really?” You reached for your phone on the cluttered side table and groaned. Ten unread messages. “Shit. I’m sorry, Lewis. I’ve been locked in.”

He strolled further in, his eyes scanning the battlefield of paper scraps, crumpled sketches in the trash, empty mugs stacked dangerously near the edge of the counter. He bent to pick up one of the balled papers and unfolded it, glancing over the design.

“I can tell,” he muttered, giving Roscoe a little pat as the dog waddled toward you, tail wagging.

You let out a deep sigh, rubbing your temple. “This is a major piece I’m working on. If I don’t design this the way I see it in my head, I’m going to lose it. This could be the one that gets me out there—like really out there. And I don’t want to screw it up.”

Lewis nodded slowly, lowering himself onto the arm of your plush white couch, surveying the energy you’d poured into the room—your drive practically dripping from the walls. He knew you. Knew this side of you well.

You weren’t just trying to be good. You were trying to be unforgettable.

“I get it,” he said finally. “You’re grinding. You’ve always been like this when something matters to you.” He glanced around, eyes settling on the pinboard above your desk covered in half-formed ideas and a quote from your dad, written in permanent marker: 'Perfection doesn’t come easy. Keep stitching.' “Still, don’t forget to breathe.”

You scooped up Roscoe into your arms with a little huff, the bulldog instantly relaxing against you like a warm weighted pillow.

“Please,” you mumbled, walking to the living room and plopping down into the cushions, “I’m perfectly content with little Roscoe. He’s the only man in my life who doesn’t stress me out.”

Lewis followed you, flopping down beside you with a laugh. “And you’re completely buried in work,” he added, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

You smirked. “Says you, Mr. ‘Married to the grind and no one else.’”

He tilted his head, smirking. “The difference is, I’m older than you. I'm 40. When you get closer to 40, love starts to look different.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, drama king, for the record—I’ll be 27 tomorrow, which feels like ancient history to my knees.”

He chuckled. “Twenty-seven… damn. I remember when you were stuffing glitter into my shoes and crying over that one dress you made with duct tape.”

“That was experimental fashion,” you replied with a mock glare. “And for the record, the glitter was deserved. You told everyone at school I still slept with a nightlight.”

He threw his head back laughing, the sound filling the room with warmth. “That was one time!”

“Still one too many,” you said, but your smile betrayed your affection. You leaned into the couch, Roscoe now snoring softly on your lap, your fingers absently brushing over his back.

There was a brief moment of silence, the kind only shared between two people who didn’t need to fill it with words. Lewis glanced over at you again, more serious this time.

“You know,” he began, “I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you. This thing you’re building—your name, your brand—it’s real. Don’t let your fear of not being there yet make you forget how far you’ve come.”

You swallowed the small lump in your throat, touched by his sincerity. “Thanks, Lew.”

He shrugged, casually but not without heart. “You’ll have your moment. The world just hasn’t caught up to you yet.”

Lewis glanced over at you, sensing the shift in energy, and decided to steer things into lighter territory. “So,” he began casually, stretching his legs out and leaning back into the couch, “I have to ask—what’s the plan for the big birthday tomorrow?”

You let out a breath, still stroking Roscoe absentmindedly. “Honestly?” you said with a shrug, “Not much. You know how Dad is—he wants us to spend the morning together, maybe have a little birthday breakfast. Something chill.”

Lewis nodded knowingly. “Classic Dad. He probably already bought a candle shaped like a 3 just to mess with you.”

You snorted. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

Lewis gave you a sly look. “Assuming you actually show up on time and don’t get stuck here crying over your sketchbook again.”

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “Hey! I don’t cry every time. Just when my ideas fall apart and I’m sleep-deprived and hormonal and spiraling—so, you know, normal stuff.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I just don’t want Roscoe calling me at 8 a.m. like, ‘She’s curled up on the floor again, mate. Bring snacks.’”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’ll be there, alright? I’m not a little kid anymore. You don’t have to keep treating me like one.”

Lewis turned to look at you more seriously, his expression softening. “I know you’re not. But I don’t care. I’m forty now, and you’re turning twenty-seven tomorrow—and I’m still your big brother. That doesn’t change. Not ever.”

You smiled, touched by the weight in his voice. “I know. And I’m glad you haven’t changed. I mean it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” you said, sitting up a bit straighter. “But guess who left me a message?”

Lewis tilted his head. “Wait—don’t tell me. The guy from the bakery?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes! He’s been spamming me with messages, asking if I’ve ‘thought about that coffee date.’ Like sir, it’s been two weeks. Move on.”

Lewis let out a low whistle. “Persistent.”

“Pathetic,” you corrected, frowning. “He’s nice, sure, but... I don’t care about any of that right now. I don’t care about love, relationships, the whole dating game. My heart’s in my work. That’s where I am, and I don’t want distractions.”

Lewis nodded slowly, his voice calm and steady. “Well, that’s true. You’ve always known what you wanted. And if this—this life, this career, this grind—is where you desire to be, then so be it. I support you, one-hundred percent. Even if I do have to keep bringing Roscoe over just to make sure you’re eating.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, a small, grateful smile curving your lips. “Thanks, Lew.”

He rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his voice softer. “Anytime, sis. Always.”

For a while, you both just sat there. The afternoon light poured into the apartment, golden and quiet, casting long shadows on the floor. Roscoe snored gently on your lap, the soft hum of the city outside your window the only sound breaking the silence. And in that moment, your messy apartment, your overworked mind, your birthday nerves—they all faded into the background.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later that evening, after Lewis had left and Roscoe had obediently followed him out the door, the flat fell into a thick, echoing silence. The kind of silence that crept in slowly—settling in the corners, winding through the fabric scraps, resting on your shoulders like a soft, invisible weight. You stood by your desk, still in your pajamas, arms crossed as you glanced at your half-finished sketch.

The light from the city glowed through the windows, soft and distant, but inside your apartment, everything felt still. Too still. It was in that quiet moment you realized just how familiar this loneliness had become. A presence you'd kept buried under ambition, folded neatly beneath the layers of your craft and pride. You told yourself you were fine. You always did.

Until the front door opened.

Your head snapped up, startled, eyes narrowing. You weren’t expecting anyone.

“George?” you asked, unsure.

And there he was, stepping inside like he owned the place—holding up a bottle of wine in one hand, an uneven grin on his face. “It’s me,” he said, voice light and teasing. “How’s my favorite little loner doing?”

You exhaled a breath through your nose, unimpressed but not truly annoyed. “Not funny.”

He smirked, closing the door behind him. “I know, I know. Carmen already gave me the lecture. Said to quit it with the nicknames and act more ‘emotionally available.’”

You hummed, folding your arms. “Are you sure you’re listening to her?”

As if on cue, Carmen stepped in behind him, her own smile softer—apologetic, even. “He’s not listening at all.”

You let out a breath of amusement, crossing the living room to greet them properly. “What are you two even doing here?”

Carmen stepped forward and handed you a small bag of your favorite snacks, the kind you only treated yourself to on bad days. “Well, you’re turning twenty-seven in less than twenty-four hours,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “We figured... why not crash your place and turn it into a proper sleepover?”

George held up the wine again with a triumphant smile. “It was my idea.”

You arched a brow. “Of course it was.”

“But I also brought ice cream,” he added.

You blinked. “Okay, fine. You’re forgiven.”

The three of you eventually settled into the living room—blankets tossed over the couch, wine glasses clinking lightly, an old movie playing in the background that none of you were actually watching. It felt easy. Comforting. Familiar in the best way.

“So,” George said eventually, lounging back on the cushions, his gaze finding yours with that boyish curiosity. “Tell me about your love life.”

You made a face, nose wrinkling. “Right... my love life.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, nudging your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Carmen sat up, watching you closely with the kind of look only a friend could give—gentle but perceptive, as if she could already read the words you hadn’t spoken.

George leaned in a little, his expression losing its playfulness, just for a moment. “I care about you, you know that?”

The sincerity in his voice surprised you more than it should’ve. You looked at him, then at Carmen, and for the first time that day—maybe the first time in a long while—you felt it. The warmth of being seen. Not just for your work, or your ambition, or your drive to prove something to the world. But for who you were when everything else quieted down.

You nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah... I know. I care about you guys too.”

George leaned back, satisfied with your answer, reaching for the remote to change the movie. “Okay, enough feelings for one night. Let’s watch something where at least one person gets murdered in the first five minutes.”

Carmen groaned. “George, absolutely not. It’s her birthday, not Halloween.”

You smiled—genuine, easy, grateful—and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. Maybe you were a little lonely sometimes. Maybe you buried it deep. But tonight, you didn’t have to be. Not with them.

The wine had softened the air between the three of you, laughter coming easy now, interrupted only by the occasional crackle from the half-watched movie playing in the background. But despite the warmth of the room, your thoughts wandered. George had asked about your love life, and though you’d played it off at first, the silence that followed tugged at your honesty.

Finally, you spoke—soft, quiet, like you’d just realized the words yourself.

“My love life isn’t real.”

The room stilled, as if the wine paused in their glasses and the flickering screen forgot to move.

George turned his head toward you slowly. Carmen stopped mid-sip, her eyes searching your face.

“I don’t go out or anything,” you added with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “No dates. No dinners. I just… work. And when I’m not working, I’m recovering from working.”

George leaned in, arms propped on his knees, his voice gentler now. “Okay. Spill.”

Carmen smiled, scooting closer, her hand brushing your arm. “We’re all ears, babe.”

You sighed, tucking your legs under yourself. “It’s not like I don’t want to meet someone. I just—don’t really make space for it. I guess I’ve convinced myself it’s safer this way. Less disappointment. Less distraction.”

Carmen gave you a look filled with empathy. “You’ve been building a dream. That’s not something to feel bad about.”

George nodded. “Exactly. But you also deserve to live a little. Not just design gowns for people in love—you deserve to feel it too.”

You didn’t answer right away, but a quiet warmth pressed into your chest at their words.

Meanwhile, across Monaco...

Charles stared at his brother like he had two heads.

“A blind date?” he repeated, unimpressed.

Arthur sat on the edge of the couch, waving his phone like it held the answer to all of Charles’ problems. “Yes, Charles. A blind date. You know… when two people go out, talk, maybe smile for once?”

Charles leaned back against the kitchen counter of his immaculate flat, arms crossed, his jaw tightening. “I’m not interested.”

Arthur groaned, dramatic as ever. “You never are. Ever since Alex—”

“Don’t,” Charles warned, his voice low.

Arthur sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You can’t keep weeping over someone who walked away. You’ve been stuck in this mood for months. Monaco’s starting to feel depressing and that’s saying something.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You sleep alone, you work out alone, you barely smile. That’s not fine, that’s functioning.”

Charles looked away.

Arthur took the opportunity to press further. “Just one date. I’ll even handle the profile. Make it sound tasteful—sophisticated. Someone artsy, elegant, not clingy. Like… designer energy.”

Charles blinked. “Designer energy?”

Arthur grinned. “You know what I mean.”

Charles exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It just sounds like a bad idea. A setup. I don’t do well with setups.”

“But what if it’s different this time?” Arthur said. “What if someone actually surprises you?”

Charles didn’t answer.

Instead, he stared out the large glass window of his flat, the lights of Monaco glittering below, dancing on the water—like the world was busy moving on while he stood still.

Back in your apartment, Carmen was already scheming. You didn’t notice it at first, but she exchanged a look with George—one of those secretive, mischievous glances that meant trouble.

“So,” Carmen said, sweetly, “hypothetically... if someone were to set you up with a mystery man, how would you feel about it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hypothetically? I’d think you’re both out of your minds.”

George grinned. “But you wouldn’t not be curious... right?”

You stared at them both, the wine glass paused just inches from your lips, a skeptical brow raised. “How would you even get me on a blind date?”

George smirked, the kind of grin that only meant one thing—he’d already thought this through. He lifted his phone like it was a trophy. “Simple. There are apps for this now. Real ones. Blind-date apps. No photos required, just your words. You write a profile, someone reads it, likes what they see, and boom—mystery date locked in.”

You blinked. “You want me to go on a date with a man who doesn’t even know what I look like?”

“Exactly!” he said, like it was the most brilliant idea ever conceived. “No pressure, no pretenses. Just vibes and words.”

You turned your gaze toward Carmen, silently pleading for logic. “Should I trust this?”

She didn’t give you an immediate answer—just pursed her lips in thought, then offered a soft hum. “Monaco is full of men. But most of them are surface-level. This... could be interesting. Let yourself have a night that’s different. Even if it doesn’t end in a love story, let it be something you’ll remember. Something fun. Something just for you.”

You hesitated, playing with the hem of your pajama sleeve. The idea was terrifying, but it also sparked something—something small and flickering inside you that wanted to feel new, wanted to step outside the rhythm of sketches and solitude.

George suddenly perked up. “I would set you up with one of the drivers directly, but ya know…” He waved his hand dramatically. “Lewis and his stupid no-F1-driver rule. No teammates, no paddock crew, no friends, no flirty engineers. The Hamilton guard dog policy.”

You laughed, almost choking on your wine. “That sounds about right.”

He leaned closer. “Seriously, he’d come after me if I even let you breathe near any of them. Like Esteban, great guy.”

Your eyebrows rose with curiosity. “Esteban? He’s not even—no. That’s not even on the radar. Plus, I never met him. Best I don't. You know, I don't watch F1 really. I just usually go to support my brother. I don't know anyone but you."

George shrugged. “It’s a shame. He’s single, sweet, probably could handle your mood swings… right up your alley.”

Carmen cut in with a giggle. “Don’t listen to him. But do let yourself experience something. You’ve been hidden in this flat too long. You’re not meant to spend every night buried in fabric. Just try it.”

You let your eyes flick between them both. The room was cozy, filled with soft light, laughter, wine—and for once, you didn’t feel the pressure to be “the designer.” Just a woman. A woman being seen.

You sighed, finally leaning back with a smirk. “Alright. Fine. But I want creative control of the profile. I’m not going on a date with some crypto bro or a man who thinks wearing boat shoes counts as personality.”

George grinned. “Deal. I’ll screen the weirdos.”

“And for the record,” you added, “I don’t mind dating a man outside of F1. That world... it’s different from mine. I’m not trying to fall for someone who's already halfway married to their career.”

Carmen smiled knowingly. “That’s fair.”

You tapped your finger against the wine glass thoughtfully. “Still... it would be nice. To meet someone who sees me.”

George opened the app with a flourish. “Then let’s build your mystery profile, designer girl. Time to manifest a Monaco man who might just change your mind.”

Charles sat at the edge of the couch, phone in hand, half-focused as he lazily scrolled through the blind date profiles. Most of them felt forced—long bios stuffed with buzzwords, selfies filtered into oblivion, and a strange obsession with yacht photos. Each new one seemed more desperate to escape the app than the last.

“‘Looking for my king’... Nope,” he muttered. “‘Manifesting power couple energy’... definitely not.”

He was about to shut the app when a profile caught his eye. Simple username. No photo. Just words. It was different enough to make him pause.

“Hm... the username on this one is... something,” he murmured, holding the phone up toward Arthur without taking his eyes off the screen.

Arthur leaned in. “What’s she about?”

“Says she’s a designer. Twenty-six.” Charles scrolled a little more, skimming through the bio. “Lives in Monaco... No kids, no pets. Doesn’t go out much. Works a lot. Sounds like she keeps to herself.”

Arthur gave a small nod. “So, basically, your female twin.”

Charles gave him a dry look but didn’t deny it.

“I mean, I should give it a try, no?” he asked, brow raised as if seeking permission he didn’t want to need.

Arthur smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “You should absolutely message her. She sounds like the kind of woman who won't ask for a selfie mid-conversation. That's rare.”

Charles exhaled, eyes still on the words she’d written. There was something quiet about her tone. Something thoughtful. Not trying to sell herself—just telling the truth.

He hovered over the keyboard for a second, then finally began to type.

The glow of your phone screen illuminated your face in the dim living room as you lay curled up on the couch, Carmen and George practically glued to your sides. Every time the notification buzzed, they leaned in like co-conspirators in a heist.

“Okay, okay—he replied again,” you whispered, heart beating faster than you cared to admit.

George peered over your shoulder. “What’d he say this time?”

You read it aloud, your voice a little softer this time. “‘I’m not great at small talk, but I’m really good at listening. So, tell me what kind of cake you’d have if you were celebrating quietly, with no pressure and no expectations.’”

Carmen clutched a pillow, eyes wide. “That’s... so specific and thoughtful.”

George held up his hands triumphantly. “Alright, whoever this mystery man is, he’s good.”

You smiled to yourself, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. “What do I say back?”

“Be honest,” Carmen urged gently. “Like you were in the profile.”

So you typed:

‘Lemon cake. Something not too sweet. Something simple.’

And the conversation kept flowing. Throughout the night, text after text, word after word—easy, honest, natural. You didn’t feel the need to perform. He wasn’t trying to impress. There was comfort in that. You didn’t even realize how late it was getting until your phone buzzed again with a new message that made your breath catch.

“Would you be open to meeting? Tomorrow night maybe? I know it’s your birthday. But I’d like to be a quiet part of it.”

You sat up, blinking at the words, rereading them twice.

“This complete sweet stranger,” you said aloud, slowly, as George and Carmen leaned in again, “he wants to set our date for tomorrow night... since I told him tomorrow’s my birthday.”

Carmen squealed immediately, flailing her hands. “He remembered?!”

George pumped a fist in the air. “WE DID IT! WE GOT YOU A BLIND DATE!”

You laughed, covering your face with one hand. “This is insane.”

Carmen tugged the blanket tighter around you with a proud smile. “It’s not insane. It’s happening. And tomorrow night, you’re going on a birthday blind date—with someone who actually listens. That’s rare.”

Across town, at Charles’ flat...

Charles sat hunched on the couch, phone in hand, his own expression unreadable. Each message from you made him straighten just a little, made something unfamiliar stir in his chest.

He read your last reply—“Lemon cake. Something not too sweet.”—and smiled without realizing it.

Arthur leaned over, chin resting on Charles’ shoulder like a nosy child. “Did you ask her out yet?”

“I just did.”

Arthur read the message over his shoulder and let out a low whistle. “Smooth. Soft. Sweet. Is this your rebrand?”

Charles rolled his eyes, but his voice was quieter than usual. “She’s different.”

Arthur grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Guess we’re buying you a birthday gift for her this year.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The morning sun poured into your favorite café in Monaco, casting a soft golden glow across the terrace as the sea breeze drifted in. You stepped in, already dressed and glowing, the confidence of turning twenty-seven sitting lightly on your shoulders. Your father and Lewis were seated at your usual corner table, two steaming cups of coffee already waiting.

“Morning, birthday girl,” Lewis greeted with a warm smile as your dad leaned in to press a quick kiss to your temple.

“Morning,” you hummed, sliding into the seat across from them, taking a grateful sip from your cup. The quiet clinking of cutlery and gentle chatter filled the space around you.

“So,” your father began after a moment, “after this, you got any plans? Or is it back to the design cave?”

Before you could open your mouth, Lewis scoffed dramatically and leaned back in his chair. “We already know her answer: work, stress, repeat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully, then cleared your throat. “Actually... I have a date tonight.”

Lewis paused mid-sip, slowly lowering his coffee cup. “Really?”

You raised a brow. “Wait... you support this?”

He nodded, shrugging as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Yeah. As long as he’s not one of my friends or anyone from F1, then we’re golden. That’s the only rule.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Relax, he's a stranger. Total blind date. I can assure you he has absolutely nothing to do with cars, engines, or pit stops. Probably doesn't even know what DRS means.”

Lewis gave you a suspicious squint. “What’s his name?”

You smirked. “Nice try. That’s staying a mystery—for now.”

Your dad chuckled, stirring his coffee. “Let her have this, Lew. She’s twenty-seven now. Not fifteen.”

Lewis raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes stayed on you. “Alright, alright. I’m just saying... no breaking the rule. You know how I feel about all the drivers. No Lando, no Carlos, no Pierre, no anyone.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Please. I already rejected Lando five times.”

Lewis snorted. “Yeah, and it took you long enough. You were this close to folding when you called him fine.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Heaven forbid a woman acknowledges a man is attractive without throwing herself into his arms.”

Lewis cringed and looked away. “Can we not talk about what makes you feel things?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Relax. I’m just saying—I’ve known George for years and never once crossed a line.”

Your father gave Lewis a pointed look. “You gotta give her a little more room, son. She’s a grown woman. And frankly, you’re not gonna be able to big brother her forever.”

Lewis leaned on the table, eyes softer now. “I know. I just worry. You deserve something real, that’s all. Not someone who’ll come and go like pit crews on a rainy Sunday.”

Your smile softened, your gaze settling on him with warmth. “That’s why I’m trying something new. Someone outside the storm. Just a guy who doesn’t know my last name or what world I come from. Just... me.”

Lewis nodded slowly. “Alright. Then I’ll trust you.”

“So… you met him through that blind date app thing?” Lewis asked, squinting at you over the rim of his coffee cup.

You nodded, your smile light and hopeful. “Yep. We use usernames, no pictures, no real names. Just... talking. Getting to know each other without all the surface stuff.”

Lewis leaned back in his seat, arms folded. “That sounds so unlike you. I can’t help but feel this wasn’t entirely your idea.”

You grinned, tucking your hair behind your ear as you took another sip. “Guilty. My favorite couple showed up last night and basically staged an intervention.”

His brow lifted. “Let me guess. George and Carmen?”

You nodded proudly. “Of course. They came in like a Hallmark movie. Carmen brought snacks. George brought wine and chaos.”

Lewis groaned. “Ah yes, his gossip wine. The one he brings specifically to talk nonsense for hours.”

You laughed. “Exactly. It worked. I wasn’t planning to go through with anything, but then I started talking to this guy and… I don’t know. He’s different.”

Lewis watched you for a moment, your expression soft and strangely lit from within. The kind of glow he hadn’t seen on you in a long time.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice quieter this time.

You met his gaze, sincere and steady. “No. But I’m open to it. And that feels... good.”

He gave you a slow, reluctant smile. “Alright. But if he turns out to be some washed-up lounge singer with a comb-over and a fake Rolex—”

“I’ll send you an SOS under the table.”

Lewis chuckled. “Deal.”

After a few warm snapshots with your brother and your father—arms wrapped around one another, laughter caught mid-frame—you hugged them both tightly, breathing in their familiar scents and warmth before saying your goodbyes.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” your dad said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Lewis ruffled your hair the way he always did, grinning. “Be safe tonight. And don’t text me if the food’s bad—I’m not coming to rescue you.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Thanks for the confidence, big brother.”

As you all parted ways and you made your way out onto the sunny Monaco street, the wind lightly toying with the hem of your dress, you paused in surprise.

Leaning casually against the side of a sleek black car, arms folded and sunglasses perched on his face, stood George.

“I’m on outfit duty,” he announced smoothly.

You laughed, walking toward him. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since Carmen called dibs on hair and makeup and told me I had to earn my gossip wine privileges,” he replied with a wink.

You crossed your arms, raising an amused brow. “Should I trust you with this? This is the birthday blind date outfit we’re talking about here.”

George pushed off the car and opened the passenger door for you. “You should. Trust me on this. I’m going to dress you like you walked straight out of a fashion magazine, and that man is going to fall.”

You smirked, sliding into the car. “No pressure then.”

He shut the door with a grin. “All I do is deliver.”

Charles stood near the center display in the small, charming Monaco florist shop, his eyes scanning the neatly arranged bouquets. The air was filled with the soft scent of petals and eucalyptus, sunlight filtering through the glass windows. His fingers grazed over a few stems until he paused, pointing without hesitation.

“These,” he said, voice quiet but certain.

Arthur peeked over his shoulder. “Roses?” He tilted his head, brow raised. “You sure about that?”

Charles nodded, though his expression was unreadable. “Roses are… classic. Not too much, but still thoughtful.” He glanced toward the tiny handwritten tags, inspecting the shades of pink and cream. “She said she liked things that aren’t too sweet. Simple.”

Arthur leaned against the nearby counter, arms crossed, watching his brother a little too closely. “Alright, Romeo. What’s next? Gonna serenade her too?”

Charles gave him a side glance but didn’t bite. Instead, he looked toward the small display of delicate jewelry behind the counter. A modest collection of local artisan pieces—elegant, understated, not overly flashy.

“I was thinking... maybe a necklace. Something subtle. Just… a small birthday gift.” He hesitated. “Am I moving too fast?”

Arthur shrugged, clearly torn between teasing and actually being helpful. “I mean... yes. And also no?”

Charles blinked. “Thanks. Very helpful.”

Arthur chuckled. “Look, it is her birthday. So yeah, maybe it’s a little extra for a first date, but it’s thoughtful. If she’s anything like how you’ve described her—quiet, passionate, soft but strong—I think she’ll appreciate it.”

Charles nodded slowly, almost to himself, as he stepped closer to the counter. “It’s not about impressing her. I just want her to know I’ve been listening.”

Arthur smirked. “Now that is dangerously close to you catching feelings.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We haven’t even met yet.”

“Mmhm,” Arthur hummed. “That’s how it always starts.”

Charles huffed, deciding to search for someone to wrap the bouquet for him. Arthur followed close behind. "Just saying!"

“Lorenzo will probably help you get ready,” Arthur said, eyeing the bouquet now wrapped neatly in Charles’ hands.

Charles nodded, his gaze lingering on the roses as they walked out of the shop. “I know how to dress for a date. I’m not doing this to impress anyone. I’m doing it to… get out. To breathe again.”

Arthur looked over at him, quieter now. “Yeah. I know.”

They walked in silence for a few steps, the sound of Monaco’s streets humming softly in the background. Charles' jaw tightened for a moment, and Arthur didn’t miss it.

“The truth is,” Arthur continued gently, “you needed this. A chance to meet someone new, feel something new. The last thing we need is you staying stuck in the same heartbreak loop.”

Charles didn’t reply right away. He just kept walking, the bouquet clutched in one hand, his other tucked in his pocket.

Arthur added, “She was lovely—don’t get me wrong. But people grow apart. You gave what you could. It’s okay to move on now.”

Charles stopped at the curb, eyes on the pavement for a second too long before finally glancing at his brother. “It’s not that easy.”

“I know,” Arthur said, softer this time. “But maybe tonight doesn’t have to be heavy. Maybe it can just be… a start.”

Charles exhaled slowly, nodding once. “A start.”

George clicked his tongue the moment you stepped out of the changing room, his face twisted in theatrical disapproval. “I’m sorry, no. The green throws me off. It’s giving... elegant Christmas tree.”

You let out an exhausted sigh, arms slumping at your sides. “We’ve been through ten dresses.”

He began counting off on his fingers. “The golden one was too much. We’re not dressing for a red carpet. The green—pretty, yes—but those weird embroidered flowers? No. Hot pink?” He gave you a look. “That’s go-go dancer on her fourth tequila shot and ready to black out.”

You crossed your arms. “It’s called statement color.”

“It’s called no thank you.”

You groaned as he kept going. “The yellow one—super cute, but honestly? More ‘housewife feeding chickens at dawn’ than birthday girl on a mysterious blind date.”

“Okay, ouch.”

George didn’t flinch. “I love you, but someone had to say it.”

He held out a dress, carefully retrieved from its protective garment bag like it was made of gold thread. “Now. For the love of fashion and your birthday, try on the one I specifically picked for you.”

You stared at it, narrowed your eyes, then snatched it from his hand with a huff and stormed back into the changing room.

From the other side of the curtain, your voice rang out in protest. “You are so lucky I care enough to listen to this nonsense.”

George was unfazed, casually tapping his foot. “Because you love me, and we’re best friends,” he replied smugly.

You muttered under your breath. “Yeah, like I have a choice.”

He smiled. “You absolutely do. But you still choose me.”

You paused for a beat as you adjusted the dress inside, voice quieter now. “...Maybe. Just maybe, I’ll like it.”

George leaned against the fitting room wall, folding his arms with a smirk. “Oh, darling, you’re going to love it. And so will he.”

The soft shuffle of fabric and the occasional muttered complaint were the only sounds coming from behind the fitting room curtain. George stood just outside, arms crossed, tapping his foot like a judge awaiting a final contestant.

“I swear,” you called from inside, “if this dress doesn’t work, I’m going back to the green one and we’re done.”

George smirked. “You say that now... but wait until you see yourself.”

The curtain slid open.

You stepped out.

And for a rare moment, George fell completely silent.

The off-the-shoulder black dress hugged your figure perfectly, the structured white neckline giving just enough contrast to make the look timeless. Paired with your heels and softly styled hair, it wasn’t just a dress—it was the dress. Elegant. Clean. Effortless.

George blinked, then slowly grinned. “Oh, my God.”

You turned toward the full-length mirror, your breath catching slightly. “Wow...” you whispered.

“See?” George gestured wildly, like a magician revealing his greatest trick. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get out of you! You look like you’re about to walk into a movie scene and completely destroy a man’s sense of reality.”

You smiled, a bit shy. “It’s... classy.”

“It’s everything.” George came to stand beside you. “Mysterious, elegant, confident. He won’t know what hit him.”

You looked at your reflection again—this time with a flicker of wonder in your eyes. “Yeah… maybe I’m ready.”

George raised an eyebrow in the mirror. “No, babe. You are ready.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Charles sat on the edge of his bed, eyes locked on the ticking hands of the clock on the wall. Each passing minute pulled him closer to something unknown—but for once, it didn’t feel suffocating. He was dressed neatly: a dark tailored suit, soft charcoal gray, paired with a crisp white shirt. No tie. Clean, simple. Thoughtful, like the man wearing it.

Cologne faintly lingered in the air, and his hair had been combed back with just enough effort to look effortless. His phone sat on the table, face-up, glowing softly with the last message he’d sent you:

“I’ll be the one holding the roses.”

“Just go get your girl!” Arthur called dramatically from across the flat.

Before Charles could answer, a gift bag was shoved into his hand, the roses balanced against his arm—and the front door was promptly shut behind him.

He blinked, standing alone in the hallway, bouquet in one hand and a cautious sort of hope in his chest. “Merci, Arthur,” he muttered with a shake of his head, walking toward the car.

Meanwhile, across town, you sat in the backseat of a sleek car, legs crossed, fingers absently twisting the thin chain of your bracelet. The dress fit like it was made for you, the cool evening air slipping through the cracked window and brushing against your skin like nerves made visible.

“Just so we’re clear,” you muttered, glancing toward the front seats, “I can drive myself.”

George didn’t even look back, one hand draped casually over the wheel. “Oh, we know,” he said.

Carmen turned slightly in her seat, a soft smile on her lips. “But we insist. Besides, we don’t trust this mystery man yet. One of us had to play Uber, and George demanded the aux cord.”

You chuckled, about to protest when your phone buzzed in your lap.

George glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “Who is it?”

You smiled, reading the message quietly.

Lewis: Good luck. Be yourself. And text me if you need anything. Seriously. 💙

“Lewis,” you murmured. “Just checking in. Wishing me luck. Classic big brother move.”

“Aww,” Carmen smiled warmly. “He loves you. He’s just scared of letting go.”

George snorted. “I’m scared for the guy who doesn’t realize he’s about to be sat across from you.”

You laughed lightly, tucking your phone away, but in the depths of your chest, your heart began to pick up a faster beat. Excitement. Nerves. Curiosity. The unknown.

Tonight, you’d meet the stranger who only knew your words. The man who remembered lemon cake and silence. Who wanted to be a quiet part of your birthday.

And neither of you had any idea how familiar the other already was.

After thanking George and Carmen—who each gave you their own dramatic farewell (“Don’t fall in love too fast!” from George and “Text us if he’s weird!” from Carmen)—you stepped out of the car and into the golden-lit entrance of the restaurant.

The soft hum of music and the clinking of glasses filled the luxurious rooftop air as you stepped into the restaurant, heart skipping slightly in your chest. The host gave you a polite nod after checking your name. “The other party has arrived. Right this way.”

You followed him through the elegant interior, heels clicking against marble, up the winding staircase that led to the rooftop. The scent of fresh flowers and faint citrus from the lit candles danced in the air. Monaco’s skyline shimmered around you like a velvet painting—romantic, rich, and utterly intimidating.

Your eyes darted around nervously until the host stopped beside a table for two nestled under the warm glow of hanging lights.

“Here’s your table,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”

You gave a small, polite smile and a breathy, “Thank you,” before turning toward the man sitting there.

And then everything slowed.

The stranger looked up from the menu, his posture straightening slightly when his eyes met yours. For a heartbeat, neither of you said anything.

He was handsome. Striking, even—clean-cut with soft brown hair, sharp cheekbones, and those eyes... bright and curious, the kind that made you feel like he was looking straight through your layers.

He stood politely, tucking the chair back with a gentleman’s grace. “Hi,” he said, voice low and smooth with a French accent. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but… you’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, caught off guard in the sweetest way. “Thank you,” you replied, shy but smiling. “You clean up well yourself.”

He chuckled softly, stepping aside to help you into your seat before returning to his own. “I’m Charles, by the way.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to recall the name. “I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you. I, uh… I don’t really do this kind of thing.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted, then grinned. “But I’m glad I did.”

You let out a small breath of a laugh, glancing around the candlelit terrace. “This place is… a lot fancier than I imagined.”

“I wanted it to feel like something special,” he said, watching you with interest. “Especially since you said it’s your birthday?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it is. I didn’t expect to spend it with a stranger.”

Charles smiled warmly. “Then let’s not be strangers for long.”

And for the first time that night, the nerves started to melt away—replaced by the soft thrill of something new. Something possible.

“I brought you some birthday gifts,” Charles said gently, reaching beneath the table. From beside him, he pulled out a bouquet of soft roses and a small, elegant gift bag with a satin ribbon.

“Happy birthday.”

You blinked, visibly stunned as you slowly took them from him. “Wow… thanks. I—didn’t think you’d pull something so romantic.” A light laugh slipped from you, warm and breathless.

He laughed softly too, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was worried it’d be too much. Too fast.”

You shook your head, smiling more genuinely now. “No, this… this is a really nice way to celebrate. Thank you. Truly.”

You peeked into the gift bag, eyes widening further when your fingers brushed against a velvet box. Gently, you pulled it out and flipped open the lid, revealing a delicate, shimmering necklace—elegant, understated, and clearly expensive.

“Charles… this looks like it’s worth a lot,” you said quietly, your fingers resting just near the pendant. “You didn’t have to do this. For a stranger.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes soft. “I wanted to do something kind. From what I read on your profile… you seem like someone who gives a lot of herself to others. Quiet, hardworking. Like you don’t get many moments like this.”

Your smile faltered for a second—but not out of discomfort. Out of recognition. That was exactly it.

You closed the box and placed it carefully back in the gift bag, knowing deep down that you’d be wearing that necklace. Not tonight. But soon. It already meant something.

“I do stay to myself a lot,” you admitted. “I’m a fashion designer. Not the runway, celebrity kind. Not yet, at least. But I’m working on something big. For a small show. Hoping it gets my name out there.”

“That sounds incredible,” he said. “A busy woman, from what I gather.”

“Very.” You let out a small laugh. “Most days, it’s just fabric, pins, coffee, and a hundred sketches I hate the next morning.”

He smiled at the image, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table. “Tell me more.”

There was something so disarming about the way he listened. Like he genuinely wanted to know—not just hear.

“Well,” you continued with a slight shrug, “aside from burying myself in work, I have a wonderful dad, and a few siblings. My older brother is the one who hovers and checks in constantly—sweet, but a little overbearing at times.”

You grinned softly. “I don’t have any pets. Would love one, but time doesn’t really allow it. And no kids either—not something I’ve thought about seriously in my twenties, you know? I mean, sure, parenthood seems sweet in theory, but we’re still young. There’s so much we haven’t even seen yet.”

Charles listened, quietly mesmerized. Your voice, your ease, your honesty. There was something magnetic about it. Even as you rambled—especially as you rambled—he found himself hanging on to every word.

And before he even realized it, he was smiling for no reason at all.

“So,” he said, his tone soft and curious. “What made you try blind dating? If I’m being honest… you don’t strike me as the type to use an app either.”

You laughed gently. “Touché. My best friend and his girlfriend—they staged a whole intervention. Said I needed to get out more, live a little. I figured one night wouldn’t hurt.”

He chuckled. “Sounds familiar. My brother did the same. Said I needed to stop moping and… well, try again.”

There was a brief pause. Not awkward. Just full. Like you were both taking in the quiet revelation that, somehow, through the pressure of others and the unpredictability of timing… you ended up here.

“Guess the universe was doing us a favor,” you said softly.

Charles looked at you for a long moment, his eyes warm.

“Maybe it was.”

Dinner had stretched far longer than you'd planned. Hours melted away like butter on warm bread. The rooftop lights glowed softer now, Monaco twinkling behind you, a lull of laughter and clinking glasses surrounding the two of you like distant music.

The wine bottle sat almost empty between your glasses, and the plates were half-cleared—forks pushed aside as conversation carried on like it always belonged there.

He’d told you everything. Not all at once, but in pieces—his voice soft and slow when he spoke of his last relationship, the way it unraveled, how he tried to hold it together. You listened, not because you had to, but because it was easy. It was natural.

You shared your own past, the guys who hadn’t taken your dreams seriously, who made you feel like you were too much and never enough all at once. Somehow, he didn’t flinch at any of it. He just listened.

And somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a blind date… and started feeling like the beginning of something else entirely.

You leaned back slightly, your laughter fading into a warm smile as you looked at the nearly empty bottle of wine. “So, Charles…”

He raised an eyebrow, mirroring your smile. “Yes?”

“I think we’ve officially finished that bottle,” you mused, tapping the neck of it lightly.

He glanced at it and laughed. “We definitely have.”

“And yet…” you tilted your head slightly, teasing, “we barely even scratched the surface of our lives.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I’m a driver. That’s the easy part. You’re a fashion designer. Also easy. But you’re right... we haven’t really dug yet.”

You lifted your glass, swirling what was left. “Well, if you’re a driver…” you said casually, smirking slightly, “then you should drive me home.”

Charles grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I would love that.”

You blinked, cheeks flushing slightly. “I—I was joking.”

“I wasn’t,” he said smoothly, his gaze lingering on yours just long enough to make your stomach flutter.

You let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping to your glass. “God, I don’t usually flirt like this.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low and sincere. “Then I feel lucky to be the exception.”

You looked at him then—really looked. This man you hadn’t known existed a day ago was somehow already making your heart beat differently. And while you didn’t want to fall too fast… you couldn’t deny the feeling.

“We should have just one more romantic little nightcap,” you said with a lazy smile, your voice soft, the wine making your words just a touch warmer than usual.

Charles mirrored your grin, eyes still sparkling under the soft rooftop lights. “I’ll order us one more,” he said.

But one became two. Two became three.

The line between strangers and something more blurred under the Monaco stars. Your cheeks were flushed, his eyes softer, looser with each glass. Every laugh melted into another. Every glance lingered longer than the last.

Your clutch sat untouched beside your chair, your phone buzzing silently inside with texts and calls—Carmen, George… even Lewis, probably. But none of it reached you. None of it mattered in this moment.

“You are too sweet,” you giggled, cheeks aching from how much you'd been smiling.

Charles leaned closer, voice low and laced in charm. “You make me that way.”

Somewhere in the swirl of tipsy teasing, flirty banter, and honest smiles, something real had started to bloom. Neither of you named it—but it sat there, quiet and heavy and humming between your glances.

Eventually, the check came. Charles paid with no hesitation, and you stood with your roses gently tucked under your arm, the gift bag holding your necklace swinging lightly in your grip. You walked out with him still talking—still laughing—still feeling something unfamiliar but magnetic.

The moment you reached his car, your thoughts were hazy but clear enough to know what you wanted.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and without another word, you leaned in—and kissed him.

It was warm and slow and unexpectedly perfect. He tasted like wine and something softly unfamiliar, but it settled in your chest like a secret you’d been waiting to uncover.

When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, so… change of plans, back to your place?”

Charles smirked, the kind that was both sweet and sinful. “I don’t see why not.”

He opened the car door for you, that same gentleman streak never breaking—no matter how drunk on the moment he was. You slid in, glancing over with a coy smile.

He slid into the driver’s seat, the engine purring softly as Monaco blurred behind you.

Meanwhile, across town…

Carmen paced back and forth across your living room like she was expecting the floor to crack under her next step. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

George sat on the couch, arms crossed, trying to appear calm—but the slight twitch in his eye betrayed him. “We need to breathe. Just—breathe. She hasn’t texted, okay? So maybe she’s fine.”

Carmen threw her arms in the air. “She’s fine? She’s with a stranger, George. A stranger we convinced her to meet on an app! And if we don’t get her back in one piece, you know what’s going to happen?”

George sighed, bracing for it. “Angry Lewis?”

“Angry Lewis,” she repeated dramatically. “Do you want to see Lewis Hamilton show up at our door with that big brother energy and a whole lifetime of ‘I told you so’ in his pocket?!”

George clicked his tongue. “Fair point…”

They both stared at the door in silence.

“Call her again,” Carmen said.

“I already did—twice.”

“Then text her. And pray.”

George grabbed his phone with a groan. “This is how it ends, isn’t it? We try to be good friends, and we get taken down by a serial killer on a blind dating app.”

Carmen glared. “You don’t even know if it’s a serial killer!”

George raised a brow. “You don’t know that it’s not.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The morning sun spilled across the large bed, golden and far too bright for the subtle pounding in your head. You stirred beneath the sheets, stretching your arms and legs only to find the other side of the bed cold. Empty.

A quiet wince left your lips. Wine headache. Classic.

“God... what time is it…” you mumbled, blindly reaching for your clutch bag tossed by the nightstand. You pulled your phone free, tapped the screen—and immediately froze.

12 missed calls. 28 unread messages.

Carmen. George. Lewis. Toto?!

“Shit.”

You sat up abruptly, blankets clinging to your bare chest. Your head pulsed. Your heart thudded.

Call 1: Carmen.

She picked up on the first ring.

“You have got to be kidding me!” she half-screamed. “I thought you were dead, Y/n!”

You winced. “Okay—ow—Carmen, calm down. I’m sorry. I’m alive, okay?”

“We didn’t know that! George and I literally slept on your couch waiting for you to show up or text or anything!”

You rubbed your temple, guilt sinking in. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Where are you? We’ll come get you.”

You looked around. The room was… nice. Too nice. Expensive sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows, an ocean view that made you want to weep.

“I… think I’m at his place. My date’s.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Okay,” Carmen said slowly. “You better come home in one piece. I love you, but please call Lewis before he comes here breathing fire.”

“I will.”

She hung up before you could say more.

Call 2: Lewis.

He answered with no hello.

“Have you lost your entire mind?”

You flinched. “I’m sorry! I was out on my date, my phone was silenced. I didn’t think—”

“You never think when it comes to this stuff,” he cut in, exhaling hard. “You scared the hell out of me. I didn’t sleep.”

“I get it, Lew. I messed up.”

“I’ll tell Dad you’re okay,” he said flatly. “But I’m coming over later. You and I—we’re having a long talk.”

Click.

You groaned, tossing the phone aside and dropping flat against the bed again. “Fantastic.”

You flung the blanket off—then squeaked, immediately pulling it back up.

You were naked.

Eyes wide, cheeks heating up, you squeaked, “Oh my god. My clothes… where are my clothes? Did we—oh my god did we?”

Just then, you heard a muffled voice from the hallway. “Leo, stop—hey—come back here…”

Seconds later, Charles appeared in the doorway, following a tiny, bouncing puppy into the room. His hair was tousled, his shirt wrinkled, and the smile he gave you was soft and sleepy.

“You’re awake.”

You blushed furiously, clutching the blanket to your chest. “Where are my clothes?”

Charles ran a hand over his jaw, chuckling softly. “Last night was… really nice.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Charles. What. Happened.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Relax, mon cœur. We didn’t do anything like that. No full-on... you know.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “We made out. A lot. There was some... other stuff. But nothing more. Just… the basics.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“Oral?” you asked, voice a whisper.

He gave a guilty smile. “...Yeah.”

You fell back into the pillows, groaning into your hands. “I’m so irresponsible.”

Charles chuckled. “You were charming. And a little tipsy. I wasn’t going to push things. Trust me—I liked last night just the way it was.”

You peeked out at him, still red in the face. “You promise you didn’t, like... use me or something?”

He tilted his head with a soft smile. “Non, mon ange. I think you used me.”

You let out a tiny laugh despite yourself.

“Your dress and heels are in the laundry room,” Charles said from the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, his voice soft and low. “Shower’s all yours, mon cœur. Feel free to wear something of mine. I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.”

You let out a sigh of relief, your body still tucked beneath the sheets. “You’re dangerously perfect, you know that?”

He chuckled. “Don’t give me too much credit yet. Wait until you see my hoodie collection.”

You smiled faintly, your cheeks still slightly warm as he gave you one last reassuring glance before closing the door, giving you privacy. You peeled yourself from the bed, wrapping the blanket around you as you padded into the bathroom.

The moment you saw the large glass shower and warm steam rising from the polished tiles, your shoulders relaxed. It was exactly what you needed. Quiet. Warm. Private.

As water poured down, washing away the wine, nerves, and lingering lipstick, Charles made his way to the living room, ruffling his hair and settling onto the couch.

His phone buzzed just as he grabbed it.

Lewis Hamilton.

Charles answered casually. “Bonjour.”

“Hey, Charles,” Lewis’ familiar voice came through, cool and easy. “Just a heads up—I’ll be a bit late today. I’m heading to my sister’s place first.”

Charles leaned back on the couch, his gaze momentarily drifting to the hallway. “No worries, mate. I’ve got… a guest here anyway. Won’t be leaving until I pull myself together.”

Lewis chuckled lightly on the other end. “Alex?”

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. Definitely not Alex. I’m not going back there.”

“Fair enough,” Lewis said. “Just thought I’d check. Take care.”

“You too.”

Click.

Charles dropped his phone onto the cushion beside him, stretching an arm across the back of the couch, eyes trailing up to the ceiling. The irony hadn’t hit him yet. Not even close.

Back in the bathroom, steam curled around your shoulders as you turned off the water, wrapping yourself in the soft towel provided. You felt better—clearer—yet still utterly unaware of the name “Charles Leclerc,” still unaware of his world of speed, podiums, and red Ferrari suits.

He didn’t recognize your last name either. Not with the haze of the night before, your profile missing a photo, and the intimacy of the date distracting him from logical connections.

The truth hung above both of you like a ticking clock—neither of you hearing it yet.

You were just two people—two strangers, sweetly tangled in something brand new—too caught up in the glow of it all to realize just how complicated this was about to become.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The ride to your place was quiet, but comfortably so. Monaco rolled by outside the car window in soft golden tones, morning light catching the sparkle of the sea and rooftops. You sat with the roses delicately balanced in your lap, the velvet necklace box resting beside you like some kind of secret treasure.

“I’m still really sorry,” you said quietly, turning to look at Charles, guilt flickering behind your smile. “I didn’t mean to make everyone panic.”

Charles glanced at you briefly, eyes kind. “No worries. Truly. I had fun. I needed it—even if you don’t realize it.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “I needed it too,” you admitted, your fingers brushing over the petals of the roses.

When he pulled up in front of your flat, he shifted into park but didn’t move to open his door. Instead, he looked at you with a faint smile. “Wait. Let me have your number.”

You blinked, pleasantly surprised, and nodded. “For another date?” you asked, your tone soft, a little playful.

He leaned slightly toward you, resting an arm on the steering wheel. “Another date,” he confirmed, “and to have a very good excuse to keep in contact.”

You smiled, exchanging numbers, your fingers brushing as you passed the phone between you. “I had fun. Truly,” you said.

He gave a small nod, his voice low and warm. “Me too… Y/n.” He winked at the end, and your heart did a little somersault you tried to ignore.

You stepped out, roses in hand, clutch under your arm, and turned to wave as he drove off. For a moment, you just stood there—smiling like a fool in love… even though you’d promised yourself not to fall too fast.

You pushed open the door to your Monaco flat, and before you could even step fully inside, George was storming toward you.

“Do not hey me! I thought you DIED,” George exclaimed, immediately wrapping his arms around you like a human seatbelt.

“Oh my god—Russell, put me down!” you laughed, nearly dropping the roses. “I’m not a missing child!”

“I cannot do that,” he said dramatically, squeezing tighter. “I am clinging to life itself right now.”

Carmen stood off to the side with her arms crossed, but her eyes were soft and worried. “We were really worried. You didn’t text. You didn’t call.”

“I know, I know,” you said, finally breaking free of George’s hug. “I messed up. My phone was on silent, and the date just… kind of swept me away.”

“I told you not to trust blind dates,” Carmen huffed, but her voice betrayed relief.

“I’m fine. He was sweet. Gentle. Thoughtful. He even gave me these.” You set the roses on the table delicately, placing the necklace box beside them. “He drove me home, made sure I was okay. Like, I got very lucky.”

George leaned over the roses suspiciously. “So what’s his name, hmm? Did he lie about having a yacht or something?”

“Charles,” you said casually, walking toward your room. “Charles... something.”

George and Carmen froze. “...Charles what?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t ask for his last name. Should I have?”

George looked at Carmen. Carmen looked at George.

“Oh my god,” George whispered.

“You’re kidding,” Carmen mouthed.

You turned back, confused. “It's weird to ask for last names on first dates." you said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Carmen grinned, settling beside you on the couch with wide eyes and eager energy. “Give us all the details!”

You laughed lightly, waving a hand. “Okay, okay. Let me have a snack first—and then we’ll get cozy.”

A few minutes later, you returned to the living room with a plate of buttery croissants and a glass of sparkling water, curling up between them as if the night before hadn’t completely flipped your world upside down.

“So,” you began, “we met at this fancy rooftop restaurant. Like, chandelier-fancy. He’d already gotten a table, and there were roses waiting for me.”

George raised his brows. “Roses? Wow. Straight out the gate.”

“He gave me a necklace, too,” you said, nodding toward the box on the table.

Carmen’s eyes sparkled. “Shut up. On a first date? Who is this man—and does he have brothers?”

You laughed again. “It was really sweet. He didn’t come off pushy or weird. We just… talked. About everything. His last relationship, my work, what we both want. It didn’t feel like a date from an app. It felt like…” you paused, searching for the word.

“Like you’d known each other longer than a night,” Carmen offered, smiling gently.

You nodded. “Exactly.”

“I cannot wait to meet him someday,” she said dreamily.

“One day, you will,” you promised, biting into your croissant. “Just give him some time. I want to see how things play out. Keep it real.”

George leaned back. “Only right.”

Just then, the front door clicked open. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“You,” Lewis said, walking in with all the exhaustion of a man who hadn’t slept.

You groaned softly. “I just started telling them about the date, can I have five minutes of peace—?”

Lewis cut in, frustration simmering beneath his voice. “That doesn’t matter, Y/n. You can’t just disappear and leave your phone on silent.”

“I wasn’t disappearing,” you said, setting your glass down. “It was one date. I didn’t think I needed to check in every hour.”

“I don’t care if it was dinner or a weekend getaway,” he said firmly, stepping further in. “I’m your brother. I need to know you’re safe. You didn’t text anyone. Not me. Not Dad. Not even Toto—and that man wakes up at four in the morning worried about tire strategy and you.”

You winced, guilt tugging at your expression. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Carmen interjected gently, “She’s safe. She’s here. And the guy treated her really well.”

Lewis narrowed his gaze. “And you met him?”

“Not yet,” George said, before flashing a guilty look. “But we, uh, helped her get the date.”

"Oh great! So you guys could have set her up with a serial killer and never known." Lewis said.

"I'm okay, Lew." You assured. "I'm here and I'm okay and it won't happen again, I won't silence my phone again, so take a deep breath...and relax."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll relax. Later, I have to meet with the team at the paddock for the upcoming GP," he said.

You hum. "I have to work on some of my fashion designs, but I'd love to stop by. See you on your Ferrari team at work, and of course, to stop in and see Toto and Susie, and maybe squeeze my way to McLaren to see my two favorite boys," you stated.

George hums. "Wow, so you're going to paddock hop today? How nice," he mumbled. "It's just practice," he said as you hum. "And I'm going."

"touche"

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was just a simple practice today—nothing grand, nothing too loud. No interviews. No press chaos. Just the subtle buzz of engines and the clean Monaco breeze blowing through the paddock. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to be there, to watch your brother do what he loved. After all, you needed some air before diving back into your designs and the endless piles of fabric and sketches.

Even if… your mind was still dancing with the warmth of last night’s memories. The wine. The laughter. His kiss.

You shook it off.

You walked alongside George, his presence always calming, always familiar. He was rambling about Carmen—his usual lovestruck, slightly dramatic way of doing so—and you smiled as you listened.

"You two are like... the best couple ever," you said warmly. “And my best friends.”

He smirked. “We try our best. She mostly tolerates me.”

You both chuckled, the sound light and comfortable. The air between you was filled with that easy rhythm of close friendship—bouncing between jokes and stories, effortlessly killing time as you strolled near the edge of the paddock.

Until—

Your laughter died in your throat. Your heart skipped. Your eyes widened.

You stopped walking.

Your arm shot up and pointed before you could think.

“Him. George—him. He races?”

George followed your line of sight, eyebrows raising casually. “Yeah… that’s Charles Leclerc.”

You blinked. “He races?”

George turned to you, confusion painting his face—right up until he saw the way your expression crumbled. The way your breath caught.

“Oh,” he muttered.

Then louder. “Oh no.”

You grabbed his arm and pulled him with you, away from the walkway, ducking just behind one of the garage walls out of view of anyone passing by.

“Whoa—hey—Y/n, breathe,” he said, hands gently on your arms now. “What’s going on?”

You stared at him, practically whispering now. “George. That’s him. That’s the guy. From last night.”

His eyes blinked rapidly, doing the math. Then his mouth fell open in slow-motion horror. “Wait… wait. You went on a blind date with—Charles Leclerc?”

You nodded frantically.

He ran a hand down his face. “And Charles Leclerc is your brother’s teammate—now. After the transfer.”

You stared blankly at him. “Why didn’t I know that?! I didn’t recognize him last night—I didn’t even think!”

George looked around, as if Lewis might appear out of nowhere like a thundercloud. “Okay. So. What was Lewis’s number-one, carved-in-stone, hell-will-freeze-before-it-breaks rule?”

You swallowed hard. “…No dating F1 drivers. Or anyone in the paddock. Ever.”

George pointed a finger at you. “Exactly.”

You groaned, dragging your hand down your face. “This is a disaster. George. George. What do I do?!”

He placed both hands on your shoulders. “Okay, okay. Don’t freak out. It’s fine. Maybe he won’t recognize you.”

You looked at him like he was insane. “He kissed me, George. Twice. And I woke up in his bed.”

George blinked. “Okay yeah, you're screwed.”

“Oh, thank you, George! Just what I needed—pure panic and doom,” you hissed as you paced in a small circle behind the garage, clutching your bag and trying not to scream.

George held up a finger with dramatic flair. “Okay, listen, we can hide you.”

You gave him a flat stare. “George, you cannot hide me in a paddock. We’re literally surrounded by cameras, drivers, mechanics, and people who probably know my last three hairstyles.”

Without another word, George yanked off his hoodie and tossed it over your head. “There. Crisis averted. You’re Carmen now.”

You squawked. “I am not Carmen, I’m clearly taller—”

“Relax. I got this.” he whispered, already pulling you by the wrist around the back of the Mercedes garage like this was a military-level operation.

You had zero time to protest before you heard a familiar voice, calm and charming as ever:

“George.”

George spun around like a kid caught sneaking out. “Charles! Charles Leclerc! My man—Monaco’s shining prince,” he blurted with a tense grin.

Charles blinked at him, clearly thrown off by the greeting. “Right…”

Then his eyes flicked to you—well, to the hoodie-covered version of you—and he raised a suspicious brow. “Why are you hiding Carmen under a hoodie?”

George’s laugh was painful. “What? This?” he gestured vaguely at you, stepping in front of your body like a malfunctioning security system. “She was just—uh—complaining about the sun. Brutal sunburns, you know how women get—fragile and dramatic about, uh…melanin!”

You audibly groaned under the hoodie.

Charles tilted his head. “Carmen’s not that dramatic.”

“She is today!” George insisted, nudging you hard. “Babe, say something!”

You froze. Then in the worst, most broken Carmen impression imaginable, you muttered, “Uhm… oui… soleil… bad.”

George clapped a hand to his face.

Charles blinked slowly. “She doesn’t even speak French.”

George laughed way too hard. “No, no! That’s the new her. French Carmen! Embracing the local culture. Anyway—look at the time! Gotta go! Carmen and I have to—uh—rub aloe on each other!”

He began dragging you away, your legs barely cooperating under the weight of panic and secondhand embarrassment.

Charles stood there for a beat, brow furrowed, watching you both stumble away like two guilty middle schoolers sneaking out of class.

“…That’s not Carmen,” he muttered.

Charles turned the corner quickly, eyes narrowing as he tried to brush off the odd encounter with George. But just as he stepped forward, his shoulder bumped gently into someone else. He turned instinctively, already ready to apologize.

“Oh—je suis désolé—” He froze.

“Carmen?” he blinked hard, confusion thick in his voice.

Carmen tilted her head, mirroring his expression. “Charles? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

He stared at her. Really stared.

She wasn’t in a hoodie. She wasn’t with George. And she certainly hadn’t just called the sun ‘bad’ in broken French.

Charles took a slow step back. “Wait... if you’re here… then who—” He spun around, eyes scanning the paddock in search of the hoodie-covered mystery woman George had practically thrown into another dimension.

Carmen squinted. “What’s going on? You look rattled.”

“I think...” he muttered, brows pinched, “I think George just tried to pass someone off as you.”

Carmen’s lips parted, curious and amused. “Why would he—”

Charles’s eyes flicked back to her, then widened slightly.

“No... no way...” he breathed. “It was her. The girl from the date.”

Carmen furrowed her brow. “Wait—Y/n?”

He blinked.

“…Y/n?” he echoed slowly, like the name had just been unlocked in a memory vault.

Carmen’s eyes grew wide. “Oh God, you don’t know, do you?”

“Don’t know what?”

“She’s Lewis’s sister.”

Charles’s face dropped.

Silence.

The entire paddock suddenly felt louder. Engines in the background, chatter from the media zone, radios buzzing. But none of it reached him. Only that single, horrifying realization echoed in his mind:

He kissed Lewis Hamilton’s sister.

He almost slept with Lewis Hamilton’s sister.

“Oh no,” Charles whispered, visibly paling. “I’m going to die.”

“Charles—DO NOT TELL LEWIS!” Carmen whisper-yelled, chasing after him like a woman on a mission, her boots clicking furiously against the paddock asphalt.

“I’m not!” Charles called over his shoulder, already weaving through people. “But I have to see her—I need to talk to her!”

“CHARLES!” she groaned, practically running now. “Wait! We can make a deal! Negotiate! Mediate! Don’t go rogue!”

But Charles was gone—darting like he’d just seen a yellow flag in qualifying.

As Carmen sprinted after him, a pair of familiar red-clad legs stepped out from the Ferrari garage. Lewis had just finished a debrief, earphones dangling from his neck, a towel slung around his shoulders. He paused, watching Charles fly past, with Carmen hot on his heels.

He squinted. “...Charles?”

Then blinked as Carmen flew by. “...Carmen?”

“What in the—?”

But instead of chasing them down like a brother with questions should, Lewis just pulled his towel tighter around his neck, shook his head, and muttered under his breath, “Nope. Not my circus today.” He popped one earbud back in and resumed his casual walk like chaos wasn’t screaming right behind him.

Further down the paddock—

“You are—Charles?” Toto turned around just in time to be nearly shoulder-checked by a panicked Monegasque man in full Ferrari red.

“Sorry! Can’t stop!” Charles blurted, not even breaking stride as he zoomed past the Mercedes team principal.

Carmen followed behind, panting. “Just—let him go, I’ll sedate him later!” she called to Toto. “Oh! Hey Kimi!” she added as she flew by.

Kimi Antonelli, halfway through biting into an energy bar, slowly lifted his hand to wave. “Uh…hi?”

He looked up at Toto, who was still standing stunned.

“...Do I ask?”

Toto didn’t look away from where Charles disappeared around a corner. “Absolutely not.”

You stood near the back of the paddock with George, trying your best to act like everything was fine. He was mid-story about Carmen when your eyes suddenly locked on someone in the distance. Your stomach dropped.

“Shit…” you mumbled, grabbing George’s arm.

He looked up. “What?”

You didn’t respond right away, watching as Charles made a beeline toward you — fast, determined, and clearly not just here to say hello.

George followed your gaze, and his expression fell into place. “Ah. Okay. Yep. That’s a situation.” He straightened up, then glanced around awkwardly. “Um… I’ll grab Carmen. We’ll, uh—give you two space.” He gently guided Carmen a few steps back as she gave you a sympathetic look.

Charles didn’t wait for pleasantries. His eyes were intense, his jaw tight. “You should’ve told me.”

You blinked. “Charles—”

“No, seriously, Y/n. I told you I was a driver! you told me you were a fashion designer and nothing else!"

Your lips parted in disbelief. “You’re joking, right?”

“No! You knew exactly who I was once you saw me, and you didn’t say a word until after.” His voice was rising with frustration. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

You clenched your fists, your voice rising to meet his. “Because I can’t date Formula 1 drivers! It’s a rule — my brother’s rule. And when you said you were a driver, I didn’t think F1! You could’ve been a track-day racer or a damn Uber driver for all I knew!”

Charles stared at you, clearly not expecting that level of honesty. But he pressed further. “Still doesn’t matter. You didn’t tell me. You should have. So why?”

You finally snapped.

“Because I’m tired of people only liking me for my brother!” you yelled, your voice cracking as your emotions spilled out. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? To constantly wonder if someone wants me, or if they want access to Lewis Hamilton?”

His brows softened, but you weren’t finished.

“Do you know how exhausting it is to meet people, men especially, and realize halfway through that they’re only interested because of my last name? Because of the clout? Because I’m ‘Hamilton’s sister’ and not Y/n?” You pointed to yourself, frustrated tears brimming.

“I didn’t tell you because... for once, I wanted someone to see me. Not the name. Not the family. Just me. And last night, I thought you did.”

A heavy silence fell between you.

Charles looked like he wanted to speak, but for a moment, he couldn’t. The truth of your words hit him harder than he expected, and you—standing there, angry, vulnerable, and shaking—looked like someone whose walls had been forced down after too long of holding them up.

George and Carmen stood back quietly, watching, not daring to interrupt.

Finally, Charles said softly, “I didn’t know… I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

You wiped your cheek roughly. “Yeah, well. Now you do.”

Before you could say anything else, Charles reached out and gently cupped your face in his palms. The warmth of his touch startled you, but you didn’t pull away.

“Y/n,” he whispered, holding your gaze. “Last night… it meant something. I don’t care if sneaking around his back gets us killed by Lewis himself,” he added with a small, crooked grin. “I want to see you again. Another date. Just you and me. No labels, no pressure, just... time to keep laughing like we did. It felt good to just be with someone who didn’t care about the cameras or the chaos.”

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding under your ribcage. His thumbs brushed your cheeks softly, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you quieted.

“You’re serious?” you asked, a whisper of disbelief in your voice.

He nodded. “As long as you can keep this a secret... I’ll keep it too.”

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Okay… another date,” you said, your voice firmer now. “But this doesn’t make us a couple. I want to move slow. I don’t want this to be fast or messy or reckless.”

He smiled, dropping his hands slowly but still close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Then slow it is,” he said. “No pressure. Just... us. One step at a time.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Keeping your relationship with Charles a secret from Lewis was never easy. The guilt lived quietly in the corner of your heart, even when you smiled, even when Charles cupped your face and told you everything was okay. That it was worth it. That you were worth it.

And maybe he was right.

Because a week after that first chaotic paddock run-in, your second date happened — and it was nothing like the first. There was no tension. No foggy wine haze. Just you, him, and the gentle sway of the ocean as his yacht floated under the Monaco moonlight.

The sea shimmered like spilled glitter beneath the stars, and you wore a soft, silk dress he couldn’t take his eyes off of. Charles, in a white linen shirt that danced in the wind, held you gently as music played from a vintage speaker tucked in the corner of the yacht deck. Your bodies swayed in rhythm, barefoot and easy, your cheek resting against his shoulder. You had never laughed more freely. You had never danced with your eyes closed.

He kissed your forehead that night and whispered, "This feels right. Doesn’t it?"

And it did.

From then on, the dates became routine, like a secret rhythm only the two of you shared. Dinners in tucked-away corners of Monaco. Walks along the beach with Leo pulling at his leash while you both talked about everything and nothing. Movie nights where you'd end up tangled together on his couch, half-watching the screen, too busy studying the way he looked when he was relaxed.

Within a month, it wasn’t just dating. It was existing together.

There were nights you fell asleep in his bed and mornings you woke in yours with his arms wrapped around your waist. His necklace occasionally sat on your nightstand. Your lipstick showed up on his coffee mugs. Leo would climb onto your lap like he belonged there — and he did.

When work consumed you — when sketches blurred into seams and fabric — Charles always had perfect timing. He’d show up with your favorite drink, a little croissant, and kiss the top of your head. "Breathe, mon cœur," he’d whisper. “Come lie down. Just ten minutes.”

You’d argue, and every time, he’d win. You’d end up wrapped in a blanket on your couch, your sketch pad abandoned, your head on his chest as his heartbeat lulled you into the first rest you’d had in hours.

He’d clean up after himself at your place, and you did the same at his. The unspoken rhythm became: love in little things. Folding his hoodie and placing it neatly over the back of a chair. Gathering your sketch papers and placing them in piles. Wiping down his countertops. Picking up Leo’s toys. When you looked at him now, you didn’t see just a fling. You saw someone.

But the secret — the heaviness of keeping it from your brother — it lingered.

Even as the months passed, even when Charles officially asked you to be his girlfriend — sometime in the third month, over breakfast on his balcony, with orange juice in one hand and your hand in the other — you still hadn't told Lewis.

You’d stared at him, sleepy and warm in one of his Ferrari shirts, and said, “Is this you making it official?”

“It’s me trying to stop pretending I don’t already think of you that way.”

You said yes, with a smile too big for your face.

And yet... every time Lewis called, every time he asked how you were, something inside you twisted. Because he didn’t know. And he would hate it. And it was getting harder to lie.

George saw it coming before you did.

“You’re getting careless,” he said one day, eyes flicking up from his phone as you sat across from him in a little Monaco café. “He leaves your place late. You smile when his name comes up. You hum Ferrari songs.”

You laughed, but George didn’t. “I’m serious, Y/n. Be careful. You two… you’re like… in love or something.”

You looked away. You couldn’t even deny it.

Because maybe, just maybe, you were.

The snow outside blanketed the streets of Monaco in soft white, a rare sight that made everything feel quieter, softer — almost like the city itself was holding its breath. You stood by the tall window of your flat, the soft layers of your sweater pulled tight around your frame as steam curled from your untouched mug of tea on the windowsill.

Behind you, Lewis stood, also watching the falling snow. His cup of hot chocolate rested in his hands, warming his fingers. The soft instrumental music playing in the background barely filled the space between your shared silence.

"You know," he spoke, his voice calm and thoughtful, "your winter fashion show is going to do good."

You turned slightly to look at him, your face lit by the soft glow of string lights decorating the room. He offered a half-smile, nudging your shoulder. "Even if it’s just a small event."

You took in a quiet breath, eyes lingering on the flakes outside. "Actually..." you began, your voice low, "...it's not going to be a small event."

Lewis turned to you fully, his brows raising with interest. "Wait—what? You got a bigger show?"

You nodded, biting your lower lip as the smile threatened to take over your whole face. He blinked once, processing, before gently setting his mug down on the nearby table and wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug. "I'm so proud of you! I knew my little sister was capable of something amazing!" he said into your ear.

You chuckled against his shoulder, burying your face there for a moment. He was so proud, so encouraging, and your heart ached with the weight of what you weren’t saying.

Because deep down, you knew exactly how this opportunity came to you. It wasn’t luck or coincidence.

It was Charles.

You could still remember it so clearly — the way he told you over dinner one night, casually mentioning he pulled a few strings to get your portfolio into the right hands. He tried to act cool, like it wasn’t a big deal, but the moment he said “they want your work in the main showcase,” you had squealed, leapt into his lap, and tackled him back onto the couch.

He laughed so hard that Leo barked in confusion, circling around the both of you.

You’d kissed every inch of his face, hands in his hair, overwhelmed by the happiness he’d brought you. He didn’t do it to impress you. He did it because he believed in you. He told you, "They didn’t say yes because of me, they said yes because your work speaks louder than I ever could."

You had never loved someone more in that moment.

The warmth of the memory made your chest tighten. You cleared your throat and pulled slightly back from Lewis’s embrace, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Well, you know… Lewis," you started, eyes on your hands, "I actually… had some help getting it."

He tilted his head. "Was it Dad?"

You shook your head slowly, avoiding his gaze. "No… just… someone. Someone who believed in me, I guess."

He watched you for a moment, lips pursed in thought, but he didn’t press. "Well, whoever it was, I owe them a drink." He reached for his mug again. "Just tell me the date of your show, I’ll be there — front row."

You smiled. "Thanks, Lew."

But even as the snow fell gently outside, even as warmth filled the room, your mind couldn’t help but linger.

One day, you thought, he’ll know. One day I’ll have to tell him.

But today wasn’t that day.

So you could proceed to spend careless time with Lewis.

Even if guilt kept eating at you.

Two hours into the night, the apartment was warm, filled with the low hum of music and the soft crackle from the faux fireplace video on the TV. Your mug of hot tea sat empty beside Lewis’s finished hot cocoa, the lingering steam gone, but laughter still echoed between the two of you.

It was one of those rare, peaceful evenings—just you and your older brother, sharing old stories, poking fun at each other, and letting the world slow down for once.

Then your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You glanced down instinctively, lifting it as you continued laughing—but the smile faded fast as your eyes scanned the message:

“I’m on my way up.”

Your heart dropped.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You sat up a little too quickly, phone still in hand, panic tightening your chest. “Hey, Lewis!” you said, voice pitched just a little too high. “Aren’t you ready to head home?”

He looked at you with a slight frown, blinking slowly. “Hm? Not really, no. I was actually thinking I might crash here tonight.” He stretched and leaned back against the couch, completely at ease. “The couch is nice, the atmosphere’s chill, and I get to hang out with my favorite sister. Why would I leave?”

You let out a nervous laugh, nodding, then immediately regretting how frantic it sounded. “Yeah, that’s…great. Just…I mean, you don’t have to, you know? Your bed’s probably way comfier.”

He raised a brow at you. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No! Not at all!” you said quickly, your hand tightening around your phone. “I just, um… remembered I have to do some stuff tonight. Work stuff.”

Lewis squinted at you, suspicion now creeping onto his face. “At 9:30 at night?”

You froze. Your mouth opened—then closed.

Knock knock.

The knock at the door sent an immediate bolt of panic through you.

“Who’s that?” Lewis asked, leaning forward slightly.

You jumped to your feet. “I’ll get it!”

You rushed to the door and cracked it open with your body half blocking the view. Standing there in a casual black coat and a teasing smile, was Charles.

Of course he looked devastatingly handsome.

And of course he knew what was going on the moment he saw the sheer panic in your eyes.

“Lewis is still here?” he whispered.

You nodded furiously, stepping out and shutting the door gently behind you. “I thought he’d leave hours ago!”

Charles grinned. “What do you want me to do? Wait downstairs?”

“No, just…” you looked around in every direction like a spy on the run. “Give me five minutes. I’ll...make something up.”

“I can pretend to be your neighbor dropping off sugar,” he offered, amused.

“Charles.”

He smirked. “Five minutes. I’ll be just down the hall.”

You turned back toward your apartment and inhaled deeply.

Time for the Oscar-winning performance.

You stepped back into the living room with a big, fake yawn. “Wow, I think the tea’s hitting me. I’m getting so tired…”

Lewis looked at you like you were slowly losing your mind. “Okay?”

“I should probably get to bed,” you continued, too cheerily. “You sure you don’t wanna head home? You have Roscoe, who needs care! right?”

He folded his arms. “Y/N, seriously—what is going on?”

You faltered for a beat.

Then, before your mouth could betray you even more, your phone buzzed again.

Charles.

“I’m down the hall, leaning against the wall, looking very cool. No pressure 😇”

You groaned, rubbing your face.

Lewis was staring now. “Do you have a guy coming over or something?”

You choked. “Wha—what? No. I—of course not. That would be absurd. I don’t even like guys. I mean, I do, but not like tonight—I mean, not that I wouldn’t—Oh my God.”

Lewis’s eyes widened. “Y/N…”

“I have to open the door,” you said, walking away in defeat. “Please don’t freak out.”

You opened it again.

Charles leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, and greeted you with a smug, “Your sugar delivery has arrived.”

You stepped aside wordlessly and let him in.

Lewis stood from the couch. His jaw dropped. “You?!”

Charles raised both hands like a man caught red-handed. “Bonsoir.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “So… Lewis. This is Charles.”

Charles gave a half-wave. “The blind date.”

Lewis blinked between the two of you.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You stepped firmly in front of Charles, your brows knitting tightly as you faced Lewis. “Just listen,” you said, voice steady but heavy with frustration.

Lewis’s eyes burned with anger, his jaw clenched tightly. “You broke my rule! My number one rule! No F1 drivers. No one from that world!” His voice rose, filled with disbelief. “But Charles? My teammate? My friend?!” His words cut sharp through the tense air.

He took a step closer, voice shaking with barely contained rage. “And you,” he said, glaring straight at Charles, “you knew. You smiled in my face at every race. And you were with my sister the whole time.”

Lewis’s voice cracked as he looked between the two of you, the hurt evident beneath the anger. “So what? What were all those excuses you gave me to leave early? What was the truth behind them?”

Before Charles could open his mouth, Lewis’s temper snapped. He grabbed Charles by the collar, slamming him hard against the wall. The sudden force echoed in the room.

“Lewis! Stop!” you shouted, stepping forward, panic threading through your words.

Lewis’s glare didn’t waver as he spat, voice thick with betrayal, “You lied to me! You fucking lied! You kept this a secret from me.”

Charles met Lewis’s glare evenly, voice calm but firm. “You can be mad at me all you want, but I love her.”

Lewis scoffed bitterly, his eyes flashing with venom. “Yeah, like you love every woman you’ve ever been with.” His words were harsh, a cruel jab meant to sting. The room crackled with tension, the weight of years and broken trust pressing down on all of you

Lewis’s voice cracked with raw emotion, anger burning in his eyes. “My sister is not the fucking rebound to Alex! Not to any of your problems!” His grip tightened on Charles’s collar, the frustration and protectiveness colliding in his tone.

Charles met Lewis’s glare, equally fierce. “I’m not using her as a rebound. We’ve been together for months—months! I spent her birthday with her! I was her blind date! I’ve been seeing her behind your back, and look at how you’re acting right now. No wonder she didn’t want to tell you!”

Lewis’s hold became even firmer, the tension thickening the air.

You stepped between them, voice shaking but resolute. “Lewis, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

At that, Lewis finally loosened his grip, stepping back and locking eyes with you, his breath heavy and uneven. “You tell me everything! It’s trust between us—you and I! We’re best friends, siblings—we trust each other.”

You squared your shoulders, pointing a finger firmly at his chest. “We do! But you can’t keep telling me what’s allowed and what’s not allowed! You can’t control who I see.”

Lewis’s expression shifted, the anger softening just enough to reveal the deep worry beneath. You sighed, trying to bridge the divide. “You need to go home, calm down, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

He scoffed, eyes still burning. “Save it. I don’t want to talk in the morning. You lied to me. You both kept this from me. I was only looking out for you. Because I didn’t want you to get hurt like you have been before.”

You groaned, exasperated. “Lewis, don’t start this.”

“No,” he shot back, voice cracking with frustration. “I have to be honest. You didn’t tell me—you lied to my face. And all I’ve ever done was protect you—from guys who would only hurt you. I kept you safe because all you ever know is heartache. I was scared! And you lied to me.”

Charles shook his head, stepping forward calmly but firmly. “She’s fine with me. She’s been safe with me. And she’s nothing like Alex. I love Y/n for who she is.”

Lewis sneered, unable to hide his anger. “Save it. You were lying to me! Smiling in my face at every practice, every team meeting, every media day, every race. You smiled at me—what the hell were you doing behind closed doors?”

He knitted his brows tighter, voice bitter. “Playing with my sister?”

Charles rolled his eyes, unfazed by the jab. “Actually, we were doing very intimate things. In fact, on the very couch you sat on.”

Lewis lunged toward Charles, rage spilling over, but you stepped sharply between them, voice ringing out with authority.

“ENOUGH!”

The word stopped them both in their tracks. Your voice trembled but held power. “Both of you go home. Right now. Both of you. Just go.”

You could see the anger and frustration still burning in their eyes, but also the weight of your words sinking in. Neither moved for a moment, tension thick in the room, until slowly, both turned away, retreating from the battle you never wanted but now had to face.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

That night, you lay awake in bed, the silence pressing down on you like a heavy weight. One lonely night stretched into days—days filled with unanswered messages and missed calls, Charles wasn't talking to you, his name lingering in your mind like a bittersweet echo. Lewis didn’t reach out either, his absence only deepening the ache in your chest. You hated this feeling—this unbearable tug-of-war inside your heart—as if you were being forced to choose between two worlds, neither of which you wanted to lose.

You threw yourself even more into work, day after day, trying to bury everything else. George would stop by, try to reach out, but you barely responded—words caught in your throat, eyes distant. He’d make you snacks, quietly setting them down, but you never touched them. Watching you like this tore at his heart. He hated seeing his best friend so lost, so closed off. But deep down, he knew he had to do something.

Despite the cold snow falling outside, George called Charles and Lewis, insisting they meet him at the café—you loved that place. When they arrived, the tension between them was thick—staring daggers, barely a word exchanged.

George finally broke the silence. “Alright, enough of this childish nonsense,” he said firmly. Both men turned to him.

“He started it,” Charles shot back, defensive.

Lewis scoffed. “Says the fake friend and teammate who’s sleeping with my sister.”

George rolled his eyes. “No, seriously. Enough. Both of you—zip it. She’s drowning in work, pushing herself harder than ever with that winter fashion show coming up. And you two need to be there. But first, you’ve got to stop this stupid tension you’ve created.” He pointed at Lewis. “You’re her brother, not her babysitter or her dad. Of course you care, but you can’t chain her down. She’s a grown woman making choices that make her happy.”

Turning to Charles, he added, “And if you love her, you should want the same. Who cares if it’s you? It could be some reckless playboy like Lando, or some creepy old guy looking for a sugar baby. But it's you.” His voice hardened. “As her boyfriend, you should be ashamed for not answering her calls and texts. She loves you, and you love her. I’ve watched her before and after you came into her life—she smiled more, relaxed more.”

They both fell silent, the truth sinking in.

“Now,” George continued gently, “Say whatever you want from now on, but forcing her to choose between you? That’s just childish.”

Charles glanced over at Lewis, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Lewis exhaled, shoulders softening. “I’m sorry too. I’ve just seen her hurt before—badly. I guess I tried too hard to protect her… maybe more than I should have.”

Charles gave a small nod. “You’re her brother. I understand. I should’ve told you earlier. But please believe me when I say—I love her. More than you probably know. When I’m with her, I see her for everything she is. Being with her… it’s the best part of my life. I look at her and I see my future. One day, I want to marry her. So no, Lewis, I’m not going to break her heart. I know how lucky I am.”

Lewis cracked a small smile. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

George leaned back with a satisfied hum. “Great. You two finally made up. Now I expect both of you front row at her show. And if you're not—well, don’t make me come after you. My fist has your names on it.”

That day marked a turning point for both Lewis and Charles. The tension that once stood like a wall between them had crumbled, replaced by understanding and mutual respect. They realized that your happiness mattered more than any pride or past disagreements. Now, it was you who deserved the apology—and you would get it.

The night of the fashion show arrived, wrapped in the hum of chatter and clinking glasses, the venue sparkling with elegance and wealth. The kind of crowd that made your stomach twist. Every polished face, every scrutinizing eye—it all made your nerves hum with electricity. You were scared. Anxious. Drowning in thoughts of everything that could go wrong.

This couldn’t fail. Not tonight. Not when you had poured your heart, your soul, and every waking hour into this. This was your dream. Your moment.

Backstage, you gathered the models, trying to keep your voice steady. “Alright, remember—every piece is art. Walk like you're wearing something timeless. Elegant,” you said, scanning each of their faces. “You know what you’re doing.”

Your throat was dry, your nerves transparent to anyone who looked closely enough. But even as you tried to focus, a familiar thought lingered in the back of your mind—Lewis and Charles. Would they come? Had they really listened?

Suddenly, you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. Turning, you were met with your dad’s reassuring smile as he pulled you into a hug. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’ve got this.”

You let out a quiet hum, forcing a small smile. “I just… I really hope people like my designs.”

He laughed softly, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were a kid. “They’re going to love them. I know they will. How could they not?”

And just like that, a little bit of the weight lifted from your shoulders.

Your father gently handed you the microphone, offering a soft, encouraging nod. You took it with a quiet “thank you,” your heart pounding as you stepped onto the runway. Dressed in one of your own handmade designs—a stunning gown that shimmered under the lights like freshly fallen snow—you looked every bit the visionary you were. Elegant. Poised. A living introduction to the art you were about to unveil.

You took a breath, eyes scanning the sea of faces before you. Then, with a steady voice, you spoke:

“Thank you all for being here tonight. This moment means everything to me. Each of these designs you’re about to see—each stitch, each detail—was crafted with love, passion, and purpose. My Winter Wonderland collection isn’t just fashion. It’s a reflection of emotion, of creativity, of elegance that I hope will ripple not only through Monaco, but across the world.”

You paused, letting your words land.

“My name is Y/n Hamilton… and tonight, you’ll witness what elegance and royalty look like—through my eyes. Through my art.”

The room erupted in applause, camera flashes beginning to flicker. You smiled faintly, nerves still swirling, and turned to make your way backstage. As you disappeared behind the curtain, the lights dimmed to a soft, icy blue. Music swelled through the venue like a cold, enchanting breeze, and one by one, the models began to emerge—each one wearing a piece of your soul, walking the runway like royalty, like winter itself.

And just like that, your dream was coming to life.

From backstage, you peeked through the curtain, heart racing as each model stepped into the spotlight. The soft blue lighting cast a magical glow across the runway, your designs gliding down the catwalk like snowflakes—each one unique, powerful, unforgettable.

Then, out in the crowd, your eyes found them.

Charles and Lewis had arrived.

They sat beside your father in the second row—close enough to see every detail, every stitch. Lewis was dressed in a sleek black suit, no longer guarded or cold, just watching, quietly moved. And Charles… Charles looked completely taken. His eyes didn’t leave the runway, not for a second. He saw you in every piece—your mind, your hands, your heart.

Lewis leaned over to your father. “She really did this…” he murmured, a mixture of awe and pride in his voice.

Your dad smiled. “Told you she would.”

Charles sat with his hands folded, gaze locked on the next model, who wore the same silhouette you had walked out in—only in silver, encrusted with crystals that caught the light like frost on glass. He could see your soul in the fabric. The emotion in the movement. This wasn’t just a fashion show. It was your story being told in silence, and he was listening with every breath.

Backstage, your team moved with care, each model perfectly timed. You watched your vision unfold from the shadows, nerves slowly melting into pride. You didn’t know they had come—not until you saw them with your own eyes. And just like that, the ache you'd carried for days began to loosen.

You hadn’t lost them.

They were here.

And they saw you—truly saw you.

The night had finally begun to slow, the music faded, the last model had walked, and your Winter Wonderland show had come to a magical close. The adrenaline was still coursing through you, but now it was mixed with something even more powerful—pride, love, and relief.

Backstage, laughter and soft conversations filled the air, and you were suddenly pulled into a warm, emotional hug by Carmen.

"You did it," she whispered, voice thick with tears. "Y/n, that was beyond amazing."

George was right behind her, wrapping both of you in his arms before pulling back just enough to look at you. “I’ve never been more proud of you,” he said, sincerity written all over his face. “Every single second of that show—you owned it. You were powerful. You were you.”

You held the bouquet they had given you close to your chest, heart full. “You two are the best friends I could ever ask for,” you said softly, overwhelmed. “I’m so happy you were here.”

George let out a mock scoff, blinking fast to hide the shine in his eyes. “Miss Hamilton, please. I would’ve fought the snowstorm with my bare hands to be here tonight.”

Carmen smiled tearfully and took your hand. “And when George and I get married someday—you’re making my dress. No one else. It has to be you.”

You blinked, heart catching for a moment before breaking into a watery smile. “I would be honored. It'll be the most beautiful gown anyone’s ever seen. I promise.”

The three of you stood there for a moment—laughing, sniffling, holding each other—wrapped in friendship, in history, in a kind of love that few people are lucky enough to find in this life.

Then, just behind them, you saw Lewis.

He walked toward you with your dad beside him, and the look in his eyes—soft, humbled, proud—made your heart twist.

Without a word, you stepped into his arms. He held you tightly, his hand cradling the back of your head like he had when you were little.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “For what I did. For what I said. For not trusting you to know your own heart. I let my fear speak for me… and I hurt you.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “You were trying to protect me. You’ve always done that.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “But I can’t protect you from everything. I shouldn’t. I need to let you grow, even if that means letting you fall sometimes. And… if Charles is who you choose—then I’ll support you. I’ll accept it. Because it’s your life. Your happiness. And that’s what matters most to me.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes, and your voice cracked just a little. “Thank you, Lewis. That means everything to me.”

He smiled and touched your cheek gently. “I may not always get it right. But I’ll always be your big brother. And I’ll always love you.”

You hugged him again—longer this time—and for the first time in days, your heart felt whole.

In that moment, everything felt right. The people who loved you had shown up. They’d hugged you, cheered for you, and made amends. One by one, they left you with warmth in your heart and a smile on your face. But now, as the crowd thinned, the energy faded, and the cold crept in… you were alone.

You looked around, eyes scanning the space in quiet hope.

But Charles was nowhere in sight.

A wave of disappointment hit you unexpectedly. You wrapped your fur coat tighter around yourself and stepped out into the quiet night. Snow blanketed the streets like a painting—soft, serene, and cold. Winter had a way of being both harsh and breathtaking.

Then, from across the way, a voice broke through the silence.

“Hey... no need to walk home, mon ange.”

You turned, heart skipping.

There he was.

Leaning against his car, hands in his coat pockets, that soft smile on his face—the one that only appeared when he was looking at you.

“Charles…” you breathed, a smile tugging at your lips.

He walked toward you, gently wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in. His lips brushed yours in a kiss that was warm despite the cold all around you—like home.

“You were incredible tonight,” he said against your mouth. “Every design, every detail… it was all so you. Beautiful.”

You exhaled, pressing your forehead lightly to his. “Thank you.”

He took your hands in his, his voice lowering with sincerity. “And I’m sorry. For what I said to your brother. I let my frustration get the best of me. But George… well, George made sure we heard him loud and clear.”

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

Charles continued, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “What I’m trying to say is… I love you. I love you so much. And I hope we can move forward—together. Because you’re not a rebound. You’re the love of my life.”

Your heart clenched at his words, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m glad I went through all that heartache,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “Because it led me to you. If I hadn’t listened to my brother, if I hadn’t gone on that blind date… I never would’ve met you. And now, I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, deeper this time—full of every word you didn’t have to say. And in the middle of that snowy street, in your fur coat and heels, with Charles holding you close…

You felt more loved than ever.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was a beautiful morning in Monaco, the golden light spilling softly through the windows of the flat. The scent of cinnamon and rosemary drifted in from the kitchen, wrapping the home in warmth. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, fully decorated with delicate ornaments and soft lights. Leo was curled up contentedly on the couch, watching the room with lazy interest.

You smiled warmly as you glanced into the kitchen. Charles’ mother was there, gently stirring something on the stove. “Do you need a hand?” you asked, stepping closer.

She turned to you with a kind smile. “Lewis is helping me, dear. I think I’ve got more help than I need.”

You laughed softly and looked toward the living room, where Arthur and Lorenzo stood by a half-opened box of decorations. “Arthur, Lorenzo,” you called with a grin, “could you two hang up some garland around the windows and staircase?”

“On it,” Arthur replied, and Lorenzo gave a playful salute as they got to work.

You turned to your father with a warm smile. “Where’s the star?”

He retrieved it from a small box on the side table, handing it to you carefully like it was made of glass and gold. You took it gently in your hands, then looked to Charles, who was just behind you.

“Little help?” you asked with a smile.

He chuckled, moving beside you. The two of you reached up together, carefully placing the star at the top of the tree, your hands brushing, your eyes meeting for a moment too long. A simple gesture, but filled with so much more.

You—the fashion designer, the rising name in elegance and winter collections. Lewis Hamilton’s sister, a title you wore with pride. And now… Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend. The woman who had unknowingly become the center of his world.

But in his heart, you were more than that.

Much more.

Tucked away in a drawer in the bedroom was a small velvet box—an engagement ring, hidden safely, waiting for the right moment. He hadn’t told anyone. Not yet. But he knew. He knew what he wanted. And it was you.

In this moment, everything felt exactly as it should. Lewis was in the kitchen, laughing with Charles’ mom as they worked together on breakfast. Your dad was tying garland around the banister with Arthur and Lorenzo, full of smiles and quiet joy. And just as George and Carmen stepped through the door, arms full of drinks and cheer, the room filled with even more light.

Every piece of your heart was here.

And every piece of his.

In a warm Monaco flat, surrounded by love, family, and future promises, you couldn't have been happier.

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ fame's shadow .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Vil Schoenheit x insecure gn! reader

𓏵 695 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, established relationship with reader, angst, hurt/comfort

kind of a self-indulgent post bc this sickness is making me feel things （；￣＾￣）feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

It started with a single article.

“Vil Schoenheit’s New Muse? Mystery Student Spotted by His Side!”

You’d laughed when you first saw it, showing Vil the grainy photo of the two of you walking through Main Street after classes. He’d only sighed, brushing it off with the ease of someone far too used to the tabloids. "They’ll get bored soon enough. Just ignore them, darling."

But they didn’t.

Soon, there were more headlines. “Ordinary Nobody Caught in Vil’s Spotlight!” “Rising Star Vil Schoenheit and Their Unworthy Partner—How Long Will It Last?” Comment sections filled with snide remarks, nitpicking everything from your appearance to the way you stood next to him.

At first, you convinced yourself it didn’t matter. Vil loved you. He chose you. That should’ve been enough.

But the comments stuck.

"They don’t even dress properly. How embarrassing for Vil."

"Must be nice riding his coattails."

"Do they seriously think they can keep up with someone like him?"

You stopped mentioning the articles to Vil. He was always so busy—filming commercials, practicing for his next show, overseeing the Pomefiore dorm. Every moment you had together felt precious, and the last thing you wanted was to add to his stress.

So, you smiled. You nodded. You told him you were fine.

But you started checking your reflection more often, tugging at your clothes and wondering if they looked too plain. You spoke less around his friends, afraid of saying something the media would twist into another cruel headline. You scrolled through hateful comments at night, your heart sinking further with each word.

And Vil, ever composed, ever radiant, never seemed to notice.

“You look tired,” he’d comment sometimes, brushing a hand against your cheek. “Have you been taking care of yourself? You know how important self-care is.”

You’d nod, force a smile, and tell him everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

It hit you during one of Vil’s photoshoots. You’d tagged along, thinking it would be nice to spend time together, even if you were just watching from the sidelines. But the photographer’s assistant, unaware of who you were, had muttered under their breath while passing by.

"Can’t believe they’re the one Vil chose. He could do so much better."

You froze. The room buzzed with activity, Vil effortlessly shifting poses under the bright lights. He looked perfect, untouchable. And you? You felt like a stain in his otherwise flawless image.

That night, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"Vil, do you ever wonder if… if you’d be better off without me?" you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Vil blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What kind of nonsense is that? Where is this coming from?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Forget it. I’m just overthinking things.”

But Vil didn’t forget. He studied you with sharp, discerning eyes—the same eyes that could catch the slightest flaw in a stage performance or a fashion ensemble. And for the first time, he truly saw the exhaustion behind your smile, the way your shoulders sagged under an invisible weight.

“Darling,” he murmured, stepping closer, “who’s been filling your head with such ridiculous thoughts?”

You tried to brush it off, but Vil wouldn’t let you. Not this time. And when you finally broke down, confessing everything—the articles, the comments, the way you’d slowly started believing them—his expression hardened, not with anger toward you but at the world that had dared to hurt someone he cherished.

“You should have told me sooner,” he said, voice softer now, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I can’t protect you from shadows I can’t see.”

That night, Vil didn’t just hold you; he made calls, sent emails, and ensured that certain tabloids would think twice before publishing another cruel word. But more importantly, he promised—no matter how bright his spotlight shone, it would never cast you aside.

Because in his eyes, you were never a shadow. You were the light that made his world worth standing in.

[feistyvirghoe]

_ _　　 ˇ† 𓈒ֺּׅ ₀₀ 𓏼 𓈒☆.｡.:*𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩.｡.:*☆ ݂۫ _ _　　ˇ† 𓈒ֺּׅ ₀₀ 𓏼 𓈒 _ _

𐔌 ݂۫ · !𝑷𝑨𝑪!- 𝑯𝑶𝑾 𝑼𝑹 𝑺𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑻 𝑮𝑼𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑺 𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑾 𝑼? ݂۫ ｡.:* ꒱

⟢ ｡.:*☆ ݂۫ ݂۫ 𓂅?𝐦𝐬𝐬𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 2 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰 𝐮?… ݂۫ 𓂅

_ _　 　ˇ† 𓈒ֺּׅ ₀₀ 𓏼 𓈒☆.｡.:*𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩.｡.:*☆ ݂۫ _ _　　ˇ† 𓈒ֺּׅ ₀₀ 𓏼 𓈒. _ _

☆⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑷𝑨𝑪 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑰𝑴𝑬𝑹𝑺 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ, ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴏʀ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ. ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ɢᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅʀᴀᴡꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ, ʀᴇʟᴀx ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴏɴᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ꜰɪɴᴇ. ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴇᴛ ɪɴ ꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ɪɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅᴇᴄɪꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ. ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ. ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ <3

𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 1111 𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 2222 𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 3333

𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 1111 ── .✦

[btw pile one! i felt nauseous, tired and extremely drained doing this pile and that can also be you guys energy, you know stressing yourself out so much that you start feeling sick (take your breaks, pleaseeeeee please please….cleanse yourself, use palo santo if u feel the need to, or any smoking cleanse, just a whole cleanse, something that’s feels right to you and don’t be afraid to look up different methods to help you…you all don’t deserve to feel this way, this low…i don’t like it and neither do ur guides, ily and take care]

⋆˚✿˖° ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ʏᴏᴜ / ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡ ʏᴏᴜ :

ok for this pile I see you guys are very mystical…esoteric, naturally intuitive. mystical and not one to conform to other ppls ideals. I don’t know I get this feeling like you guys wanna be seen in the spotlight and put yourselves out there but then there’s this contradicting feeling within you like you’re not good enough. sometimes thinking you’re not enough for whatever you wanna do I think that’s what can hinder you a little bit. “feelings come feelings go” for you guys like i feel like yall go back and forth a lot in your head. your guides view you as some magical being with soooooo much damn potential. like if you’re thinking they don’t believe in you, they do. i feel like they see your energy as infectious but in a good way. spreading your essence all around. you can’t be kept in a little box. you’re not meant to fit in to anyone’s rigid frame. it’s your world, your youniverse. you have two sides of yourself showing up here: one is your more eccentric, adventurous (i wanted to stop at that for some reason…like maybe you guys haven’t been tapping into that side too much)

but then your other side is practical and more serious (maybe even a bit too much of a realist lol), some of you guys could be earth signs but that other side to you is the “don’t fucking play with me” you’re not into the petty bs (hate wording it like that)

you guys seem to be more so focused on stabilizing yourselves, your life. wanting to take better care of yourself. your guides are viewing you as a responsible individual even if you may not feel like you’re living up to your own standards or anyone else’s. i feel like they want you to embrace this side of you more.

see i keep going back and forth w this pile. like you’re torn between wanting to be seen as a stable person who has everything together and your life looks “picture perfect” but you should know even that is way too much for you

(some of u are really pressuring yourselves in this pile, that’s the easiest way to put it…pushing and pushing. i feel like you guys are trying to claw your way out of this transparent bubble you feel trapped in, i had to add this and im sorry if it’s not what you want to hear, your guides see you though love, they see and feel how you’re struggling…i feel like u guys shouldn’t read this if your energy is really heavy, i don’t want to trigger anyone at all. but your guides also need you to know that u are not ignored, they fucking see your pain, and i know they can’t do anything about it except for sending healing energy your way…maybe u guys should try and reach out to them..even if u don’t know what to say, write a letter, a note to them, as if they’re your most precious friend you trust, your spiritual bestie hehe)

you need that balance and i feel like you guys have been ignoring that. ignoring your unique ass qualities within yourself, you have the drive and energy to tackle shit but then there’s the indecision (questioning yourself and how you handle things..more pressure). i feel like they see that you want to be seen not just by them but by others as well. wanting to have a place or group where you can be your eccentric self. where you can lower that barrier and not feel like you have to perform for others constantly. and you guys deserve that. you deserve to be seen and heard as you are. your energy isn’t small, i feel like you have this big impact on many people you interact w, whether it may be a short or long term thing.

the thing is, you guys have to stop it w the people pleasing. i feel like yall are minimizing yourself by comparing yourself to other people/things/situations. okay so it’s making more sense now. there was a slight fog, i felt like i needed more clarity, that can also be a message too (needing more clarity in your life, not wanting to fight anymore) i wanted to say it but w one of the men in the deck i have, he just looks so worn down but he still standing trying to keep it together. they can see u like that, trying to keep your shit together but it’s like a rope that’s about to snap…. all this weight on your shoulders isn’t helping you. and that weight has to do with your mind, your psyche and intuition. i feel like they’re seeing that you either don’t trust yourself or just what life brings you in general. “don’t wanna fight” by alabama shakes (ill link it..but that song just keeps running through my mind) you guys are tired of fighting and battling w life itself, as if u keep getting sucker punched by all these scenarios and events happening. a message here is so clear, you guys don’t trust and i wouldn’t be surprised if yall don’t even trust this message too. but i feel like they’re saying that when you get these messages of hope from any source, whether it be through friends ,family, the divine or even hearing your own inner voice speaking some sense to you. you need to trust it, it’s sounds cliche i know, but you’re not just receiving these synchronistic messages for no reason. i feel like you guys believe its load of bullshit but it’s not baby. (i feel like i need to stop it here and you guys also need to stop yourselves for a second…meaning what? take a damn break and lay down, try to get some alone time in for yourself…your energy is heavy even tho they see you as a showstopper…you captivate ppl but you need to see that from yourself more…validate yourself baby! please it’s okay to be your own hype man/woman) come back to yourself. find that spark again and let the fire burn steady. let yourself flow, not force.

okay that was weird but i hope it made sense to u guys…i love you and please rest! get some sleep, no staying up late to doomscroll! nuh uh! stop focusing on other people and pay attention to yourself and your health. this is your body, your choice, your life. take a step back from the weirdos and be selfish. be more bold w yourself…more of “i’m not gonna entertain this bullshit” i just feel like u guys are drained…rest please <3 i really want to send a big virtual hug you guys way, I LOVE U AND UR TEAM LOVES U! the divine loves you baby…i feel like i need to scream it.

𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 2222 ── .✦

⋆˚✿˖° ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ʏᴏᴜ / ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡ ʏᴏᴜ :

your guides see you guys as sweethearts! simplest way i can say it. something about the way your love is, your compassion in general. but also heavilyyyy intuitive. maybe you guys don’t pay attention to it too much but here’s another mystical pile. like pile one in a weird way but w the previous pile they were really struggling w seeing it for themselves. you guys could be called to that pile too. but in this energy, it’s more calm…. i’d say reserved too. the people in the cards are all alone but they’re not bothered by it, the energy i mean. not really being bothered by being a hermit. sweethearts that follow themselves. what i mean by that is you guys seem to have more faith in what you can do for yourself instead of seeking outside validation from random strangers. there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be seen for your talents/work/whatever you may contribute…or just being seen to be seen. idk this pile seems to be heavily involved with themselves. you guys know you don’t need anyone. i can’t ignore this tho. you may have a 6th sense. a inner knowing that you may even use to your advantage…

i feel like nothing can really stop you. okay (idk why this feels like the lighter side to pile one…like pile one was your shadow…a bit chaotic.) but this pile…. you guys attract easily whether you know it or not. if you notice ppl always wanting to be near you and in your bubble. you don’t seem to be fazed by that bc you’re so self focused. your guides see that you don’t mind taking the risk. making that big leap towards your next goal. i feel like this is the “nothing can stop me” but nothing really can stop you unless you let it. which i don’t see yall doing that at all. you know what you’re worth, you know how you are as a person in this chaotic world we live in. your guides are seeing you as this peaceful being. you guys may be my homebodies, staying to yourself in the comfort of your own living space. but even though you’re coming off as serene, you still have the drive, the energy within you to keep yourself going. even if you may feel like taking a step back to take a break and refresh! you’re still gonna go get what you want “she know what she wanted and gotta go get it w/o being caught” (that one song lol)

you guys may not be loud or obnoxious with the way you express yourself, but oh baby boo your energy is felt. you touch people, it just reaches others whether it may be in your own personal community or on a grander scale. i feel like your guides really see you as this sweet baby. someone who needs to be protected. your love is genuine. your love hits people in the face. your love is expansive. you guys may be very creative as well, with whatever you do, you create something out of nothing. people may want to give to you, maybe even spoil you without your knowledge. but u guys also come off a little shy even tho your energy is screaming soft vixen vibes lol. your energy is otherworldly. maybe your origins are not of this world, you know how they say when you feel like you don’t belong here on earth, like your souls came from some mystical place far away from this planet. i wanted to say that this is your own palace/kingdom, you have this aura to you that just screams royalty. very elegant pile. i feel like it could also be because you’ve freed yourself from a lot of situations that may have dampened your spirit but you don’t let those past situations screw up your views on your own life. basically not taking in other peoples projections, what they may intentionally or unintentionally send your way (if that makes sense haha) i feel like people just can’t look away from you guys. you’re not meant to be trapped or held down by anything or anyone. setting up boundaries for yourself. and that’s the best thing you can do in a world where it’s so normalized to see people stealing from others (not just physically, taking your energy, draining you. you cut that shit out, so that’s another reason why they see you as feeling more free like a little birdie, your wings have helped you stay afloat, staying sane.) “i am a smart individual” “i am productive” “my body is beautiful and unique as it is” you’re accepting yourself or have been accepting yourself more, regardless of the outside noise. (angel number for you guys 222 - you’re on the right path my love, you’re not doing anything wrong and they fucking love you! the divine supports you, the support you supporting yourself and letting yourself just be..) i told you that u guys reach people, so keep letting that glittery ass light shine from within you and keep expressing yourself in ur own individual way!

i love you guys so much! take care!

𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔢 3333 ── .✦

{ 333 }

⋆˚✿˖° ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ʏᴏᴜ / ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡ ʏᴏᴜ :

this has to do with love, i can just see it clearly right here. it’s either someone in your past, who you’re currently dealing with, or just the energy with love in general. i don’t wanna say this but it doesn’t feel good baby. whoever the fuck this person is to you is really making you guys overthink and stressing yourself out. and your guides can see this, you’re not okay, i feel like this may make you a bit snippy with the way you talk. this person or situation is not healthily feeding you. all it’s doing is making you spiral baby, and you shouldn’t let someone have that much control over you. “what you give is what you get” but what about the person you’re getting from, are they giving anything back to you? bc what i see is just a bunch of emotional conflict, and you guys don’t seem like the type to back away from conflict. but what if that conflict with this person or thing is just draining you instead of your pov-where you’re thinking that you’re reasoning with this individual but it’s just not clicking with them. i feel like your guides know that you know something is up lmao, like yall don’t seem to be oblivious to what’s happening right in front of you. but it’s like you’re gaslighting yourself, these delusions (ugh harsh i’m sorry!!) that’s keeping you in this weird ass pining faze….

i feel like you guys want something new for yourselves, a new lover, a relationship/friendship/companionship where it doesn’t have to feel so forced. as if you’re “working for this persons love” okay first of all, quit it! (ik i can’t control u but just some advice) i feel like yall know it’s time to get up from this and throw this situation/person out the damn window (not literally lmao) i’m giggling in this pile but not bc im making fun, no, i feel like your guides may see it as a bit comical bc even they know that it’s not YOU! whoever the hell this person is, they just need to be left behind, maybe they left you behind and if so i’m sorry love. but your guides want you to free yourself of this, (okay so i always shuffle the cards like a maniac before every pile to clean out the energy and some cards popped but i ignored it but now im like, hmmmm maybe this is that much of a coincidence) i feel like you guys are holding onto dead energy, something that isn’t serving you at all, it’s not doing anything but make you anxious, a war zone within your mind. that’s where they’re like this is a “no no” once you start letting it fuck up your emotional state and it’s detrimental, you have to let it go (easier said than done i know, but take ur time love!). you know it’s right there for you. i feel like your guides just sitting there like “they know what to do” they’re seeing something for you, but you have to see it yourself, believe in it yourself that you’re meant for better relationships, healthier connections. not this wishy washy shit w this weird ass individual/situation/thing. it’s getting to you so much that you’re putting yourself on the sideline but “for what?!” baby why? really ask yourself why. bc i feel like your guides want to cut this shit out of your damn life for you but they can’t…unfortunately no love.

so i just felt like i had to put a disclaimer for pile one about cleansing themselves. and the reason im bringing this up is bc their energy was heavy as fuck and what i received was this…. the stress you’re in at the moment (bc i feel like it’s present) can lead to you being extremely ill physically, like the feeling of nausea, wanting to just barf it all up and i feel like your guides don’t want you going in that route, where it gets that bad, so bad that your stress hurts you. bc it’s not a myth, stress can genuinely have such a heavy effect on our bodies. they want you to feel alright, to feel good.

not this baby…whatever this situation was regarding either your own love towards yourself or another person. your life is not doomed, no one’s is..don’t feed into that shit. it’s okay to pick yourself back up again. idk i just feel like this shit is making yall really vicious with the way you speak, even speaking bad about yourself. this change is necessary, the chaos will not last forever, no….i mean if you choose to acknowledge your pain you know. it’ll take time but we have to look at it, being avoidant will only let this weird feeling fester, and they don’t want that for yall. see i knew that your guides were on it when that energy came though (you knowing, u already know deep in ur heart but u could just be ignoring it or masking it) i barely pulled from my message deck i made and shadow work is just there clear as day…and (i feel thisss hehe) but we have to acknowledge what’s happening inside of us, not brushing it away…

“i am an abundant being living in an abundant universe. there is enough for everyone, i trust that all my needs will be met.” you have to understand that. we do have free will baby, i know divine timing is a big thing too but you also have the will to step up and say “no more” to whatever this was you know. okay so i pulled another card and you don’t even need to scare yourself worrying about the spiritual aspect of it, if you’re heavily into the esoteric stuff or not but i got “let your spirit team handle it” so they see what the fuck is going on. and they have your back 1000000000% if u feel like you’re not protected by the divine well here’s a a confirmation, U ARE PROTECTED, U ARE LOVED. they care about u guys so much, let them take care of the extra bullshit u can’t control. i feel like they’re saying it’s time to embrace your healing journey on your own, no one needs to know the ins and out of your progress, that is YOUR business and no one else’s. a song “fucks w myself” - BANKS

ur team got ur back allll the way, that’s why the chuckles kicked in, they’re like “what is pile 3 worrying for” dude even starting ur reading at 3:33 minutes says a lot! they’re always with u and you guys are being watched over, they love you and i love you. now u need to love you harder okay 🤍

૮��� 𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔢 ꒱ა

kisses xx mwah! mwah! mwah! thank u guys for checking this pac out. it was very very interesting to see what was coming out, i really hope u all take good care of yourselves and remember to just, take it easy boo..

i’m just fuckin around w my layout rn, ignore it if the next one doesn’t match up w this lolololollol!!

[gre3dy]

reassurance    further    proves    claims    that    fester    in    his    mind    ,    possessing    no    doubts    that    male    finally    met    his    match    .    nonchalant    demeanor    surrounding    heinous    acts    ,    the    ability    to    waltz    through    life    so    effortlessly    ,    the    feeling    to    live    without    consequences    .    .    with    a    beautiful    girl    by    his    side    .    through    it    all    .    mirrors    elation    pretty    easily    as    smile    returns    ,    practically    as    wide    as    femme's    ,    ❝    now    we're    talking    ,    baby    ,    ❞    nods    in    complete    agreement    as    he    approaches    ,    complete    satisfaction    displaying    across    his    features    while    momentarily    dipping    down    to    match    height    ,    ❝      they    wouldn't    even    know    what    hit    'em    ,    honestly    .    think    we    could    take    them    all    ?    just    you    and    me    ?    ❞

seems  as  if  for  a  split  second  all  emotions  escapes  her  body  --  only  thing  replaying  in  her  head  was  that  if  she  did  this,  she'd  be  in  his  good  books  .  hand  drops  the  bloody  knife  besides  her  ,  giggles  falling  from  his  praising  --  it  fueling  everything  within  her  ,  was  exactly  what  she  needed  to  go  on  .  "  okay,  baby  --  i  promise  .  .  .  but  i'm  at  an  all  time  high  right  now.  "  perfectly  plumped  glossy  lips  tilts  into  a  wide  smirk  ,  "  what  if  we  go  on  a  killing  spree  ?  terrorize  this  town  together  ?  "

[nemisuki]

𐔌✧.* ᒪOᐯIᑎG YOᑌ .ᐟ ֹ ₊꒱

ೀ⋆ || Growing up as the chubby girl, you didn’t ever think you’d get your prince charming, turns out you were wrong, love truly is unconditional ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

. ♬ ݁˖ || listen along : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★

ᝰ.ᐟ ||  katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff & angst, words of affirmation, happy ending, soft bkg, 2.6k word count •°. *࿐

➤ tw : body image/dysmorphia 

You were never the type of girl to dress up in revealing clothing, much less put on heavier makeup—there was nothing wrong with it by any means—comfortability just played a larger factor in your day to day life.

Or maybe it was your insecurities creating such a habit, the hesitance of being all dolled up in public, a place already filled with beautiful people, that leaves you reluctant to even try, not even attempting to get close to their standards.

As much as people try denying it, spouting empty messages online about 'self-love', it doesn't change the fact that being a chubbier female, in a looks-based society, will always come with it's downsides.

You're treated differently compared to someone who fits societal standards, often blending into the background at group events, as everyone's eyes are on the main stars, the pretty ones that shine so brightly that it leaves the rest of you in their shadows.

Overtime, you've grown used to being on the sidelines, silently watching as people walk up to the leading heroines, striking up conversations in hopes to sweep them off their feet, but never you, because the supporting characters don't get the spotlight... right?

"What damn drink do you want, hah?" the unfamiliar blonde scoffs.

It's your first time meeting him at this party, and even you have to admit, the boy is a little intimidating but incredibly handsome, he's a friend of a friend, no shocker there, after all, pretty people always manage to stick together.

You silently watch as he asks your friend if they wanted something, while the others take the opportunity to shout out different requests.

He rolled his eyes at the numerous yells, yet listened nonetheless, you honestly wondered if he was always like this, grumpy but still clearly caring about his friends.

You didn't say anything, assuming you've blended into the background once more, you wouldn't blame him even if so, that's just how it always is.

He walks away only to return a few minutes later with a handful of caffeinated drinks, begrudgingly handing them out with a frown. Your too busy focusing on random people to notice him approaching, handing a sprite to your friend who's sitting beside you and then—

"Oi," the blonde grumbles, breaking you out of your little daydream and looking over, and much to your surprise, offering you a can of soda, "you didn't say what you wanted so don't complain, yeah?"

His red eyes felt like they were piercing into your own, and you had to stop yourself from staring in disbelief, slowly taking the drink from his hands as you shyly mumbled a little, "thank you."

He grunts and walks back to his seat, not bothering to say anything else, and despite his blunt words, you have to admit that was certainly nice of him, you didn't think he'd even notice...

You crack open the can, taking small sips as your gaze returns back to the surrounding cast of people, your heart feeling a bit lighter compared to a few seconds ago.

Completely oblivious to a certain blonde that's staring at you from afar, who's been noticing you ever since you took a seat, internally wondering why the hell you're so damn quiet, and looking entirely detached from the surrounding conversations.

It's the same the next time he sees you, the same group hanging out at his house, all of the idiots squealing and squirming as they play mario kart — except for you.

You're sitting on the couch beside Katsuki, per usual in a little daydream, fidgeting with the cuff of your hoodie and mindlessly biting the inside of your cheek, feeling a bit hungry after a few hours of non stop gaming.

And he immediately notices, frankly feeling a bit bored himself, so he gets up, grumbling a small "i'll be back" that's only heard by you in the midst of the chaos.

You nod in his direction, assuming he's off to the bathroom, who knows?

The blonde doesn't know why you got him all curious, why his legs are moving over to the damn kitchen, why you have him whipping up an assortment of treats, why he's silently anticipating your reaction when he gets back, it's fucking stupid yet he's here, impatiently waiting for this ramen to cook.

And after a suspicious amount of time away, he finally makes it back, placing a tray of homemade smores and chocolate covered strawberries on the table, to which everyone quickly digs into, offering cheesy bright smiles to his thoughtfulness, making him roll his eyes.

But that wasn't all.

"Here," he huffs, solely offering you a bowl of delicious looking ramen, a sight that has your mouth watering in an instant, the smell of perfectly balanced seasoning soothing your previous hunger.

Your eyes slightly widened, but nonetheless reached out, fingers barely brushing against his, sending a shiver down both of your spines.

The meal honestly looked restaurant worthy, the garnishes on top strategically placed, but you assumed he simply enjoyed being in the kitchen, which he did of course, but today was different.

He would never outright admit it, but he wanted to impress you... just a little.

You smile warmly as he sits beside you, "thank you bakugo..."

The blonde pauses for a moment, studying your happier expression as you took the first bite, your eyes practically lighting up at the taste, humming with awe at the mix of noodles and warm broth, it felt... nice.

"Uwahhh—! It's so good! I've never had anything like it!"

He's visibly taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm, not used to you speaking so hyper, not used to the way you look at him with stars in your eyes... and he liked it.

An odd feeling began forming in his chest, cheeks dusting in a soft pink as he quickly averted his gaze, "y-yeah... it's nothing, i'm damn good at everything!"

You cheerfully take bite after bite, unable to comprehend how he can get such a flavor, unaware to the way he subtly glances at your delighted expression, and the way you nibble away on the noodles, specks of seasoning scattered all across your mouth and puffy cheeks, a sight that has him staring for longer than necessary.

It was cute— wait what—?!

The blonde shakes his head, going back to his usual grumpy self as he takes a bite of his own noodles, scowling as the others begin questioning why you two are the only ones with ramen.

He scrambles for an excuse, sending them a empty glare, "because she's the only one who actually has manners! now eat yur' damn snacks and stop being greedy!"

All of them pout and whine, only making the blonde frown with mild irritation, it's only temporary however, when he hears you giggling beside him, the sound so foreign yet not entirely un-welcomed.

If anything, causing butterflies to form in his stomach, which is where the ramen is supposed to be, not some feeling that's warm and tingly!

And it was at that moment where he realized... that he just might be more intrigued by you then he'd like to admit.

So eventually, after a few weeks pass by, you begin to notice how frequently the blonde lingered around, often suggesting his house for the group hangouts, much to everyone's surprise, all collectively assuming Katsuki has officially gone soft — which he denies constantly with empty threats and insults.

But in reality, he's coming up with any minor excuse to be around you, the girl who's always in a little daydream, silently observing from the sidelines. And at this point, he's desperate for a conversation, purposefully giving you the best snacks or 'accidentally' bumping into you as you exit the bathroom.

Anything for a mere glance or one of those pretty smiles.

He hated this feeling; like his heart was gonna burst whenever you were around, he hated how happy he got when you complimented his cooking, he hated how you didn't talk enough for his liking, and worst of all, he hated how pretty you looked with no makeup and mere lounge wear, he hated it all... because no one should be allowed to be that damn pretty.

So when he takes notice of you stepping outside for a moment, likely for some fresh air, leaning against the railing of his balcony while the others play video games, he subtly follows close behind, casually draping his zip-up hoodie over your shoulders as you shiver at a particularly cold breeze.

You look at him with a shy smile, "thanks," it's odd, these little actions of his... you didn't want to give yourself false hope but, could you really consider this a mere friendly gesture?

You would be lying if you said that he didn't make your heart race, recently taking notice of his stares, noticing how he acted more protective over you then the rest, despite knowing you for the least amount of time, he was always watching.

Always gentle.

Always.

He nods, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing at the close proximity—along with the sight of you in his clothes—he attempts to play it cool, looking up at the night sky, "you're... always so quiet, why is that, huh?"

It's a question he's had for a while now, and after admiring you from afar, he's taken notice of some odd habits you've had, like at times, it looks like you have stuff to say, but never really act on it.

And it irks him to no end — the deprivation of your voice.

You're visibly taken aback for a moment, wondering what to say as you cling onto his hoodie, the smell of mint and cologne easing any bubbling nerves; maybe that's why you answer him, feeling a sense of peace whenever he's around, because Katsuki Bakugo is a kind human being, despite all the blunt words and phrases.

"I guess I got used to it... most people just talk to my friends, you know? I kinda just fade in the background."

His brows furrow, looking back at you with contemplation, "just cause yur' a little introverted?"

You shake your head, gaze falling upon some fireflies that float around you two, "well— maybe a little but... people just talk to you more.. when you're pretty..."

He freezes, clearly not at all expecting such a deep answer, the dots suddenly connecting as he recalls every moment he noticed something strange; you didn't see yourself the way he did.

And it hurts more than he'd like to admit.

Katsuki moves without thinking, grabbing a hold of your arm to spin you around, forcing you to meet his determined gaze. He can hear the way your breath hitches, see the way your eyes widen, and feel the way you tense under his touch.

"Bakugo what—" you begin but quickly shut up. his fierce gaze is unyielding, firm and unbelievably sincere, that it leaves you beyond speechless.

"I don't know what the fuck people have told you in the past, and I don't give a damn what others say, but your appearance doesn't dictate if you're a good fucking human being!" he huffs out loud, absolutely furious, not towards you, never towards you, but to whatever bastards printed that stupid assumption into your brain — that you weren't enough.

The honesty in his voice has your eyes watering before you know it, has you biting your inner cheek to hold back tears, years of built of insecurities and pain threatening to overflow the more he speaks.

His heart lurches at the way your eyes grow glossy in the moonlight, your fingernails digging into your palm in hopes the pain will overcome the feeling of sorrow.

He's angry, angry at himself for not noticing sooner, angry at the world for damaging such a gentle soul—who's done absolutely no wrong—angry at everyone who muttered a single insult on your name, just because you don't fit into society's idiotic standards.

But he doesn't stop speaking, doesn't even flinch, because he refuses for you to continue believing such lies, not anymore, not when—

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known, inside and out, and I fucking hate that you aren't even aware of it. It pisses me off that some extras made you think otherwise, because if it were up to me...." he gently cups your cheek, wiping away at a single stray tear, crimson eyes softening at the sight of your trembling lips.

"You'd be the standard to all things beautiful in this world."

Your unable to remember the last time you've cried so hard, maybe it was the first time you looked in the mirror, noticing the physical differences between you and the other kids—the extra skin on your stomach and cheeks—recalling the teasing at school from such a young age that made you cry on the playground.

And now you're weeping in the arms of Bakugo Katsuki, whose soothingly rubbing circles across your back, going against every idea you've heard growing up — showing you that love truly can be unconditional.

You fully sink into his chest as he cages you in, protectively holding you in a warm embrace, sheltering you from all things bad in this world, allowing you a moment of peace as you sob into his hug.

It felt like a dream, someone heard you, someone noticed, and someone cared, all in a single human being.

"...i-im sorry, i—" you sniffle, unable to finish.

He shakes his head, giving your waist a little squeeze, reassuring you with gentle touches, "don't be, idiot... it's not your fault that others don't know how to love you..."

Another sniffle, "if only I met you sooner..." you cling to him, the little girl from your childhood coming out in full force, bawling your eyes out in front of a boy who's already healing every invisible scar, pain that he didn't cause, but something he'd certainly cure with a matter of time.

If you'd let him.

"it... r-really doesn't bother you...? there are prettier girls out there... thinner... more outgoing...."

He tightens his hold on you, already giving you his answer with a single squeeze, the air around you both seemingly lighter, much like your heart, and you're scared to let go, scared that this feeling of happiness is merely temporary.

Because people like you don't get happy endings... right?

"Tch, looks or weight don't matter to me, i didn't... i didn't fall in love with you because of that dumbass..."

Your eyes widened at his words, swallowing another cry that threatened to escape your mouth, you just couldn't believe it.

He seems to notice and slightly pulls back, cupping your cheeks into his larger palms, crimson eyes piercing back into your glossy ones, "I like you. Not because you're pretty, not because you're smart but because you make me feel alive."

Katsuki leans closer, voice toning down into a soft whisper, tenderly cradling your face as he presses a variety of gentle kisses on your face.

"I," one on your temple, "Like," one one your nose, "You," and finally... one on your—

His gaze interlocks with yours, holding a silent message behind those stunning red orbs, you sniffle, smiling softly to your next words, slowly leaning in to close the distance, "I like you too..."

Both of your eyes flutter close at the sensation, breaths mingling together, lips moving against one another in a soft exchange, motivated by nothing less than pure devotion and affection.

It's tender and warm, just how you've imagined, if not more.

He's slowly pulling away after a moment, wiping away at the tears that linger against your skin, keeping you close with a rare soft smile, clearly not planning to let go any time soon.

Not until you understand just how beautiful you are, no matter how many years it'll take, but it's okay, you just need a reminder — he'll always remind you.

"Plus... the more skin, the more there is too love."

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| hi my beautiful flowers! wow this one was kinda intense but i hope u all enjoyed it, i hope my writing could uplift some of you who suffer with body image and self-love, as i myself struggle with these thoughts too, i love u all, ur all beautiful and be kinder to yourself today hehe... now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ tags ||| @leleyro @skylermiller1 @aikojwhpa @zaiban2989 @qyuin @sunnyalmighty (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

[gre3dy]

𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ closed ͏ ͏ ͏͏ for ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ @stillsmine 𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ based ͏ ͏ ͏͏ on ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ last ͏ ͏ ͏͏ bullet

❝    whatever    you    saw    –    think    you    saw    ,    you    didn’t    ,    alright    ?    ❞    voice    is    slightly    shaky    despite    attempts    to    remain    strong    ,    though    hates    that    the    other    possesses    the    ultimate    upper    hand    in    the    situation    .    willing    to    put    pride    aside    as    he’s    practically    begging    for    secret    to    contain    itself    for    entirety    of    their    lives    ,    crossing    fingers    in    the    hopes    that    the    other    would    agree    to    such    terms    .    ❝    i’ll    do    whatever    .    .    literally    anything    if    you    promise    to    keep    that    between    us    .    that’s    on    my    whole    life    ,    i’m    yours    .    ❞ 

[gre3dy]

𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ closed ͏ ͏ ͏͏ for ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ @viruleants 𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ continued ͏ ͏ ͏͏ from ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ linked ͏ ͏ ͏͏ here

❝    tonight    ,    i    got    you    .    ❞    suggestive    comment    flows    easily    off    his    lips    and    into    the    surrounding    atmosphere    while    mind    processes    ,    just    thankful    that    he    could    be    within    her    presence    until    then    .    seconds    spent    intertwined    were    moments    that    had    to    be    savored    if    this    was    the    alleged    last    time    to    share    such    close    quarters    ,    a    concept    that    brooks    still    hasn't    completely    wrapped    his    mind    around    just    yet    .    actually    pains    core    to    take    in    such    beauty    knowing    the    circumstances    that    were    around    their    last    intimate    moment    ,    nothing    brooks    could    say    or    do      to    undo    such    decision    ──    and    trust    him    ,    he's    thought    of    everything    .    ❝    i    mean    ,    completely    going    ghost    wasn't    the    vision    that    i    had    but    i    promised    you    that    ,    ❞    seeks    best    to    comply    with    the    terms    offered    by    femme    to    avoid    any    further    complication    ,    as    previously    experienced    ,    a    need    to    keep    connection    as    healthy    as    possible    before    eventual    demise    .    keeps    a    calm    attitude    despite    the    wave    of    momentarily    sadness    that    sweeps    over    him    ,    mirroring    sentiments    as    blonde's    mind    was    apparently    made    up . maybe    he    should    follow    suit    after    all    .    ❝    so    yeah    .    fucking    without    feelings    .    ❞    on    one    hand    ,    feels    foolish    to    continue    avoiding    lingering    emotions    though    knew    it    was    probably    for    the    best    .    with    femme    keeping    emotions    under    lock    and    key    ,    ultimately    best    for    male    to    match    actions    ,    sparing    any    further    complications    between    them    .    it    was    already    hard    enough    to    harp    on    one    more    classic    memory    ,    imagine    divulging    into    the    deepest    and    darkest    parts    of    his    heart    .    ❝    ──    sure    that's    what    you    want    though    ?    ❞

[gre3dy]

despite    previous    attempts    to    conceal    emotions    and    remain    calm    externally    ,    is    sure    that    the    horrors    of    the    possibilities    roam    across    his    features    in    a    negative    manner    .    promises    himself    not    to    have    any    ill    -    will    toward    the    other    ,    however    ,    appreciating    the    honesty    as    it's    not    as    aspect    of    communication    that    he    experiences    often    from    previous    partners    .    can    breath    easily    as    secret    is    now    out    in    the    open    ,    evident    by    the    sigh    of    relief    that    escapes    from    between    omar’s    lips    .    sinks    in    his    seat    ,    no    choice    but    to    be    acceptive    of    the    plans    if    it    meant    progressing    entirety    of    their    connection    .    ❝    oh    .    that    ──    yeah    ,    makes    sense    .    it's    not    that    i'd    feel    suffocated    or    anything    but    i    guess    it's    all    about    balance    .    just    ,    you    know    ,    don't    be    a    stranger    .    ❞    words    possess    a    semi    -    joking    ,    playful    tone    to    them    once    they    leave    male's    mouth    ,    still    desperate    to    take    a    hold    of    his    emotions    .    this    [    .    .    .    ]    was    this    supposed    to    feel    so    weird    ?

philippe's beating around the bush because he doesn't want feelings to be hurt , nor does he want omar to think that he's the problem when he isn't , it's all philippe's fault . purely because he doesn't know how to express how he feels without thinking that he's going to harm the other person or their feelings . as his eyes glance over at omar , he chews on his lower lip , contemplating the words that he actually wants to say - without feeling guilty about it . sucking in a breath , philppe prepares for the worst . " i don't know how to say it without sparing your feelings , " he lets out , honest as ever with his heart on his sleeve for a second - secretly begging for omar to have an open mind while he speaks . " i think .. i should move out . there's a floor on our building with a new & empty apartment , it'd be easier for us to navigate our relationship if .. we were .. in different places , but still seeing each other from time to time . "

[gre3dy]

𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ closed ͏ ͏ ͏͏ for ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ @viruleants 𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ˚ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ continued ͏ ͏ ͏͏ from ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ₊ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ linked ͏ ͏ ͏͏ here

tingling    sensation    easily    turns    into    a    pressure    that    cannot    be    controlled    ,    climbing    into    her    throat    and    up    her    sinuses    .    there’s    every    desire    to    halt    oncoming    tears    or    else    they’d    be    thrown    back    in    her    face    ,    she’s    almost    sure    of    it    ,    though    cannot    bear    to    handle    the    onslaught    of    words    any    longer    .    ❝    because    finch    !    you    walk    around    all    tough    and    mighty    but    reality    is    ,    no    one    can    handle    this    world    alone    .    i    don’t    want    that    for    you    .    so    yes    ,    it’s    not    always    easy    for    me    but    i    put    up    with    it    to    make    sure    you’re    safe    .    ❞    is    sure    to    match    intensity    to    prove    to    counterpart    how    sincere    and    serious    the    situation    was    ,    how    she’d    drop    everything    to    ensure    his    safety    despite    lack    of    physical    or    mental    prowess    .    he    was    worth    it    .    understands    the    mentality    behind    his    reasonings    ,    sure    ,    but    would    never    flat    out    question    intentions    or    loyalty    .    shatters    her    heart    to    think    she's    replaceable    in    his    eyes    ,    expendable    even    ,    but    knew    she    was    in    no    position    to    just    give    up    on    him    .    anticipation    builds    as    eyes    meet    after    precious    words    slip    ,    seeing    the    obvious    effect    they    possess    yet    still    doesn’t    necessarily    regret    speaking    such    words    of    affection    .    hopefully    it    aided    in    carving    away    at    the    ice    that    surrounds    his    heart    .    ❝    of    course    i    have    love    for    you    .    we’re    best    friends    .    .    i    mean    ,    are    we    ?    are    we    anything    ?    the    way    you’re    talking    to    me    ──    you    can’t    even    look    at    me    without    being    disgusted    .    ❞    feels    silly    still    remaining    within    sights    regardless    of    pleas    and    orders    to    show    face    elsewhere    .    stands    her    ground    although    there’s    still    a    strong    desire    to    crack    ,  wiping    away    the    occasional    stream    of    tears    .    ❝    i’m    not    leaving    ,    i    need    a    better    reason    than    that    .    despite    what    you    think    of    me    ,    finch    ,    i’m    not    like    everyone    else    .    ❞

[stoceanette]

⋆˙⟡ STOCEANETTES’S INFO PAGE

(wip, links will be attached shortly!!)

𝜗𝜚 anette — she/her — cod writing blog ˎˊ˗ ⟡ ݁₊ .

✦ newest upload(s):: same time tomorrow ; ghoap.

check out #anniethoughttalks for extra content!!

𐔌 YES’S AND NO’S .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ 𐔌 WIP’S .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

𐔌 MASTERLIST .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ 𓆉 ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ꒷꒦༉‧₊˚.

hihi, I just thought I’d share some general information here!!

my blog is pronounced; “saint oce-anette.” but whatever works for you is alright!! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

there may be some dark or taboo content here eventually, so please look out for that!! If you don’t like it— that’s completely fine, but please keep in mind that other people do.

if you’d like to be tagged in any of my posts as a mutual— and or would like to reach out about being mutuals— please don’t hesitate to ask!! ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

anyone who’d like to share their ideas, commentary, questions— may absolutely do so, I’m free game when it comes to ‘asks’. and anon’s are more than welcome. but please be kind when sending things, nobody likes negativity!! (╥‸╥)

©stoceanette, please do not copy/blatantly steal/translate, or use my work without my knowledge or permission. many hours/minutes go into my writing pieces. even the small blurbs. I do, however, accept homages like; artwork based off of pieces, and my hcs used for describing characters!! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) please tag me in such, I’m always happy to see things like that being done <3

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃༄ 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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please check out their amazing work <3

♡ ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ tysm for every interaction!!

[gre3dy]

admission    makes    itself    known    ,    causing    eyes    to    roll    halfway    across    the    room    before    returning    to    opposition    .     ❝    .    .     you’re    insane    ,    do    you    know    that    ?    ❞    surveys    the    male    beside    her    as    hues    run    up    and    down    his    build    ,    a    wicked    sense    of    annoyance    and    equal    parts    infatuation    still    coursing    within    her    .     ❝    since    you    care    oh    -    so    much    ,    i    haven’t    seen    you    bending    over    backwards    to    make    sure    i’m    safe    .     and    this    ,    your    lies    ,    doesn’t    count    .    ❞

"   looking   out   for   you   is   being   jealous   now   ?   well   shit   ,   sweetheart   ,   i   won't   let   it   happen   again   .   "   masters   the   gift   of   lying   ,   garnishing   it   with   a   smirk   as   he   motions   in   the   vague   direction   of   man   in   question   .   "   nah   ,   but   i   know   his   type   .   can   smell   him   from   here   .   you   want   to   leave   with   him   and   catch   yourself   a   mean   case   of   syphilis   ?   go   ahead   .   don't   say   i   didn't   warn   you   .   "

[ghxstchronicals]

⠀⠀ ꒰ 𝙰 𝚍 𝚎 𝚕 𝚒 𝚎 𝚗 𝚅 𝚘 𝚛 𝚍 𝚎 𝚒 𝚐 𝚑 𝚊 ꒱

᧔┊???┊she / her┊cis-fem┊german┊᧓

᧔┊DOB ; 03 / 22 / ??┊SPEC ; goddess; the sun, in all her glory┊the spotlight is all i've ever known. so once it was pulled from my grasp, I found myself lost. useless. I was without purpose. and it drove me into unregretful insanity.┊᧓

᧔┊N ‹𝟹┊unlabeled┊married┊᧓

‎‿͞‿͞‿͞‿͞‿͞ ୨୧ ‿͞‿͞‿͞‿͞‿͞ 𐔌 ᵔ ܸ . .ᵔ ꣓ a diva's always center stage .ᐟ ꒱ ♡

[roweshiftss]

𐔌  . ROCKSTAR DR 𓂃 ᵎᵎ

kira kivalo. she/her. twenty two. 📍los angeles, usa.

୨ৎ ― kira kivalo was born october 8, 1992. she's a singer/songwriter known under the name "ARABELLA." she was a music lover her entire life, and picked up guitar at age eight. when she turned 13, she started playing electric guitar, and 2 years later she'd written several songs. she started by posting some songs online.

୨ৎ ― a record company saw her potential in 2009, she released her first studio album, self titled "ARABELLA." this album blew up, throwing her into the spotlight at just seventeen years old. now, in 2014, kira is twenty two and lives as a well-known rockstar. kira released her sophomore album in december of 2013, "clownhouse." now, march of 2014, she is kicking off her international tour.

ⓘ ― in this reality, the band "the arctic monkeys" doesn't exist. all songs/albums i mention written by me are written by them, but in this reality they are written by me. i changed up the names, but the two albums i release are basically am and favorite worst nightmare.

[gre3dy]

                         there’s    desperate    attempts    to    conceal    laughter    as    they    escape    from    close    quarters    ,    hand    -    in    -    hand    ,    moment    of    freedom    sweeping    over    daniela    as    if    it    were    only    them    two    on    the    entire    planet    .    couldn’t    necessarily    see    herself    devoting    entirety    of    her    being    to    this    connection    with    looming    aspirations    and    familial    pressures    but    god    ,    she    was    constantly    tempted    and    tormented    by    desired    thoughts    .    remains    the    same    as    reality    consumes    her    once    more    ,    familiarity    over    her    surroundings    ,    feeling    chest    grow    hot    as    scenarios    play    in    her    mind    while    kiss    unfolds    .    isn’t    long    until    words    process    ,    causing    laughter    to    return    while    she    fights    to    regain    a    momentary    breath    .    should’ve    known    vulgar    advances    would    continue    to    leave    male’s    lips    despite    constant    prompts    to    retire    ,    however    ,    this    time    possessing    an    entirely    new    form    of    excitement    behind    it    .    merely    impossible    to    resist    temptation    as    it’s    this    handsome    ,    this    mesmerizing    ,    this    [    .    .    .    ]    rarity    of    a    flame    .    ❝    won’t    be    the    first    or    last    time    i’ll    be    on    my    knees    today    .    just    ,    promise    not    too    quick    and    i’ll    try    to    be    quiet    .    ❞ 

                         lingering    eyes    and    hushed    disapproval    from    surrounding    worshipers    doesn't    do    a    damn    thing    to    dissuade    him    from    debauchery    .    adds    fuel    to    the    fire    if    anything    else    .    hunger    that    feeds    itself    into    her    gaze    ignites    an    arousal    within    him,    desperate    to    get    her    out    of    clergy    and    out    of    her    clothes,    spread    out    and    just    taking    him    .    “    done    .    done,    done    and    done    .    ”    last    one    is    anointed    with    the    sharp    nip    to    femme's    pulse    point    and    is    quickly    soothed    with    a    heavy    swipe    of    his    tongue    .    uncaring    of    whoever    might    see    .    “    fuck    ━━    yeah,    for    the    fish's    sake    .    .    .    ”    response    comes    out    hoarse    as    he    offers    a    hand    to    take    as    they    stand    and    make    their    getaway,    tucking    her    smaller    frame    against    his    broader    one    .    he's    been    to    the    church    enough    times    to    know    its    layout    .    which    is    why    he    shoulders    through    entrance    of    pastor's    office    instead    of    trying    to    make    it    to    the    car    .    and    no    sooner    does    door    slam    shut    does    he    have    her    cornered,    lips    crushing    themselves    into    her    plump    ones    .    greedy    hands    grasping    and    groping    everywhere    they    touch    .    “    lemme    fuck    you    in    your    daddy's    office    ?    show    you    that    god    ain't    the    one    you    should    be    worshiping    .    ”

[gre3dy]

there's    amusement    in    excuse    presented    as    she    can    see    right    through    ploy    ,    though    only    aids    her    desire    to    get    to    the    truth    .    and    quickly    .    scoff    leaves    from    between    her    lips    as    she    chimes    in    ,    ready    and    the    utmost    willing    to    set    the    record    straight    with    all    parties    involved    .    ❝    and    he's    grown    enough    to    accept    it    and    move    on    .    .    well    ,    no    ,    this    is    the    same    guy    who    still    does    the    puzzles    on    the    back    of    cereal    boxes    .    your    friend    ,    by    the    way    ,    ❞    wouldn't    be    herself    if    the    backhanded    maliciousness    wasn't    evident    in    her    words    to    spite    the    older    male    ,    doubling    back    on    prior    point    while    attention    places    itself    back    on    asher    .    ❝    so    ,    point    stands    ,    you    have    nothing    to    worry    about    .    now    ,    what's    really    holding    you    back    ?    ❞    consider    curiosity    piqued    as    sly    attempt    to    seduce    the    other    quickly    takes    center    stage    ,    approaching    him    with    no    signs    of    backing    down    either    ,    ❝    am    i    just    too    much    for    you    ?    ❞

'   empty   threats   ?   '   male   questions   as   brow   raises   in   intrigue,   knew   fem's   brother   wasn't   much   of   a   fighter   ––––  not   in   asher's   opinion   anyway,   but   homme   also   knew   the   feeling   that   crept   upon   an   older   brother   after   learning   that   his   younger   sibling   was   interested   in   dating.   '   you're   under   estimating   your   brother,   dani.   you   might   think   he's   an   idiot   but   he's   gonna   be   pissed   as   fuck   if   we   do   this.   i   mean,   he   knew   me   in   college;   i   wasn't   exactly   the   romeo   type   ––––  not   that   i   would   ever   fuck   around   on   you   anyway,   but   still.   he's   gonna   see   me   as   the   dude   i   was   back   then.   '

[gre3dy]

                   ❝    some    stuff    that    was    so    important    that    you    couldn't    just    say    over    the    phone    .    .    totally    harmless    ,    right    .    let's    just    go    cause    it's    sounding    like    i    got    all    dressed    up    for    nothing    .    so    what's    on    your    mind    ,    hmm    ?    ❞

open to : mascs .

                   “      well     ,      i      didn't      call      you      here      to      get      back      together      or      anything      ...      there's     just      some      stuff      i      need      to     talk      to      you     about     ,      so     .      ”