#pascale leclerc

[adventuringblind]

Defensive Maneuvers

Max Verstappen x Leclerc!reader

Genre: fluffy with a pinch of angst

Request: yes! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Requests are open for Max, Charles, Oscar, and lando. Don't hesitate to send me ideas!

Summary: The normally soft-spoken leclerc sister becomes the out spoken girl her family knows. What triggers this change? Max Verstappen and his ridiculous father.

Warnings: Jos being Jos, mentions of verbal abuse, mention of physical abuse if you squint, *best Daniel Riccardo voice* nooooot prooooofreaaaad

Notes: written in third person . I am neither the youngest nor have brothers, so I tried my best to get an accurate relationship depiction. Ironically, I'm the oldest with sisters.

Masterlist

The Leclerc sister is known by her brothers as the baby of the family. Even Arthur, who is only older by mere minutes, holds it over her head that she is the youngest.

The constant teasing from her siblings made her learn how to use her quick wit. Verbal comebacks becoming her specialty at a young age. Because of her ability to be polite in public, no one suspects what she is truly capable of.

Her brothers tease her regardless but she lets them. Her sharp tongue making them regret not holding theirs.

Pierre had made this mistake once. Mainly under the influence of Charles convincing him to say something at her expense. The verbal lashing he received in response had him apologizing profusely. Charles doubling over in laughter as her practically lectured his friend. Needless to say, Pierre has yet to make this mistake again.

Charles was by far her favorite sibling. Lorenzo had a habit of bossing her around and Arthur shared a room with her. She loved all her brothers, but felt the most connected to Charles. She followed him around like a lost puppy some days. Ready to cheer him on at every Karting race.

This was where she first encountered Max.

After the race, she went to go congratulate Charles for a race well done. He was third but all the Leclerc’s were proud nonetheless. On the way over to him, she saw Max. He was at majority of the races Charles was at. The two had never talked formally, but they were aware of the others existence.

Something about the situation she was witnessing didn’t felt right. Max was standing with his dad, his knuckles turning white from gripping his second place trophy so tightly.

As she walked by, she almost fell over at hearing how his father was treating him. The slander leaving his mouth over his son placing second almost made her tear up. She was only nine at the time, but even she knew whatever was happening was wrong.

So she steeled herself, took a deep breath, and entered into the conversation. She walked up and tapped Max’s shoulder. He jumped at the feeling, not having seen you coming.

“Hello Max, Charles is busy with family but wanted to congratulate you.” She smiled warmly at the Dutch boy. Obviously taken off guard.

Jos turned to her, also not knowing how to handle this. “Not much to congratulate,” he sneered. The young Leclerc narrows her eyes at him. Not realizing how brash the older man is.

“What do you mean, Mr. Verstappen? There is plenty to congratulate.” She questions back, her tone mildly snarky. Obviously having no intention of backing down. The older man didn’t even bothering responding to her. He turns on his heels and walks away. Yelling back to Max “I’ll be in the car.”

Max looks between the girl who he’d never spoken too and his father. Unsure of what he should do in this situation. Thankfully the girl notices this. “Sorry for stepping in. He sounded unreasonably upset.” She apologized with a huff.

“Thanks actually- for what you did.” Max stutters out. No one had ever taken the time to defend him.it was an unusual feeling. He knows he can’t stay long though. “I should go. I’ll see you around- I guess.” Then he runs off. Waving as he goes.

She had told her mother about it. The older woman explaining what was probably happening at home. It made her sad for the Dutch boy. Having to hear that it happens more often then just races.

This was only the first encounter with Max. The Leclerc sister made it a point to find Max after every race and praise for a job well done. Much to his fathers dismay. She knew she couldn’t stop what was happening, but maybe her words would help ease some of the hurt.

The girls mother occasionally helped out with her quest. Walking with her daughter to find the Dutch and congratulate him.

It became a routine. One that Max was starting to enjoy. The seeking out now being reciprocated. The two even finding time to converse about things aside from racing.

Max’s father had started to become increasingly more annoyed at this fact. Pulling Max away from you. Spitting vulgar words at a child that wasn’t even his own.

Pascals had made a note that if she was directly insulting to Mr. Verstappen, it might make things harder for Max. She still made her snarky remarks and threw insults at the older man, but only loud enough to make Max chuckle.

Her brothers eventually caught on. Charles and Arthur saying nice things to Max in passing. Charles was more strained, but was trying nonetheless.

The brothers began teasing her relentlessly as they grew up. Her fondness for Max only growing. Her quick tongue seemed to falter when they brought up Max. She held a soft spot for him, as he did for her.

When Max and Charles were in formula 2, she was incredibly proud of both of them. She divided her time equally between the two boys. Still always making sure to sing Max’s praises loud enough for everyone to hear.

Originally she though Max’s father would cool down and maybe start to see how talented he is, but she was mistaken. The older man somehow seemed to get more competitive.

It was increasingly easier to talk to each other now since the two both have phones. She comforted over video calls as he ranted about something stupid his father said to him. He listens to her talk about her fathers battle with illness. The two became inseparable. Being the reason for each others smiles on most occasions.

Then formula 1 came. Charles driving for Ferrari and Max for Redbull. The youngest Leclerc baskets in both boy finally making it. Years of hard work paying off.

Max no longer lived at home. Having moved to an apartment in Monaco. This meaning the two could spend more time together. The, now young woman, takes pride in that fact she convinced him to move closer to her.

She’d become more outspoken recently. Opening defending both her brothers and Max. Most people knew not to say anything if she was within earshot.

The year is now 2021 and Max and Lewis are both fighting hard for the championship title. Max was visible upset at the end the race. Second place wasn’t enough if Lewis is going to keep winning.

The young woman immediately trying to find him after the podium celebration. She had seen the look in his fathers eyes and is now frantically trying to beat him to Max. Charles and Arthur found her in a frenzy. Confused because she is usually calm, her sarcastic remarks and opinions given so level that you’d think it was rehearsed.

“I need to find Max.” She explained, panting from running around the paddock. They decided three sets of eyes would be better then one and split off in different direction.

She was so caught up in her search for Max that she hadn’t noticed her phone buzzing in her pocket.

A text from Charles reading: In the back of the Redbull garage. It doesn’t look good.

She took off running spotting snarled waiting for her outside. She could hear the commotion from Jos.

“I was going to try and break it up but they won’t let me in.” Charles gestures to the wall of Redbull engineers. She however, wasn’t going to let them stop her from getting to Max. She shoved her way through with determination and surprising strength. Immediately settling herself between the two Dutch men.

Jos had turned his anger towards her now. His finger getting dangerously close to her face. “You are part of the problem.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “The only problem currently is you.”

“My son has been distracted because of you. His hopes for a title this year not getting any better because of you.” He spits. She can feel his breath on her face.

“Personally, I think Max is a good racer because he wants to be. Not because of you or me helping or distracting.” She lets a smirk form on her lips. “Your just angry because your finally running out of things to berate him about. Hard to be angry when Max is better then you.”

Jos’ face had turned red. She could feel Max’s anxiety increasing from behind her.

Then everything happened in slow motion. She hadn’t noticed Jos’ hand raised above her. Charles moved faster then anyone. Shoving Jos to the side, his hand not getting to connect with anything but the nearest wall.

He was raging now. Thrashing like a child who didn’t get their way. Pierre and Charles who had somehow managed their way inside kept a firm grip on him as Christian ran to get security.

The Youngest Leclerc. The one who spent her days defending Max in secret, keeping the haters at bay never letting Max go a day without know he is loved. Finally she turned around and stared deeply into his eyes. Blue irises glasses over from tears he’d been holding back.

She embraces him warmly. His face buried into the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” She apologized softly.

Max pulled away and gives her a confused look. “On the contrary, I think you were right on time.”

Security had come and grabbed Jos to escort him out of the paddock. Charles and Pierre now finding then tension between the two heating up. The two boys giggling. “I swear if you two don’t kiss or something I will no play nice with Max.” Charles laughed.

She didn’t care about the teasing. Just taking time to comfort Max. The two still conjoined in a loose hold.

Max leans his forehead against hers. “You know I’ve loved you for awhile right?” He smiles.

“You would be stupid to not.” She remarks. Max shaking his head at the remark. “But I have to agree with Charles on this one.”

Max doesn’t hesitate any longer. Placing his lips on hers. Pulling her as close to him as he can. He then pulls away, his lips still close to hers and voice barely a whisper.

“Thank you, for protecting me all these years.”

[natailiatulls07]

could i request some leclerc!reader and so comfort with charles please

It's okay

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - In order to find her way in life, Y/n Leclerc runs away in the dead of night only leaving a note

Warning - neglection, running away

-

Growing up with three older brothers and two of such competing in karting competions, life was hard for Y/n Leclerc. Pascale and Hervé invested lots of their money and energy into Arthur and Charles.

When she was seven, Y/n's interest in ballet started. The young girl had her heart set on being a professional ballerina. So thats what she did. Y/n convince Pascale to enrol her in ballet class.

From then on, she became more and more talented. Quickly becoming the top of class. Yet when recitals came round and she was the lead, the only person who came to watch was Lorenzo.

The rest of the family were out at karting competitions cheering on Charles and Arthur. Yes they would apolgise to Y/n for their absence but to her it never really felt quite right.

-

Y/n was 14 years old, life got harder. Karting turned to formula 2 and E. Lorenzo now building his own life, he moved out of the house.

And the worst of all, Hervé Leclerc passed away. This meant attention was limited, Pascale was busy. She had her salon to run, she was running around supporting the two boys racing and she was mourning the lose of her partner.

As much as he wanted to support Y/n during her recitals, Lorenzos life became busier and he could no longer come along each recital. She felt as though no one her family could see her or her talent.

So what did she do? Y/n collected enough money to enrol herself into a ballet academy. In the dead of night she packed just enough and left without a sound. Of course she couldn't leave without leaving a note, she loved her family.

Dear Maman, Charlie and Arthur, I love you all dearly, please don't worry about me. I will be gone for a while, Lo Lo knows where I will be but please do not pester him. Thank you for everything and more Love from your dearest daughter, Y/n xx

-

Y/n Leclerc was a sensation, one of the best of her age. She was a household name, even if you weren't that well educated on ballet you knew who this elegant women was.

However, it was rare for the ballerina to speak publicily, Espercially as many would ask of her surname and family relations. And it wasn't hard to understand why.

"So Y/n please tell me, any relation to formula one driver Charles Leclerc?"

"No comment, thank you"

Charles, Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo watched on, following her social media through burner accounts not wanting to make this harder for Y/n.

They could see how she spent most of her time dancing, spending time to herself or getting cocktails with friends she made along the way.

~

yourusername

Week in my life...

Spending time alone, you must prioritize self care

Fruit cocktails with friends, the key to my heart

Looking after the minis, they're the cutest little things

Lounging on my sofa after a long day of rehearsals, it is tiring!

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comments are limited

username Gorg gorg girlie

cl_2648749 <3

username I so wanna be her friend omfggg

~

But she wasn't stupid, Y/n knew who those burner accounts were. Every single post, the burner accounts were there front and center. She felt their eyes on her, it was silly really but she constantly felt like they were watching her.

However, Y/n felt warm with that in mind. Like they were finally noticing her for the first time. No longer was she fighting for the attension with her two older brothers. But was it just online? If she were to go back, would it go back to how it was before.

Plus she had built up a life on ballet. Y/n made a family with her friends. Everyone knew her, fuck she is a household name hiding her Leclerc identity from the world, even herself.

-

"I think it's a good idea! It's been long overdue in my opinion"

"No. We need to work to her choices, not make her uncomfortable."

"Okay when?!" Charles throws his arms in the air with frustration. He was pacing in front of the television; Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo all sat on the sofa watching him.

The topic of Y/n came up in passing by Arthur and it became much more. Charles was fighting, he was desperate to get his dear little sister back home. However Lorenzo, knowing how Y/n felt about everything, was fighting back and trying to prioritize her feelings.

The constant pacing stopped abruptly, and Charles turned to look at Lorenzo with a harsh glare. "Why do you want to so desperately work to her choices? Are you in contact with her?" You could hear a penny drop.

Eyes snapped over to the oldest boy, all confused and harsh. Lorenzo sunk into himself. "I um..." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Yeah um so I kept contact with her yes"

"Is she okay?" The first question Pascale asked. Years of guilt plagued her mind, she neglected her own daughter and she was now paying the price for that.

Lorenzo nodded. "Yes, she's okay...Y/n she um built up a family through her friends and as you know she is doing well for herself..." A small proud smile morphed onto his face, he was proud of her for doing this for herself.

"Does she hate us for what we did?"

He breathed in and out. "No, she doesn't hate any of us...she understands completely..." That did ease some guilt for the other three, it would of killed them to know that she hated them, her own family.

There was silence for a couple of minutes whilst they all fell into their own thoughts. And then Pascale spoke up again. "Can you at least text her or call her whatever...talk to her, please tell her that we love her and that we want to see her again...we're so so proud and sorry"

Arthur and Charles both nodded in agreement. "I'll see what I can do..." Lorenzo promised.

-

It seemed that the next time they would see Y/n would come round much soon than expected. It wasn't planned, totally sporadic.

Charles was in the kitchen, in Lorenzos apartment. He was scrolling through his phone when there was a ring coming from Lorenzos phone. "Lorenzo! Your phone, it's ring!" Looking over the driver read the name.

Y/n

He knew it was wrong to answer the call, but it felt right like this would do something so he did. Charles picked up the phone and answer.

Before he could speak the voice he missed so dear filled his ear, yet it was panicked and he could hear uneven breathing.

"Lo I'm sorry please, I came back to Monte C but uh um the paps they um oh my god I can't breathe they keep following me! Please please I don't- I don't know where to go!" He missed her voice, granted it for much more mature and wiser now, he still missed it.

Though he was entranced by the situation, now very concerned. "It's okay, it's okay" His mind was on speed mode, much like it was in the car. "Send me the location, I'll come and collect you"

Y/n's voice came out calmer and confused now. "Cha...is that you?"

Charles nodded his head before realising she couldn't see him. "Yeah um it is Cha, I'm on my way" He rushed down to his ferrari.

-

Pulling up to her location, his heart clenched. Y/n had grown so much since he had last seen her, she had grown into herself and looked alot like Pascale now.

Charles climbed out of his car, walking over to her and collided her into a bone crushing hug. "Oh chérie, je suis vraiment désolé..." Oh darling, I'm so sorry

Tears soaked his shoulder, the whole chaos of the day and reuniting with her older brother weighing down on Y/n had finally toppled off completely.

She couldn't speak, just hung onto him. That long time spent away from her family catching up to her. "It's okay...it's okay..." Charles whispered in her ear.

-

[ynbabe]

Fake texts au- pt.12 bffs with the rookies+ Monaco for one, please!

Literally love the way anyone older than them has to be the babysitter 😭😭😭

| Masterlist |

The week you spent with Oscar and Logan was perfect in every way possible. You woke up with perhaps the worst backache you'd ever had, almost unable to breathe because Logan had shited his entire weight on you... well, that part wasn't perfect but the dinner you had afterwards made up for every ache and pain.

Oscar's mum made every favourite dish of yours and Logans, leaving a very jealous Oscar but at the end of the day, the three of you fell into the same routine you did as kids.

Sleeping late, Waking up even later and eating junk till you couldn't eat anymore (much to the dismay of their trainers) the only different thing is that all three of you couldn't bunk on the same bed. So you took turns, as suggested by Oscar's mother because your first idea was to fight for a spot on the bed.

But sadly, the week had ended and you had to leave, you hugged Logan and Oscar goodbye and made your way to Monaco, where you'd spend the rest of the summer vacation with Arthur.

He'd invited you not wanting to be alone while his brothers had their girlfriends and the last time he'd invited one of his friends from Prema, his mom had pulled him aside and given him the 'you know you can tell me anything, right, son?' he'd simply told her that he was just a friend, and anyways she should have been having the conversation with Charles anyway, with whatever he had going with Max, or with Carlos or Pierre.

You were a little nervous to go, never having been around his family before. You'd met Charles before and had become pretty good friends with him and Max but his mom? His Eldest brother? That was a whole other story.

He picked you up at the airport, drove you to the house, you offered to uber as you weren't allowed to drive in Monaco anymore (its a long story) when you walked in you hadn't realised everyone would be over and were currently on Arthur's back trying to get your phone back for the boy, which he had stolen when he saw the picture of you and Logan, oscar had sent you.

You looked around the room to find Charles, his girlfriend, his eldest brother, and their mother, staring at the two of you with wide eyes.

You jumped off your friends' back, snatching your phone in the process, "Um, hi, I'm Y/n, nice to meet you all!" You smiled hugging Charles and shaking hands with everyone else, trying to ignore your entrance.

"I'll go get the bags, yeah," he muttered as he left, his eldest brother following him.

"Maman, C'est une amie d'Arthur, celle dont je t'ai parlé," (Mom, She's one of Arthur's friends, the one I told you about), Charles said something to his mother in French, you tried to decipher with whatever Arthur had taught you over the years but they spoke too fast.

"Celui qui l'a emmené faire la fête?" (The one who took him to party?) She replied, her voice displaying disappointment, making the girl awkwardly standing next to the door frown at Charles for translation.

"Maman..." Charles began but his mother shushed him, making him look down.

Suddenly, the older woman's face and body language changed, doing a total 180, "Y/n, I've heard a lot about you, from Arthur and Charles!" She said with a smile, making the girl slightly jump in surprise, "Come on, sit, the boys will get your bags," she invited the youngest woman to sit and nodded at Charles to help get the bags, he wanted to protest but was nudged in the ribs by Alexandra, making him walk out in betrayal.

"Uh, hi guys," she said awkwardly feeling a little out of place. She felt like she was in front of a jury assessing her every move to give her life in prison and by the look on the mother's face, they were leaning in favour of the death penalty.

"Hi, Y/n," Alexandra began, quickly leaning forward as soon as her boyfriend left the house, " I've seen you around the paddock before, but mostly in Mclaren and Williams," She began, "I thought you were dating Oscar, right? Or Logan?" She asked making the girl cringe, she couldn't imagine dating one of her friends.

"Um, no, we're just friends, all four of us," she explained, this is so weird.

"And what about the hyper little British one?" Pascale asked making you laugh,

"Lando? I'm going to save his name like that from now on!" You smiled, "No, no, not at all, I think he's a little too invested in Carlos to even think about dating," you joked hoping to change the conversation, Alexandra smiled but Pascale remained unchanged.

"I've noticed, he's a sweet boy," she nodded, "Are you dating my son?" She asked, not sugarcoating anymore, making you choke on your spit, Alexandra quickly rushed to your side, patting your back.

"Thank you," you took the glass of water she offered, "I'm not dating Arthur!" You yelled as soon as you finished drinking the water, making his mother look at you suspiciously at first then nod.

"Thank you for being truthful Y/n," She began, "My kids are everything to me and they only have me to protect them. Lorenzo and Charles are old enough to understand just how cruel life can be, but Arthur's still naive," she explained slowly. It seemed like Alex had heard the same lecture too.

"Maman! Tell Charlie to stop kicking me!" Arthurs's voice rang as the trio stepped inside, proving her point.

"Maman, please, both of them won't shut up!" Lorenzo complained at his brother's antics, in true older sibling fashion.

"Only because you are stupid," Both Arthur and Charles replied at the same time making the eldest groan and place your bag down, to swat the others. Charles had your duffle and Arthur held your haversack, currently using it as a weapon to hit his brothers.

"Boys!" Their mother called out, making them all stop and pick up your bags, and carry them to some room in the house. Alexandra smiled at their antics and Pascale just shook her head.

"Sweetheart, come on, let's have some dinner, I'm sure the flight has you hungry and tired," She practically dragged you to the dinner table. You sat next to Arthur, Alex and Charles in front of you and Lorenzo and Pascle and either head of the table.

After the strange test of sorts, everything was normal, you joked along with the others, and the brothers often fought making you and Alex look at each other and laugh. You were getting along with her the most, being quite close in age and humour. However, as the night continued the jet lag became more and more of a problem.

Arthur was the first to notice your head falling as you sat, "Maman, We are going to turn in," you both began to get up but Lorenzo spoke up, making you stop.

" Où penses-tu aller?" (Where do you think you're going?) The older man asked.

"Ma chambre ?" (My room?) Arthur answered.

"Non, elle couche avec Alexandra, tu restes avec Charlie," (No, she's sleeping with Alexandra, you're staying with Charlie) He replied making both brothers angry.

They started talking over each other, yelling and shouting, you definitely made out more than one curse word. You looked over at Alex silently asking if she knew what was happening, but she just shrugged.

"You're so annoying, Lorenzo, Je jure devant Dieu que j'aurai une chambre d'hôtel !" (I swear to God I will get a hotel room!) He screamed making everyone quiet down.

"Don't yell at me, it was maman's idea," he looked at his brothers a little guiltily, making everyone look towards the eldest woman on the table.

"It's okay, Charlie, reste avec ta petite amie, Arthur soit avec ton ami." (Charlie, stay with your girlfriend, Arthur be with your friend.) Everyone seemed to be okay with the decision, though you didn't know what the decision was.

Arthur patted your shoulder, making you get up and follow him to his room. As soon as you walked in you kicked your shoes off, falling face-first on the soft king-sized bed. He followed suit, dropping himself on the opposite end of the bed, and turning his head to face you.

"I don't think your brother and mum like me very much, Princie," You spoke in a soft voice, too tired to even sit up.

"Nah, they are just over-protective," he answered, his voice nothing but a whisper.

Slowly your eyes drifted shut, letting yourself succumb to sleep.

"Bonne nuit, chérie."

Taglist: @dark-night-sky-99 @cashtons-wife @i-wish-this-was-me @thehufflepuffavenger1 @eugene-emt-roe @fangirl-dot-com @landosgirlxoxo @aquangxl @sachaa-ff @tyna-19 @assholeinatrenchcoat

[miryum]

Sleepless in Monaco (Charles Leclerc x Reader) royal!AU

Hi! This is my first F1 fic so I hope you guys enjoy. I worked really hard on this and am pretty proud of it!

Warnings: Swearing, implications of sex, insomnia, nightmares, death, parents in the military, and any others I missed

Word Count: 10.4k

Disclaimer: I know nothing of how the monarchy works. Take my words about the inner monarchy with a grain of salt. I took the British monarchy and twisted it to fit my needs for this work of fiction, so all of this is highly unrealistic. For example, an heir cannot abdicate before the monarch’s death, but for the sake of this fic, in Monaco, they can. No other country has as strict coronations for their monarchs as Britain does, and even there it’s usually months after a monarch is dead, but I wanted to speed things up! 

Also, all of these people are exactly that- their own person and I am simply using their names and faces for a story. 

Enjoy!

Countless studies showed that sleep was necessary and the more you got, the better off you were. Still, you didn’t like going to sleep. It felt needlessly unproductive. The nights were bouts of insomnia, and if you were allowed to sleep, it was always riddled with nightmares. 

The most frequent nightmare started off in a meadow of dead flowers. It lulled you into a false sense of security, although being surrounded by death left worried butterflies in your gut. It was then followed by falling. You weren’t sure what you fell into, but all you knew is that it must be bottomless. As the helplessness and impending doom reached a climax, you woke up. 

As a child you could always run to your parents, but now, as an adult, you had no one to run to. You were alone. 

Tonight was like every other. You had trouble going to sleep, and when you finally did, you fell. You fell into the bottomless pit surrounded by dead flowers. And then you woke. The clock read only 1:44. As if on cue, the phone rang. It was your burner phone and the number was easily recognizable. 

“Hey Arthur,” you ran a hand over your tired eyes.

He asked immediately, “did I wake you?”  

“You know me; I’m never asleep.”

“Ah yes,” the youngest Leclerc brother clicked his tongue. “We share the same crazy sleep schedule.”

“The one thing that brought us together.” It was true, of course. Your nights in the castle had been just as sleepless as ever, and it was one night when you were roaming the halls that you bumped into the small prince. You had dropped into a messy curtsy (you were still learning how- you were only five at the time) but Arthur had laughed and said whoever was up at that time of night didn’t need to bow to him. It had then become a tradition. Whenever one of you couldn’t sleep, they would find the other and the night would usually end passed out in front of a blaring TV screen with dripping bodies from a rendezvous at the indoor castle pool. Alas, as the two of you got older and you moved out of the castle for school, your late-night meetings turned to late-night phone calls. 

“Did you ever go to sleep?” You ask. “You sound wide awake.” 

“No, I did not,” Arthur drew out his words, awaiting your reprimanding. You were too tired to do so, however, and just rolled your eyes. “Hey, you’re on summer break, right?” He switched the subject, “I have a proposition for you.”

You groaned. “What is it? Do you have another girl I need to chase away?” 

“Carla and I are going strong, thank you very much,” Arthur said. You could feel his drama through the phone. 

“Then what is it?” Arthur stalled and a sinking feeling pulled over you. “Arthur,” you demanded. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong!” He said quickly before pausing and letting the next words coat over you. “Lorenzo just abdicated the throne.” 

“What?!” You worried you had woken your neighbours up, but the shock was too strong that you couldn’t refrain from yelling. “Why?!”

“He was fed up,” Arthur simply said. “He didn’t want to be a part of this life.”

“But Charles…” You couldn’t imagine what he was going through. His life had just been upended. He was always content with being second. Content with being a prince without having the responsibility of the throne on his shoulders. Now he had to toughen up and prepare to rule after his father. Unless he wanted to leave the throne to Arthur, and you knew he could never do that to his younger brother, Charles was stuck. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“I want you to come back to Monaco,” he said. 

“Why?” 

“I think it would be really helpful for Charles and I to have you around again,” Arthur explained. “You were always such a good friend and were able to handle and control our craziness. Charles could really use an anchor such as you. I could get a position on my staff so you would have income, but-”

“You don’t need to convince me,” you smiled softly. “I’ll always come back.” 

“To Monaco or to the Leclerc’s?” Arthur teased you. 

“Whichever needs me first,” you laughed. 

“Fantastic.” Arthur was giddy at the prospect of seeing his best friend again. “The plane is already at your airport.” 

“What?” You jumped out of bed and searched for your suitcase. “What if I had said no?” 

“Come on, Y/n. It’s impossible for you to say no.”

**

As it turns out, the poor pilot had been waiting for over two hours, just at the prospect that a random girl might say yes to the prince’s pleas. You had apologised profusely to him before cracking open a book as you were flown to Monaco. 

After you landed, you were shuttled to the castle in a black van that bore the flag of Monaco. The few pedestrians that were out in the early morning gawked at it, wondering what a member of the royal family was doing out this early, but you simply shielded away from the tinted windows. They would hear the news soon enough.

You had just opened your car door and were stepping onto the gravel driveway when Arthur burst out of the castle doors and greeted you with a tight hug. 

“Geez, lemme get out of the car first!” But nonetheless, you squeezed him back. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s been too long,” he agreed. “You won’t believe all the shit that’s been happening.”

“I haven’t read any tabloids just so I could hear all the gossip from you,” you said, laughing. 

“Good, because they’ve all fucked the story up.” Arthur didn’t laugh along. You frowned slightly and took your luggage from the valet. It must be serious.

Arthur walked you inside, taking your bags like the gentleman he was. He explained, “I’ll get you all caught up later, but I need to go talk to Lorenzo quickly. Charles is out exercising in the gardens. He’ll want to see you.”

“Do I have to act differently around him?” You ask, “is there any strict protocol when talking to the next-in-line?”

Arthur looked at you, face scrunched in bemusement. “It’s not like he’s grown a tail, Y/n. It’s just Charles. And you never acted differently around Lorenzo than you did I or Charles.”

“True,” you conceded.

You and Arthur parted ways and you marvelled at how quickly the layout of the castle came back to you. It had been so long since you were last here, but you remembered it like yesterday. 

Your feet took you to the gardens, and like always, you were blown away at the serenity of it all. Rows of bushes and hedges of all different types of flowers and plants spun out around you, twisting and weaving like a dancer as far as the eye could see. You knew that at the centre of it all was a magnificent fountain and on the outskirts were rows of apple trees. Your favourite spot was a weeping willow next to a small pond that was fed by a brook. You remembered countless hours spent on a tire swing your dad had hooked up, playing and laughing with the princes. 

A wistful melancholy grew over you, but instead of wallowing in the sadness of the past, you decided to rejoice in its happiness.

But you couldn’t deny that you had missed Monaco. And it’s people.

Speaking of which, a figure was making their way through the garden. You recognised the silhouette instantly. “Charles!” you yelled. 

The running figure stopped for a moment, staring at you, before starting up again, spriting your way. “Y/n!” It was clear he had been on a run, wearing black shorts and an athletic white t-shirt. Working out was a way Charles relieved stress, and you had no doubt that he was under a lot of stress right now. Charles swept you up in a monstrous hug, clinging to you like a lifeboat on stormy water. Your feet dangled in the air for a moment before he gently set you down. But the hug didn’t stop. His head was buried into the crook of your neck. “I missed you so much,” he whispered and his breath sent goosebumps along your skin. 

“I missed you too, Charlie.” Charles’ heart jumped at the childhood nickname. “Arthur called me and told me what happened.” 

“Please don’t talk about it,” Charles muttered. 

“Okay,” you hummed, just letting the poor boy embrace you. After a moment, you realised that the hug had exceeded the socially acceptable time for friends and cleared your throat. “Okay, sweaty-pants, you’re gross. Get off of me.” You pulled away and patted his chest. 

“Why’d you come back? I thought you were off at school.” Charles looked at you with puppy-dog eyes. It made you melt. 

“It’s summer break,” you shrugged. 

“So you didn’t come back for me?” Charles pouted, even though both of you knew the real answer. 

“Nah, I don’t care about you at all.” You shook your head. “I just came back for your brother.” 

“Which one?!” Charles asked you as you stepped away. You laughed loudly and started walking back to the palace. “Which one?!” Charles shrieked, running after you. 

**

“Your Majesties,” you cursitied lowly in front of Hervé and Pascale Leclerc. 

Pascale rolled her eyes from her throne and smiled softly. “Y/n, please stop with the formalities. It’s a pleasure to have you back with us in Monaco.” Per tradition, you were thanking the King and Queen of Monaco for welcoming you back into the country. Charles and Arthur stood off to the side, Lorenzo nowhere to be found.

“And how are your Majesties faring?” you asked politely. 

“Everything will turn out wonderfully,” Pascale said, although you knew you and her would be talking long into the night about the events that had transpired. “Are you staying with your brother, my dear?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “He recently bought a new home with his family and I don’t want to intrude.”

“Well then, you must stay with us!” Pascale beamed. “Did neither of my sons extend the invitation?”

“No, your Highness, they did not.” You grinned, knowing full well what was to come. 

“Boys!” Pascale glared at her two youngest who cowered away from their mother’s sharp gaze.

“Mama!” Arthur whined in protest.

“Y/n is always welcome to stay with us. I expect you two to be on your best behaviour.” Arthur mumbled something to Charles that you couldn’t hear. The crown prince blushed and pushed Arthur away. “Isn’t that right, dear?” Pascale turned to her husband.

The king smiled kindly at you and whispered hoarsely, “always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my King.” You bowed your head in acknowledgment and reverence. It was well known that King Hervé’s health had been diminishing the past few years. As his age increased, his intellect and memory decreased. Though whatever his conditions, you still treasured childhood memories of him laughing at your father’s jokes, picking you up to dance at royal balls, or, if time allowed it, coming to play with you and the princes.

“And I don’t want you working at all while you’re here,” Queen Pascale wagged her finger at you playfully. “You are on vacation. Don’t let Arthur rope you into being an aide.”

“I won’t, your Highness,” you snuck a glance at Arthur but instead locked eyes with Charles. He winked at you and you knew that someway or another he would rope you into some dirty work.

“How long are you staying?” King Hervé asked and you snapped back to him. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” you admitted. “School starts in September, but I could always postpone it for a semester.”

Charles cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Chérie, did you know that the castle could easily employ anyone of any talent and prestige? You must remember our tutor?” 

“Charles, what are you suggesting?” Pascale lifted an eyebrow. 

“All I’m saying,” Charles tried to look as innocent as possible. “Is that we haven’t seen Y/n for a while. If she wanted to, we could simply bring her schooling here. I’m sure her university would love it if they had an international student studying under the royal family.” 

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what the boy was doing. “We’ll talk about it later,” Pascale assured him. “Y/n, come with me,” she smiled softly. “I’ll walk you to your room. As much as I love my boys, I can’t wait for a little girl time.” 

She stood and glided down the steps. She held her arm out to you and you looped yours through it. “And may I just say,” you added, “I love your outfit.” She was wearing a light purple pantsuit with a skirt flaring out from the waist. 

“Thank you so much, dear! I saw this dress the other day and it reminded me of you; you must try it.”

“Of course.” You and the Queen stayed in frequent contract, her sending you photos of cute outfits (she had sent you a picture of an adorable blouse last weekend) and updates of the boys (you were surprised she wasn’t the one to call you with the news of Lorenzo’s abdication) and you sent her memes and cute videos of pets you found on the Internet. 

You were sure that if the princes or the Queen’s private secretary found out that you were constantly communicating, the former would be freaked out and shocked and the latter would be aghast. It was very un-queen-like to be texting pictures of baby ducks to a girl that was half her age. And what son wants their mother to be chatting with their friend?

Once you and the Queen left the throne room, you immediately asked, “how are things going? No one’s told me the whole story.”

Pascal sighed heavily, clearly burdened with things beyond her control. “I’ve seen it coming for a long time. Lorenzo has waged this battle for years within his mind, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.”

“I never knew him to be unhappy,” you said.

“That’s because no one ever saw him,” Pascale shrugged. “He was always hidden away, studying to be king. He never had a true childhood. Everything he did was scrutinised as people picked apart their future leader. He was only a child. He never wanted to let people down, but I believe the breaking point was last year when Hervé got terribly sick.” 

You had heard about that. Arthur had called you in a frenzy, worrying himself into a spiral that you calmed him down from while you were miles away. Charles had called you much later that night and you two had engaged in quiet conversation about the affair. 

“Lorenzo realised the full magnitude of the situation,” Pascale continued. “And he didn’t want it.” She simply stated the facts, knowing that Lorenzo was the only one who could explain the reasons behind his actions. “He called the whole family into the sitting room last night and informed us of his decision. It was released to the public this morning. Poor Fernando and Nico stayed up all night composing the perfect speech,” she said, referring to the palace communication advisors.

“And Charles?” you asked.

Pascale huffed and shook her head. “The boy is stupid,” she said bluntly. “He won’t take anyone’s advice and is pushing people away so he can cope on his own. That’s why Arthur brought you in.” She glanced at you, smirking slightly.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, come off it, dearie.” Pascale rolled her eyes. “We both know my son has a sweet spot for you. Do you remember when you were eight and Charles was having a tantrum over the tiniest of thing? He wouldn’t come down for dinner, but when you went up to his room and talked to him, he came right down after you, trailing at your heels like a lost puppy?”

You shook your head and ignored the blush coming to your cheeks. The Queen didn’t miss it. “All I’m saying,” she declared as you reached your temporary room (which happened to be right next to Charles and Arthur’s), “is that although your Arthur’s best friend, my middle son has taken quite a liking to you over the years.” She turned on her heel, leaving you to your thoughts. Over her shoulder, Queen Pascale called to you, “food for thought,” before disappearing around a corner.

**

“Charles! Come on!” Arthur was swimming laps in the lake on a blazing summer day. You waded next to him, trying to get used to the colder water. Lorenzo was taking a break from his studies and lounging on an inflatable tube. 

“I’m coming! Give me a second!” A thirteen year old Charles was still tugging off his socks. “Oh, I forgot my swimsuit!” 

“Dude, how?” Lorenzo laughed. His sunglasses sat comfortably on his face as he relaxed. “We’re swimming. You need a swim-suit.”

“I don’t know, this was an impulse decision!” Charles was right; during breakfast you’d off-handedly proposed the idea and it was readily accepted. 

“Just use your underwear.” Arthur shrugged. 

“Oh my gosh look at this little crab!” You gasped and held up your hands. A small crab danced its way over your cupped hands. 

Charles shook his head wildly. “No! I’m not going to strip down to my underwear!” 

“Charlie,” you glanced at him before turning your attention back to the crab. “You would be showing the same amount of skin as if you had your swimsuit. It’s fine!”

“But,” he hesitated. “I don’t know, it just seems so much more intimate.” 

“We’ve all seen each other naked,” Arthur pointed out. 

“We were six years old!” Charles blushed furiously.

“Then leave your shirt on,” you said. “But come in the water. It wouldn’t be any fun with you staying on the shore.” After a second thought, you added, “Please, Charles?” You gave him a look you knew he couldn’t resist. You had the boys wrapped around your finger. 

“Fine,” Charles smiled as your grin grew at his response. He could never stand to see you sad, especially if it was his doing. “But when we get out, I am stealing an extra towel.”

When the four of you were finished swimming, Charles stole Arthur’s towel and the latter dripped water all over the castle carpets. The cleaning crew was not happy. 

**

“Hey, Charles?” You knocked on his door softly. “Can I come in?” 

“Of course,” he replied. You opened the door to see him slouched in a chair before his desk. It was littered with papers and textbooks. Charles looked more tired than ever and you were worried that he hadn’t slept last night. Granted, you couldn’t chastise him for it. You were up worrying as well. 

“What’re you doing?” You came to stand behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, peering at the documents splayed before him.

Charles leaned into your touch, his heart fluttering. He had missed you so much. He wasn’t about to derive himself of your comfort. “I’ve been trying to catch up on the years of studying Lorenzo had. Turns out there’s books on foreign policy and economics he had decades to read. I only have a couple months.” 

“What about your father?” you asked, “He’s doing well, no?” 

Charles tilted his head back to look at you and lifted a brow. “Come on, Y/n. You’re not naive. Maman knows she’ll have to plan his funeral soon. I only thought I would be watching my brother pledge himself to Monaco- not me.” 

“I’m so sorry.” You hugged him the best you could in your position. “I know that I can’t help you much, but I want you to know I’m here for you.” 

“That’s all I ever need.” Charles was worried you hadn’t heard him when you sat down next to him and pulled the books towards you, intent on helping him in any way you could. He knew that with his eventual coronation (god, that was a terrifying thing to think about. How did Lorenzo ever keep his cool?) the kingdom would pressure him to find a wife and carry on the Leclerc bloodline. He wasn’t forced to marry someone with status, just so long as the person could handle the public eye and the inevitable scrutiny. He wanted to form a connection with the woman and have the most normal relationship he possibly could.

“Why do you have to learn how to start a revolution?” You flipped through one of the textbook pages. “Wouldn’t you need to know how to quell one? This is so confusing.” You slam the book shut, bored after only three seconds. How could Charles have stayed up all night doing this? “Okay, what is something productive, yet fun?” 

“Do you want to listen to a meeting about military strategies?” Charles suggested. “Dad wants me to start sitting in on meetings of state to make up for the lost years.”

“No,” was your immediate reply. “As much as I love you, Charles, that sounds like the most boring thing in the world.”

“It’s what I’ll be doing the rest of my life,” Charles grumbled. 

“And Arthur and I will be with you every step of the way.” You baulked at the lifelong oath you had just promised. But you couldn’t take your words back now. Charles needed you to be his rock, and what good were you if you yourself were slipping under the tide? While Charles was drowning in the sea of uncertainty and pressure, you were drowning in the sea of hopelessness and love. “Do you feel bitter about it?” you asked quietly, wanting to change the subject but also know the truth. “Do you resent Lorenzo for what he did?”

“I want to,” Charles admitted. “I want to force him to take the crown back. I want him to get his ass back here and sit on the throne. I want to hate him. But I can’t. Because I get it. I understand what he’s feeling. He was already under the dissection of the press and public. Now it’s ten-fold. He didn’t do it to get away from the public eye, because let’s be honest, none of us will ever be able to truly escape. He’s doing it to be his own person. Lorenzo is taking the chance I wish I had.” He chuckled sourly, “Lucky bastard.”

“And I know you giving the throne to Arthur is out of the question,” you said. 

“Of course,” Charles nodded along solemnly. “I would never do that.” 

“Lorenzo did,” you whispered, giving him the tiniest of shrugs and smiles. 

He shook his head. “No, it’s out of the question, Y/n.” 

“I know.” You never wanted any of this for any of the Leclerc boys. They were too innocent and sweet to be criticised at any turn. “What are you going to do?” 

For as long as you had known him, Charles had never looked so scared. “My best.”

**

The dining room was filled with the quiet scraps of silverware on china. It was almost quiet enough that you could hear reporters shouting from outside. Luckily the castle walls were strong enough to block them out. It had been an awkwardly stressful dinner, each second passing adding to the seconds it was already too late to say something. King Hervé and Queen Pascale sat at the head with Lorenzo and Charles to their right. You and Arthur sat across from the older boys. Rows of empty seats followed after you. You remembered when you and your family were invited for dinner along with other military personalities. The long table was filled with chatter and buzz, the King and Queen looking lovingly down at their employees and subjects. You always sat by Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, laughing away at whatever stupid joke was being said. 

It was a stark contrast to what you were experiencing now. 

You had expected some hostility radiating from either Charles or Lorenzo, but both were filled only with sadness. Arthur, always needing to be on the move, was tapping his foot up and down and up and down and up and down until you shot him a look. Queen Pascale was looking lonely and King Hervé sat blissfully unaware of the matters around him. 

You were just about to excuse yourself when the King set his knife and fork down and stood. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you come help me?”

Your eyes dashed towards Pascale to make sure you weren’t the only one who heard him. Pascale was confused, but ushered you to his side. You obeyed, standing quickly and going to support him.

“Come along,” he led you out of the room and to a short hallway. “May I ask you something?” 

“Anything,” you said. 

“Can you look after Charles?” 

The King’s question shocked you. “Of course, your Majesty.” 

“No, Y/n.” The King stopped and faced you, looking you in the eye. You immediately looked to the ground, then to the wall behind him and finally back to him, all while mustering up the courage to meet his headstrong gaze. You felt exposed as the monarch of your country stared you down. “Take care of him, just as he takes care of you. You and Arthur are brilliant friends, but we both know your relationship with Charles is deeper than friendship.”

“Your Majesty,” you cut him off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My relationship with Charles is the same as my relationship with Arthur.”

“If you believe that, dear, then you may need to do some soul searching.” The King had an odd twinkle in his eye, one that could only be held by a person who had learned the lessons of the world. “I’m asking you for this favour. I don’t have a long time left on this Earth. I need to know my son’s in good hands. With this power and expectations unexpectedly thrust upon him, he’ll need someone he can come to with his worries and troubles. Someone he can be himself around. You were always that person.”

“King Hervé, I’ll try my best, but eventually we’ll need to go our separate ways,” you said, trying to gently show the king the inevitable truth. “I want to continue school and Charles will have to get married. His wife will take on the responsibilities of his confidant.” You didn’t add that you would be leaving Monaco the moment Charles showed romantic interest in someone.

The King hummed and started walking once again. You led him to a wooden door that entered his chambers. “The Queen of Monaco would get excellent schooling,” King Hervé offhandedly commented before opening his door and leaving you alone in the hallway. 

You stood there, stunned. In two days, both monarchs of Monaco had pushed you into the arms of their middle child.

King Hervé couldn’t be suggesting what you thought he was. Could he? 

**

“What did dad talk to you about, Y/n?” Arthur found you in the gardens. You were wandering aimlessly and ended up at the weeping willow that was cemented in so many of your memories.

“He asked me to look after Charles.” You sat down, legs folding under you like a stack of cards. Arthur plopped down next to you. 

“Well, that’s easy, right? Just stick around a while more and he’ll be fine. Your job is literally to give him hugs.” Arthur laughed.

“Arthur, does Charles like me?” You asked suddenly, twisting your body to look at the boy. He sat back on his hands, getting comfortable under the cool summer air.

“What do you mean? You're his best friend. Other than me, of course,” he grinned at his last words. “And Lorenzo. So you’re maybe third or fourth on the list. After the dog. You’re definitely after the dog.”

You slugged him in the arm, matching his smirk, saying, “but seriously though, both your mum and dad hinted that Charles liked me. In a… more than friendship way.” You felt as if you were back in primary school by using that phrase.

Arthur sighed heavily, “oh god, Y/n.” He scratched his neck. “This isn’t my confession to make.” 

“So he does like me?!” you cried out. 

“But you like him back, right?” Arthur shrugged. “It was so obvious. Our entire childhood, you and him were always stuck together. You and I hung out too, but he was always the one you ran to when you were hurt or sad. I was the third-wheel and Lorenzo, when he had time, was the fourth. Wait-” he paused, realising his analogy didn’t work out. “You and I hung out at night, but I’m confident that if Charles was up at the same time, you would’ve roped him into our adventures. There was this… connection that neither Lorenzo or I could achieve with you. A small part of you was only for him and vise-versa. You should’ve heard the things he said about you when you were gone. It was always, ‘when’s Y/n coming back?’ and ‘I miss Y/n’. Honestly, it was annoying.” He shot you an exaggerated side-eye. You chuckled quietly, shaking your head. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I’m not jealous. You and I had many special memories without my ugly older brother. Remember that one time where in the middle of night we went bowling and practically woke up the entire castle?!” 

You joined him in laughing hysterically. You remembered, “my parents were so mad!” 

“But my dad insisted we finish the round,” Arthur added on. “And then everyone else started playing as well.”

“That was a good night,” you agreed.

“My point,” Arthur brought you back to the topic at hand. “Is that you and Charles like each other and if I’m the one to make you realise your feelings, then that’s a problem. My parents clearly picked up on it and are now making sure that you and Charles get together before they’re gone.” 

You sat in thought for a moment before saying, “I never asked how you and Carla are doing.” 

The boy smiled lazily. “It’s going really well. She’s really sweet and cares about others. You’ll love her.” 

“I’m sure I will.” You nudged your arm with his. “Any girl that can put up with you is worth keeping.”

“Piss off! I have half a mind to throw you in the lake!” 

“Don’t you dare, Leclerc. I swear to god I will murder you.” 

“That’s an act of treason.” 

“Charles can pardon me.” 

“I’m sure he will.” Arthur rolled his eyes, “I’m sure he will.”

**

Three teenage princes barged into your room without so much as a knock. “Oh my god!” you cried, “What are you guys doing?!” You were laying on your bed with your computer which continued playing Rise of the Guardians. Jack Frost had just been kidnapped by the Easter Bunny. 

“Where have you been?” Arthur jumped on the bed with you and yanked the covers over him. You growled and yanked them back. “Geez,” he muttered, squirming around to get comfortable. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” 

“The blood currently exiting my body,” you retorted. 

“Ew!” Arthur jumped back and off the bed, a shiver going up his spine. “You could’ve told me that before!” 

“It’s not fucking contagious,” you said. “Unless you suddenly grew a uterus I didn’t know about.” Lorenzo laughed at your response. “What are you pricks doing here?” 

“We were going to go horseback riding,” Charles explained. “We wanted to ask you to join us, but now that’s out of the question.” 

“Oh. Well, you guys go without me,” you said. “Give Loki a sugarcube for me, will you?” When you were kids, the four of you had all named your horses together. Lorenzo's horse was Stark, Arthur called his Wanda, and you and Charles decided on the names Thor and Loki.

“But you’re not feeling well!” Charles protested, his brows furrowing. You shifted in your bed as a wave of cramps came over you. 

“I’ve done this a lot. I’ll be fine.” 

“Move over,” Charles sighed and climbed into your bed. He threw off his shoes and sweater, leaving him in an undershirt and sweatpants before pulling the covers towards him. He leaned back on your pillows and slung an arm over your shoulders. 

“What’re you watching?” Lorenzo asked, sitting on your other side with his legs crossed. 

“Rise of the Guardians,” you replied. 

“With Sandy?” Arthur shoved Lorenzo over and cuddled into the spot next to you. You pushed the computer away so they could see easier. 

Pressing play, you said, “Yeah, with Sandy. What other Rise of the Guardians do you know of?” 

The movie continued and both you and Arthur cried during Sandy’s death. Whenever your cramps were acting up or your back hurt, you would fist Charles’ shirt in your hand and try to snuggle closer to him. Charles frequently drew circles on your arm or pressed a kiss to your hair. 

Lorenzo and Arthur exchanged a look. How could you two be so dumb?

**

The field looked an awful lot like the one in the castle gardens. Some flowers wilted under the harsh sun and you made a mental note to tell Lando about it. He would be devastated to lose a plant. 

It was a serene day, but you were forgetting something. You couldn’t remember what. It gnawed at you like it was at the tip of your tongue and wanted to burst out, but something was blocking it. 

Suddenly, the ground caved out from under you and you started falling. You cried out for someone- anyone to come and save you. 

You braced for the end. For the inevitable crushing end that would end in writhing pain or the quickness of death. Which would be better?

Just as suddenly as you fell, you woke up. It was just a dream, you kept reminding yourself as you hurried out of the now scarred room. 

You didn’t want to see if Arthur was awake. If he was, you would prompt him to go to sleep. He needed it.

You weaved through the castle before stopping at a familiar painting. It used to be your favourite as a kid. A Huguenot, as it was titled. The full name was A Huguenot, on St. Bartholomew's Day, Refusing to Shield Himself from Danger by Wearing the Roman Catholic Badge painted by John Everett Millais. 

You had learned about it from your art history tutor. The Leclerc boys didn’t care for the class, but you found it oddly fascinating. When you had learned about the Huguenot it instantly captured your attention.

You remembered your tutor saying, “The painting depicts an incident occurring on St. Bartholomew’s Day, when a massacre of Protestants by Catholics took place in Paris during the Wars of Religion. The white band the woman is attempting to tie around her lover's arm was an act to shield him from harm during the coming massacre and an identifier of Roman Catholicism. A small number of Protestants escaped from the city by wearing the white armbands. 

“The young man gently pulls the armband off with the same hand with which he embraces the girl. Having to choose between religion and love, the man’s refusal of this badge would result in certain death,” the tutor concluded.

You had always loved the painting, feeling a sense of desperate longing from it.

“Y/n?” A hushed voice called to you. Charles walked up to you, still in his sleepwear. He paused and looked up at the painting. “Your favourite, huh?”

“Yeah. What’re you doing up?”

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” the boy brushed it off. “Are you still having those nightmares?”

“How do you know about that?” You were pretty sure you’d only told Arthur about those.

“I found you and Arthur one morning sleeping under a pool table. When I asked him about it he said you kept having nightmares and he was trying to help.”

“Ah,” you cracked a smile. “Yeah, they haven’t gone away.”

“Truth be told,” Charles was still admiring the painting. “I always envied you and Arthur. In the morning, Lorenzo and I would wake to some new inside joke that had transpired the previous night. I wanted to feel that close to you as well. I would try to stay awake all night so I could be part of the adventures, but I always fell asleep.” He chuckled at the memory.

“Charlie,” You gushed at his confession, leaning against him. “You and I will always be close. You don’t have to be sleep deprived for that. Arthur and I’s relationship was a purely platonic thing built on laughter and escapade. Ours was built on trust and caring. Not to mention all the mischief we got ourselves into.”

Charles laughed loudly at your words. “We once rigged the intercom to play polka music all day and night!”

“The nannies were so mad!” You snickered at the memory.

Charles hummed and fixed his sight on the painting once more. “The man is going to fight for his religion, right?”

“You remember?” You were surprised he was able to recollect the knowledge.

“Of course!” Charles smiled widely and his voice raised a couple notes. “You blabbered about it whenever we passed it in the hall. You always had to stop and stare. Why wouldn’t I remember something so important to you?” 

A warm feeling rose up in your chest. “Come on, Charlie,” You looped your arm through his and directed him away. “Let’s go watch Megamind.”

“Okay, chérie,” Charles squeezed you in a side-hug. “But I want popcorn.” 

“Stove-made?”

“Is there another kind?” 

King Hervé and Queen Pascale walked into the family room the next morning to find you splayed over Charles on the couch. Charles was drowsily awake and waved to his parents in a morning greeting. His other hand was lazily stroking your arm. 

“I’m going to give him my wedding ring tomorrow,” Pascale whispered to her husband. 

**

King Hervé died a week later. 

You woke to a sharp knocking. A housekeeper entered and said, “Miss. Y/n, I regret to inform you that King Hervé passed away last night in his sleep.” 

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“King Hervé has died. Queen Pascale is requesting your presence in the sitting room.” 

Your first instinct was to ask, “how are the princes?”

“I’m not sure,” the housekeeper admitted. “Do you need assistance getting dressed?” 

“No, but thank you.” You jumped out of bed and hurried to the sitting room. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hervé was dead. He died. You were never going to see him again. What happened now?

You picked up the pace and soon you were running down the castle halls, still in your pyjamas. Servants in black clothing stopped as you dashed by, some even bowing at the waist. You burst into the sitting room to see the Leclercs there. Arthur was slumped on the couch, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked up when you came in and the tears started to fall. Lorenzo was standing by the window watching the people below already beginning to lay flowers for his father. A withered Pascale sat in a plush armchair, fingers to her lips as she hummed a sad tune. Her face was devoid of any emotion and her eyes were dry. And Charles sat hunched over, elbows to his knees as he stared a burning hole into the wall opposite him. His hands were clasped together and you could see the large ring with the royal insignia emblazoned on it. 

You slowly knelt in front of Pascale. “My Queen,” you murmured. “My deepest condolences. I know words may never be enough and they can never bring back what’s missing, but he was a wonderful man and a wonderful king. All of Monaco will miss him.” 

The Queen began to cry. “Thank you, Y/n, but I’ll be alright. He’s in the hands of God and I know he’s safe and happy. I just miss him is all.” 

“It would be wrong if you didn’t,” you tried to alleviate the pain in any way you knew how, but you knew it wouldn’t help. When your own parents had passed, you had stayed in your room for days, a blank-eyed zombie of the person you used to be. It was only when your brother came in to see you that you broke down crying. Charles and Lorenzo had held your hands during the funeral. 

You then hugged Lorenzo tightly. He let out a shuddering sigh at your embrace. You always knew the pressure on him was high, but it was as if he was finally releasing it. You knew that he would be okay eventually. 

And finally, you sat in between Arthur and Charles. “Come here,” you whispered to the former who fell onto your shoulder, crying quietly. 

“Is this how it feels?” The youngest Leclerc brother asked you in a voice so unlike his own. “Is this how it feels to lose someone you love? Why does anyone love when it hurts so much?” 

“I don’t know, Artie.” The childhood nickname slipped past your lips. “I don’t know.” 

Charles let out a shuddering breath and Arthur pulled away from you, nodding his head at you to comfort Charles. “Mon bonheur,” you wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders. “You don’t have to hide from me.” 

That’s when Charles let out a broken sob and curled himself into your lap. He buried himself into you, tears soaking through your nightwear. He sounded like a crushed man, his cries turning to a need for love. “Papa,” his voice broke. “Why does everyone have to leave?” 

“No one is leaving you, mon bonheur,” you reassured him.

“Yes, they are!” he protested, “Papa left all of us and now you’ll leave too and I… I can’t let that happen.” 

“I’m not leaving you.” You couldn’t help but smile sadly. “Artie’s been helping me think it through and I’m going to move back to Monaco. I’ve missed you guys too much to leave again.”

“Really?” Charles sounded like a lonely child. 

“Really,” you confirmed it with a nod of your head. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, as will your family because we love you.” You rested your cheek on his hair. “It’ll all be alright. This is the hardest part of it all.” All the Leclerc’s were listening in, hoping for some way to cope with the loss of their husband and father. “But it’ll get easier. One day you’ll wake up and not think about him at all. Then you’ll go to bed and realise it and feel bad, because you think you need to remember him everyday to honour him and all the happy times together. But then someone makes you laugh and you feel back to your old self for a second. Then you’ll realise it’s what he would want. He would want you to laugh and love and live. Just because someone is gone doesn’t mean you can stop living. Every once in a while you’ll see something that will remind you of him and you’ll think of a good time together. Everything will turn a shade of melancholy for a while, but you’ll see your family and they’ll lift you up again. No one leaves you. And the reason why it hurts so much, Artie,” you direct your words to him, “is because you loved him. To be human is to love and to lose. And it’s terrible. And we hate it. Losing someone is an awful thing to go through and there’s nothing that anyone can do or say that will make the pain go away. But you still have each other,” you shrug. “That seems like a pretty sweet deal.” 

“You were always the best at pep talks,” Lorenzo huffs a small laugh. “Could always make me feel better after a hard day.”

“We should employ you as our personal pep-talker,” Arthur added, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“How much would I get paid?” you retorted, trying to bring humour to the situation.

“As much as you need to keep you here.” Charles immersed himself in you. He loved the way you smelled, the way your skin sent shivers up his, the way your heart beated, and everything else about you. 

“Come along, boys,” Pascale stood up suddenly. “There’s a lot that needs to be done.”

The next days were a blur. You hardly remembered any of it. Pascale was in charge of planning Hervé’s funeral, and when it got too overwhelming, Arthur took over. Your hours were filled with planning the coronation. Luckily, most of it was protocol and out of your control, but swabs of fabric and long guest lists were still shoved your way. Mercifully, Lorenzo assisted you with the intricate monarchy procedures. Charles was off doing who knows what and who knows where. Some nights you would peek into his room and find him sprawled out on the bed, snoring softly. You would ease his shoes off his feet and carefully loosen his tie before sneaking out of the room.

Overnight, it was as if the castle had transformed. The flags were all drawn at half-mast, yards of black fabric covered the windows, and everyday at noon, the bells would toll endlessly. 

You weren’t allowed to walk with the royal family at the procession, but instead with the long lines of servants that came after the guards and knights. Crowds gathered in the streets to watch their beloved king parade pass in a suffocating, but ethereal and eternal coffin. You wanted to cover your ears as bells rang and rang and rang as the procession went on. 

During the funeral, Arthur brought you up to the front so you could take your rightful place among the family. Charles instantly gripped your hand. 

This wasn’t like your parents funeral, both of whom had died in combat when a stray bomb had blown their lives away. They were buried in a small military cemetery on the outskirts of Monaco where you were handed two Monégasque flags as the next-of-kin. That’s what had broken you on that day, being reminded of how your parents died. Of course, the press didn’t care, hounding after their next story of Monaco Royal Family Seen at Random Funeral or We Invade Someone’s Mourning Time to Get Pictures of our Monarchs or New Girlfriend to a Monégasque Prince Because They Were Seen Holding Hands at a Sad Event? Lorenzo and Charles had given the press a good talking-to.

King Hervé’s funeral was in a grand church where he would be buried in a stone mausoleum after the traditional prayers. Queen Pascale laid a red carnation on his coffin before it was lowered into the hauntingly beautiful mausoleum. 

Charles let out a low sigh and when you glanced over you saw him crying silently. You knew no words could help him at that moment. It was as if you could feel the sadness radiating off of him. You would take it all away if you could. Anything to help him.

Charles had the same thought during your parents’ funeral.

**

His coronation was three days later. Arthur had found a loophole in the ceremony and instead of sending you an invitation, wrote you down as his plus-one, therefore earning you a seat in the front row. You had puzzled over what to wear that day, finally settling on a red gown for the colours of Monaco. Arthur and you entered behind Lorenzo and Pascale as the Monégasque anthem played. 

“Oh my gosh,” Arthur muttered to you. “So many stuffy people in stuffy clothes.” 

You shushed him, “quiet!” Arthur gave you his signature side-eye and you wanted to burst out laughing. You tried to hold it in but a snicker got past you. Arthur let out a giggle at that. Pascale held a finger to her lips, hiding a smile of her own. 

The priest marched down the aisle and as he reached the altar, the organ stopped playing. A choir started singing, everybody stood, and Charles entered the church. 

You almost stopped breathing. 

You had never seen him look so regal. Charles was adorned by the coronation robes and crown jewels. His hair was styled to perfection and his shoes shined so brightly you could see your reflection in them. He was celestial. 

“Close your mouth,” Arthur bent over and whispered to you. “You’ll catch flies.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed. 

“Swearing in a house of God?” Arthur hissed. “Heinous.”

As Charles passed, people bowed. When Charles glided by the first row, Lorenzo and Arthur bent at the waist while you curtsied deeply. Pascale stayed upright but placed a hand over her heart. Charles climbed the steps and knelt before the priest.

The priest gave a long speech and you could practically feel Charles’ irritation rolling off of him in waves. His knees must be hurting by now. Finally, he was to recite his vows.

“Is your Majesty willing to take Oath?” the priest asked. 

“I am willing,” Charles’ voice reverberated through the hall. Something stirred in your chest. You knew he was telling the truth. 

The priest outstretched the royal sceptre towards Charles. “Will you accept the responsibilities as king for as long as you shall live?”

“I do,” Charles gripped the sceptre and held the cool metal in his palm.

“Will you solemnly swear to govern the people of Monaco and promise to execute Law, Justice, and Mercy in all your judgements?”

“I swear,” Charles repeated.

“Will you to the utmost of your power,” the priest declared, “maintain the Laws of God and its true profession? Will you maintain and preserve inviolably the settlement of the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Monaco? Will you preserve all such rights and privileges of the people of Monaco, as by law do or shall appertain to them?” 

“I do swear by all.” 

“Will you to the utmost of your power hold true peace under your rule?” 

“I will,” 

“And you,” the priest raised his arms and addressed the church. “The people and subjects of Monaco, all who so desire, say together: ‘I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors, according to law, so help us in the name of our country.’”

People all over Monaco joined together to say, “I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs,” Arthur nudged your arm at that and you pinched him. “And successors, according to law, so help us in the name of our country.” Charles bowed his head as he listened to his people.

“Do the people of Monaco accept Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc to be crowned as their king?”

“We do,” 

“Will the princes and heirs of Monaco please join us at the altar?” Lorenzo and Arthur stepped out into the church aisle and Charles stood and turned around. His robe curled around his feet and the spectre gleamed in the stained glass light. He caught your eye right away and you sent him a wink, lips curling into a smile. The new King of Monaco blushed and glanced at his feet. Pascale beamed at the exchange.

“Please kneel at the feet of your King,” the priest asked of the Leclerc boys. They did as they were told. Charles outstretched his hand which wore the royal ring. “Do you swear to aid your King in any way possible? Do you swear, in case of harm, to assume the position of monarch of Monaco until your King is married in law and love?” Charles’ swallowed and his stare remained firmly on the ground. 

“We swear.” They both took turns grasping Charles’ hand and gently placing a kiss on the ring. 

“You may return to your seats,” the priest allowed. 

Arthur stood back next to you and said, “My mouth tastes like metal.”

“Sucks to be you.” 

The priest concluded, “Let us rejoice in our new sovereign king of Monaco as he pledges to serve and protect us all.” The priest turned and lifted the Crown of Monaco from an altarboy. “Let Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc be crowned as the King of Monaco.” And he placed the Monégasque royal crown on Charles’ head. 

Charles embraced the thunderous applause of his people. A swelling pride erupted in your chest. You had never been so elated.

“Then let this joyous day be celebrated across the land in the eyes of God,” the priest called out loudly and Charles stepped down the altar stairs and into the role of King. 

**

“Where’s Lorenzo?” 

“I don’t wanna know.” 

“You don’t think…” 

“Oh, I know! I saw him going off with a daughter of a duke a couple minutes ago.” 

“Ew!” You groaned, shaking your head furiously, knowing the next time you saw Lorenzo, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye. 

“What do you expect?” Charles whispered in your ear, body pressed up against yours. “This is Arthur’s seventeenth birthday. We’re all legal now.” 

“And are you going to exploit your legality?” You smirked, tilting up to look at him. 

Charles hummed lowly and you could feel the vibration in his chest. “Maybe. Are you?” 

You thought about your next words. You were sure he could feel your heart; it was banging like a drum, erupting with butterflies, and fluttering with worries. If you responded with a nod, where could it take you? If you shook your head, would you spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been? 

And did you want this? 

Did you want Charles? 

… Did you even like Charles? 

Charles picked up on your hesitancy and said quietly, “there’s absolutely no pressure, but I want you to know that my room is always open to you.” You glanced at him, noting the double entendre, before letting your eyes rest comfortably back on his chest. It was emblazoned with medals and sashes, akin to his brothers. 

You gave him a single nod- one that only he could see. A secret between the two of you. In response, Charles pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

That night, you paced outside his room for quite some time. Fear eventually overcame you and you hurried back to your room. You couldn’t go in. Charles sat awake, waiting all night with the hope that you would come to him. 

The next weekend you left for college. You didn’t see him again until Lorenzo’s abdication, but it was as you never left.

**

“May I have this dance?” You turned to see Charles standing behind you, smiling cockily. He had changed out of his robe for a much more modern black tuxedo, paired with a red pocket square. 

“Of course, my King.” Charles’ eyes darkened at your response and he raised a brow. “But are you sure you want your first dance to be with me?” 

“Who else would I dance with?” Charles wondered. “I’ve already danced with my mother. I want the next to be with you.” 

You let the king sweep you out onto the dance floor, letting the years of training take hold of you. Effortlessly, the two of you were able to float along and keep up conversation. 

You asked, “how do you feel?” 

Charles shrugged. “No different from when I woke up. Must I say, you are looking radiant today.” 

You dipped your head to hide your smile. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up.” 

Charles hummed, but didn’t say anything. After a moment, he said, “it was just procedure, you know that, right?” 

“What do you mean?” Charles spun you around in a small circle before bringing you back to him.

“They still have that stupid line in the coronation vows. ‘Pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors.’” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if I have heirs or not. They still have Arthur as next in line.” 

You frowned. “I thought you wanted a family?”

“I do,” Charles stopped dancing. Your hand rested on his shoulder and his gripped your waist. Your other hands were entwined intimately. If he could, Charles would stay like this forever. No one else; just you and him. That’s all he ever needed. “I think I’ve made that clear.” 

“Then what’s stopping you?” You wanted to step away from him. You needed to put some distance between the two of you, but you couldn’t. You could never leave him. It was like a magnetic force connected the two of you. No matter how long you were apart, you would always end up back in each other's arms. 

“Fear,” Charles admitted. “I couldn’t handle rejection. It would break me. All my life I’ve known it’s her. Somewhere deep inside of me could tell. I can’t be away from her. I need to see her and make sure she’s safe. I need to hold her and love her. Whenever we’re apart it tears me up inside. If she were ever to refuse me I don’t know how I would go on. She’s my other half. My lasting pair. Ma chérie.” 

People were stopping and staring at the King and you. Lorenzo poked at his mother who stifled a gasp. 

Arthur asked, “why aren’t they dancing?”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo sounded panicked. “The press are going to have a field day.” 

“Don’t you boys see?” Pascale was grinning. “They’re in love and finally realising it. Who cares about the press? This is about them.” 

“You were always one for romance, mama,” Arthur said. 

“Charlie,” you said. “Shut up and kiss me.” 

Charles beamed and did as he was told. You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around his neck. One of his hands cupped your cheek while the other settled on the small of your back, wanting you closer still. It was a tender kiss, and long overdue. It was like kissing was created just for the two of you; just so you could experience each other. If deities were real, you were sure Aphrodite had smiled down from the heavens and chosen you and Charles.

When you broke apart and the cameras continued flashing, Charles said, “ma chérie, I cannot tell you how long I’ve waited for that.”

“I hope you weren’t disappointed?” 

“With you? Never.” 

**

It was a quiet morning. You had woken up a few minutes ago but decided to stay in your husband’s warm embrace. Charles’ arm was wrapped tightly around your torso and you could feel his breath on your bare shoulder.

Charles shifted softly and groaned, “good morning.” You would never get used to his morning voice.

“I’ll never get used to your morning voice.” You rolled over to greet him. Charles smiled lazily and stroked your cheek lovingly. 

“Hello my beautiful Queen.”

“Hello my handsome King. Did you sleep well?”

“With what little sleep I got, I slept wonderfully.” He winked, referring to last night’s activities.

“What do you have planned for today?” you asked while reaching for his hand. Charles gladly gave it to you and interlaced your fingers.

“Just a couple of meetings with the Board. Then I’ll have the rest of the day to spend with you and Liza.”

“That’s nice. She’s been wanting to show you her new tricks on Danvers.” You referred to your daughter’s horse.

“She’s going to surpass me someday.” Charles jokingly shook his head. 

“Hate to break it to you, but she already has, old man,” you teased. 

Charles gaped at your words. “Old man?! If that’s true, then you’re calling yourself an old woman.” 

“I’m not an old woman,” you explained. “I just married an old man. I’m in it for the money.” 

Charles laughed loudly. “Well, I hope you’re happy with your old man, ma chérie, because he’s not ever letting you go.” 

“I’m very happy with him.” You grinned and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. 

Before Charles could chase after you with the complaint of wanting a real kiss, the door to your bedroom banged open. 

“Maman! Papa!” A little voice called out. 

“Is everyone decent?” Arthur yelled out from around the corner. He stuck his head in the room, eyes firmly closed. “‘Cause I still have the last image burned into my retinas.” 

“You only saw my butt!” Charles scoffed.

“It was plenty,” Arthur drew out the last word. He shuddered from the memory. 

Eliza jumped on the bed and into Charles’ arms. “Uncle Artie and Grammy are gonna take me to London!” 

“What?” You sat up and quickly grabbed Charles’ discared shirt that still lay on the floor from last night. Buttoning it up, you demanded, “Arthur, come here.” 

Arthur’s face morphed into one of fear. “Mama was the one that suggested it!” he defended, “and Liza promised not to tell.” 

“That’s worse,” you pointed out. 

“Do you have to work today, Papa?” Liza asked Charles.

“Only a little in the morning,” Charles said, settling her on his lap. “Then I’m all yours in the afternoon.” 

“Can we go swimming?” Eliza asked. 

“Yes,” 

“And horseback riding?” 

“Of course,” 

“And can we have a tea party with Grammy and Daniel?” Liza gasped, thinking only of her grandma and favourite castle guard. Their connection had begun early on when you found Daniel playing with Eliza one evening. You had apologised profusely, but he simply scooped her up and promised it was no big deal. They had become quick friends. 

“Only if there’s donuts,” Charles bargained. 

“Only if we can have it in your room under the painting.” She pointed to A Huguenot which had presided over your room ever since you moved in with Charles.

Charles thought for a moment before sticking his hand out. “Deal.” He and his daughter shook hands.

“Liza?” You kissed her forehead and asked her, “why don’t you go play with Uncle Artie for a while until your Daddy and I can join you for breakfast?”

“Okay!” The girl happily jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. 

Arthur scampered after and yelled out in warning, “I better not hear any other cries for ‘Daddy!’” 

You rolled your eyes while Charles restrained from cursing at his brother for fear of his daughter hearing him. You leaned back into Charles’ chest and he laid his head on yours. After a moment, he whispered, “you’ve been sleeping through the night.”

“I have been.” You nodded. “I think I’ve had the perfect person to help me fall asleep.” 

“Or maybe you’re just too tired after each night.” Charles started kissing your neck, slowly starting to suck a hickey. 

You let out a soft moan and clutched his hand. “Charlie,” you murmured through gritted teeth. “Liza’s expecting us.”

“She can wait.” Charles laid you down softly on the sheets. “I love you, ma chérie.” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone.

“I love you too, mon bonheur.”

**

People in the F1 world I wanna be friends with but am too scared to message: @leclsrc @hey-kae @vinvantae @schuvries

[brasiliangp]

Charles getting a haircut from his mother ♥

[f1version]

the leclerc family, the 5 of them ❤️🕊️

[nnato]

Leclerc family vacation

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—03. i think i fell in love today —word count: 7.5k —warnings: despicable tooth rotting clawing my eyes out eating the stuffing in my pillows fluff. truly its horrendous. lets talk about it. —love, mackie... i'm sleeping hopefully. right now I am hammocking. the ice cream truck just drove past. I love June.

After Paris, Chris was a bit apprehensive when it came to her ability to navigate the airport in Abu Dhabi with any sort of efficiency. Especially not now, where she needs to go through customs and register for a visitor’s visa and find her luggage and get her money exchanged. Pleasantly, though, she’s surprised at the ease she works through her notes app checklist. It’s within the hour that she’s climbing into the backseat of a taxi and heading to the hotel. 

She spends the entirety of the twenty-something minute drive doing a deep dive on Joris’ Instagram. He’s going to be waiting for you, Charles had told her the night they’d worked it all out. How he knew his friend would be free is beyond Chris, but that's not even the bigger issue at hand. The issue is, of course, that she’s had no more than a momentary interaction with Joris in the background of a FaceTime call two weeks ago. The thought of breezing past him in the hotel lobby is a mortifying one. 

It’s quarter after seven by the time she gets there, and when she catches a glance of herself in a mirror on the wall and almost bursts into laughter. Someone could tell her that she fell down the stairs in Austin and hit her head and is in a coma and it would feel more believable than her life right now. This just… this doesn’t happen to her; five star hotels in foreign countries and heavy accents and guys who call her beautiful from the other side of the globe. 

She spots Joris in an armchair on his phone at the other end of the lobby. She approaches nervously, and he stirs from his phone at her sudden proximity. “Hi,” Chris greets, sounds almost apologetic for interrupting him. “Joris, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods, dragging out the vowel sounds when he glances back down at his screen. Chris wonders if he knows he’s waiting for her. 

She smiles. “I’m Chris.”

“Right!” He snaps his fingers, shoves his phone into his pocket. “Chris.” He stands and opens his arms to hug her like they’re old friends. It’s a move straight from her book, one that she’s pulled on dozens of people before. It’s not one that she’s met with often. Chris thinks they’ll get on well, her and Joris. That’s a good thing, right? Friendly friends. 

Chris’ mom had told her more than once that the quickest way to know someone’s character is through their friends. Only a maniac is rude to animals and elderly and children, she’d said a million times over, it’s the character of the people they choose to spend time with that matters. Joris has no idea Chris is silently observing his every action, picking them apart on a human level.

On the elevator ride up, Joris fills Chris in on everything that’s happened during the free practices that day, tells her that it’s been a relatively clean couple of sessions. You do know of the risk this weekend, yes? P2 or P3, he asks and answers his own question. Chris nods. If she didn’t know, she does now. The room is on the fifth floor, she notes, staring at the glowing five button as she picks at her cuticles. It hits her like a ton of bricks, her anxiety skyrocketing as the elevator ascends, her stomach left behind on the ground level. 

This whole thing is crazy, and not the quirky, silly story you tell your friends about over a vodka cran crazy. Just plain crazy. Insane. Off the wall absurd. Why, why are they sharing a room? Why is she even here? What is it about her that can’t be found somewhere, anywhere, else? And the most prudent question, the one ringing in her ears louder with each passing moment; what is it about him? 

Chris has never considered herself to be logical, not in the slightest, but she does like to maintain the idea that she’s well grounded. She might not always act in a way that makes the most sense, but she always makes those choices within the bounds of her reality. 

And, because her nerves permeate off her like a thirteen-year-old’s B.O, Joris takes a stab at cooling her down. “How was your planes?”

“Good. Smooth.” she nods, forces a smile. Her weight shifts from heel to heel, thumbs looped through her backpack straps. The floor is a shiny black marble with white and gold veins, one that commands your attention. Chris pulls her eyes from it to look at him anyway. Nervous and insane or not, she wants to make a good impression. “I could do without navigating the airport in Paris ever again, though.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “It never gets easier.”

“Does any of it?” She offers up a laugh, but it’s as genuine as the smile her face held before. 

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off with the ding of the doors opening. There, in the hallway with more marble floors and a wallpaper that walks the line between elegant and gaudy, a couple stands on a white carpet runner. The man has on a Mercedes cap. Chris wonders if they know a Formula One driver is staying on their floor. 

The four of them sidestep awkwardly around each other with polite smiles to the floor, and before she knows it Joris is holding a keycard over the lock on a heavy door and handing the piece of plastic to her. 

It’s not a room. It’s a suite. There’s a living room and a kitchenette and a whole separate bedroom to this place. It’s expensive, wildly so, she’s sure. 

She wheels her suitcase into the bedroom, leaves it in the corner by an armchair with her backpack. At the bottom of the bag is her purse, which she digs out while Joris is using the bathroom, moving things around from one bag to the other. 

The drive to the circuit is twenty minutes, at least, and Joris talks the whole time, mostly about how nervous he is and how hard he’s trying to make sure Charles doesn’t notice. Chris doesn’t tell him that Charles is also beyond nervous about the whole thing–or that he knows good and well everyone around him is losing their minds. It doesn’t seem like the type of thing that would make Joris feel any better. 

“Pascale and Enzo, you know them, yes? Charles’ Mum and brother?” Joris questions.

“Nope,” Chris shakes her head. “Not yet.”

Oh, he doesn’t say. “You’ll like them if you like Charles,” he laughs. “You do like Charles?”

Chris bites down on a smile, a laugh leaving her nose in an exhale. “I do.”

“Good, good.” He nods. “Anyway, they are not here tonight, they already have gone back to the hotel. Arthur is there, still. Do you know him?”

“I think it’s going to be easier for both of us if you just assume I don’t know anyone.”

“Ah, okay. Will do.”

Chris wonders what Charles has said about her to Joris, to Arthur, to anyone. All of the stories he has or hasn’t told them about. She has almost exclusively not talked about him back home. Not because she doesn’t want to, she just can’t figure out how to say anything without sounding like a reality television star. Maybe he’s the same way. There’s a real chance that nobody in his family even knows that she’s coming, and maybe that’s the way she’d like it to be. 

Her reunion with Charles couldn’t be more different than their first meeting. The paddock is empty with exception of team crews and straggling media members. There isn’t a Bud Light in sight and the pass hanging around her neck has a picture of her on the back. He must’ve pulled it from her Instagram, the one that he keeps talking about wanting to follow back. A picture of her and CHRISTYN ELLIOTT - FULL WEEKEND written in bold letters. 

“He’s probably at the briefing,” Joris explains, checking his watch and walking one stride for every two of Chris’. She tries her hardest to keep up with him as he expertly navigates the paddock, all while trying to memorize his moves so she doesn’t end up stranded sometime this weekend. 

A whistle gets their attention, cutting sharply through the hot desert air. Her and Joris both snap their heads around to find the perpetrator of the summons. Charles pats Pierre’s shoulder and jogs ahead of the group of drivers, all already engaged in their own conversations and heading off into different directions. 

He has such a carefree smile on his face, jogging over with happy eyes and wiggling brows and a stupid little wink that puts a smile on her face. “Hello, Christyn,” he quips, greets her with open arms. And then, once his arms are pulling her to him so tight she can’t take a full breath, when he has so much energy to give her he can’t help but rock on the sides of his feet, he whispers just for her, “Hi,” a soft kiss on the crown of her head, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

All she can think about is how warm he is. Warm, and smells so nice. She doesn’t know how she’s going to ever go home. Not when he’s so warm. 

“How was the planes?” He asks, an arm comfortable slotting around her as they resume their walk to wherever it is she’s being led. 

“Uh, I’m tired, but.” She smiles. At him. Right there where she can touch him. Where he is touching her. “I’m here, so. I’m happy.”

On the walk back to hospitality, she asks him how his day’s gone. He’s sure she already knows, that Joris talked her ear off the entire drive over or that she’d checked the media reports of the practice sessions, but it’s nice to pretend she doesn’t know. He tries to summarize everything as concise as he can, because even though he loves talking to her, he’d much rather listen. He can listen to her talk until the sun burns out.

He’s not surprised to notice that Joris has peeled off from them, especially not because he didn’t even realize he wasn’t trailing behind him and Chris until he held open the door to his driver’s room and Joris was nowhere to be found.

He can’t count the amount of texts he’s had to have sent Chris from his driver’s room. How badly he wanted to just be talking with her, and now she’s here. She’s here, she’s here, she’s here with him. 

He moves around the room, cleaning and reorganizing his things for a fresh start in the morning. Casually, he mentions that he has a sponsorship obligation tonight, last race and all, and that Arthur and Joris are coming along. He doesn’t speak it so offhandedly because he’d forgotten, but because he didn’t want her to get freaked out by the idea of it. He explains that she’s welcome to tag along, or, if she’d feel more comfortable, she can stay here while Andrea packs up his things. 

She’s leaning against the wall just next to the doorway, watching him. Without hesitation, she replies, “I’ll come with you.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking to her. “You don’t have to.”

She nods, looks at the ground or the couch or something that isn’t him, folds her hand to look at her nails and lets out an almost silent laugh. His stomach drops. “You sound like you don’t want me to go.”

“No, no.” He corrects, and she still doesn’t look at him. He waves for her attention, cocks his head to the side when he gets it, “No. That’s not. I just want you to do what you want to do.”

“I want to go.”

“Okay,” he smiles.

She crosses her arms over her chest, looks like she’s trying so hard not to smile at him. “You’re being weird, you know?”

He shrugs, because she’s right. “I told you I would be.”

“Well,” Chris sighs, moves across the room to the small couch in the corner, “why are you being weird?”

“Because.” I want to kiss you, he stops himself from saying. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you twenty minutes ago, since you decided to come, since I met you, maybe. 

“Because, why?” She laughs, and he’s suddenly struck with the thought of what her laughter might taste like. Sweet, surely, just like it sounds. Like a popsicle on a summer day. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he tries his absolute hardest to wipe that thought from his brain before texting his brother back. “Je veux t'embrasser tout le temps,” I want to kiss you all the time, he mumbles, isn’t even sure it actually leaves his lips or if he keeps it locked in the vault. He continues to send his reply to Arthur. 

“You know I don’t understand what you just said,” Chris reminds him. That’s why it came out in French, he thinks. Not everything is meant to be said. 

“I said,” he pauses, sends the text, looks back at her. God. “I said I want to kiss you.”

She crosses one leg over the other, looks down at her pants like there is something in her lap to fix. He can see the blush on the tips of her ears, even though she’s trying to hide her cheeks. When she does look up, face still flushed, she tucks her bangs behind her ears and replies softly, “you’re allowed to kiss me, Charles.”

He can’t believe he hasn’t yet. That he’d hugged the life out of her, kissed her hair and told her how happy he is she’s there, that he’d thought about kissing her for weeks, that he didn’t fucking kiss the girl yet. They’re sharing a bedroom tonight, and he still hasn’t kissed her. He thought about it, he did. But they’d promised to keep things as quiet as they could. Now, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have stopped him from throwing all those conversations out the window. 

If there wasn’t something weird in the air before, there certainly is now. A new weird. A good weird. An implication of something in the air, weird. It’s out there now, ust hanging above them. I want to kiss you. You can kiss me. Now all that’s left is for one of them to make the move. 

It’s the least he can do–make the first move. She flew across the globe, he can fucking kiss her. He wants to fucking kiss her. He feels like a little kid, the giddy smile that pulls on the corners of his lips when he walks over to her. He does little to conceal his intent.

“What?” She asks with a smile on her face. A tease, she has to know. 

He holds out his hands, palms forward to her and she follows his lead, reaches up to lace their fingers together. “I like you, you know?” He asks, leans his weight against her hands. Some hands are just meant to be held. 

She giggles like a child, pure and innocent and like nothing bad has ever happened to her. Like the childhood dog and all four grandparents are still kicking. “I can’t hold you up.”

“What?” He quirks a brow, leans more weight onto her hands and she laughs harder, her arms shaking below him. 

“Charles!”

“I said I like you, Chris!”

Through weak arms and uncontrollable belly laughs, she manages to choke out in gulps for air, “I like you, too.” In a swift movement, he recenters his weight on his own feet, pulling Chris up from the couch. The force of his pull almost knocks her from her feet, both of them still laughing, fingers dancing with the others on either side of their frames. The laughter is light and airy and barely there, but it’s laughter nonetheless. When their hands do fall apart, their pinkies stay looped together without force, without any pull at all, just comfortably slotted against the other. “I really like you,” she adds, and her voice sounds like smiles look. 

She blushes under her own words, over the entirety of their private moment, eyes darting from eyes to lips and back to eyes. “Yeah?” He asks quietly, like he’s scared asking might change her answer. She nods, biting down on the smile that paints her bottom lip, and it’s more than enough for him. She’s so good. She’s too good not to kiss. 

He moves a hand to her jaw, thumbs her cheek with fingers slotted behind her ear, dancing along her hairline like a whisper of what’s to come. Like a promise. In the absence of his hand, hers finds his chest, just his thin Ferrari shirt separating her palm from the butterflies stirring wildly in his chest. “Me, too,” he says softly. Softer than she did, more to her lips—soft and pretty and his favorite shade of pink—than to her eyes. And then, either so softly only the atoms hear it, or maybe in his head entirely, “very much.”

And then he kisses her. 

She tastes like mint chapstick and biscoff cookies and coffee. Her lips are soft, softer than they looked, softer than her voice. It’s like a boost of energy, kissing her. Like an immediate and complete charge. 

She tightens her grip on his other pinky. Tightens it, loosens it, re-intertwines the whole hand somewhere off in the distance, far, far away from where he wishes to stay forever. This alone is worth a flight anywhere. Altitude sickness and limbs falling asleep and jet lag and headaches from screaming babies are all poor inhibitors when this would be waiting for him on the other side. 

He pulls his hand from hers because it's just not close enough. Nothing is going to be close enough, but he’ll try his damndest to cup her jaw and pull her deeper into the kiss. Their noses bump awkwardly and they pull apart in a breathless laugh. Nothing more than a quick, shared smile and he’s kissing it off her face, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth and letting her hum mumbles into his mouth. Teeth clacking and more laughing, so breathless it’s practically silent. 

“Chris Elliott,” he says all sing-songy, just because he knows it’ll make her laugh. A quick peck, because he can. “You are something.”

“Charles Leclerc,” she mimics, wide eyes and raised brows and a beaming smile. A quick peck, because he’s never going to stop her. “Something good?”

He hums. “Something great.”

“You’re silly,” she says, and he laughs. 

“Silly?” She nods. “You’re cute.” Chris rolls her eyes, but still has that child’s smile on her face and a pink flush to her cheeks. He kisses her again, quick, because he has a month to make up for. 

“I know,” she retorts, deadpan. He laughs louder than any sane man should. 

Joris, Arthur, and Andrea file into the room a few minutes later. Chris is leaning against the wall again, scrolling through her phone. She clicks it off when they walk in, shoves it deep into her purse pocket. 

Andrea’s eyes bounce from Chris to Charles, and then back to Chris, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Andrea,” he greets, formal and cool. 

“Chris,” she smiles, shakes the outstretched hand. 

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” she nods. “You too.”

First bad impression. She doesn’t know what it is she did, but with the simple half-minute observation of his interactions with her versus the rest of the people in the room, it’s obvious he’s already soured on her. 

Arthur, though, Arthur is almost off putting in his resemblance to Charles. Same voice, same face, certainly same bloodline. She thinks she could recognize him anywhere, probably. He, however, on his phone, doesn’t even notice Chris’ presence in the room until Joris elbows him on the sofa. 

“Quoi?!” He exclaims in a defensive tone that transcends language barriers. The kind that only brothers know how to use. 

“Hi,” Chris says, and Arthur’s head shoots from Joris to her in the doorway. He almost laughs, he’s so surprised by her presence. “I’m Chris,” she adds, holding out a hand only because he's sitting and she’s standing and a hug doesn’t feel logistically sound. 

“Ah, Chris,” Arthur nods, shakes her hand. “Charles does not answer my phone calls because of you.”

“Oh,” she offers a weak smile. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no. I do not want to hear from him.”

Chris laughs. From the other side of the room, Charles chimes in, “then why are you calling me?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Maman say, ‘do you call Charles’ and I say ‘yes he does not answer me.’”

- - -

They run into Carlos and co. on the way to the sponsorship event. Chris tries to hang back towards the end of the group, back with Joris and Arthur and away from Charles, purely out of self preservation. They’d agreed in passing that everything would be much easier, hundreds of times simpler, if nobody knew Chris was there this weekend, if everything was kept under the radar. Charles, however, seems to have forgotten that agreement because, no matter how engaged he gets into a conversation, he is constantly looking for her in the group, reaching his hand out to her if she’s within distance to do so, keeping her as close to him as he can. 

She keeps falling back though, falling into ranks. She doesn’t want to look like a girlfriend, because she isn’t. 

Chris has no idea how to be a public… girl? A fling or a girlfriend or anything in between. She’s at home at a race track, yes, and during Chase’s championship winning season, she got stopped three times to take pictures with fans, but, really. Nobody has ever cared about what she’s doing or who she’s doing it with. 

Walking in behind Carlos and Charles is like walking in behind celebrities. Everyone wants to shake their hands, to pat them on the shoulders and tell them this thing or another. There’s lots of languages being thrown around that she doesn’t recognize, accents she struggles to understand. 

“This is crazy,” she says quietly, just to herself. 

Arthur nudges her with his elbow to steal her attention, furrows his brows for a moment and holds up a quizzical thumbs up. Chris nods, smiles gratefully. 

Charles promised that it was going to be nothing more than a quick stop at the event, and he meant it. They aren’t even there long enough to sit down. Instead they hang out in the back of the tent near the bar, watching Charles and Carlos talk on stage with several different people about how important this brand is for us.  

They decide to go out to dinner after, despite Chris’ burning desire to go to sleep for a couple years. They get sat at a booth that’s probably made to hold no more than four people; Andrea and Joris on one side, Charles sandwiched between Chris and Arthur on either side. He finds her hand under the table, his thumb tracing along the lines of her fingers. Chris, against all urges to rest her head on his shoulder, rests it instead on the wooden divider between their booth and the neighboring one. 

Arthur is the only one who struggles to speak English rather than his mother tongue, and while Charles corrects him each time, Chris doesn’t dare. She’d rather die than imply someone speaking in a second language needs to improve the way they speak it. 

“Are you going to be with us all weekend?” Arthur asks around Charles’ frame. 

“I’m actually going to be in the grandstands,” she smiles. Charles rolls his eyes. 

“Oh?” Arthur asks, looks to his brother, but Joris beats him to the punch. 

“You couldn’t get her a pass for the whole weekend?” Joris chirps. Andrea laughs and Charles reaches for the pass hung around her neck. She didn’t even realize she was the only person still wearing it until now. Charles flips the pass over, points out the FULL WEEKEND on the back. 

“Her choice, not mine.”

She reaches to take the pass out of his hand, to pull it off over her head and put it into her purse. “I’m hoping for a drama-free weekend,” she says, and the boys laugh. Charles’ hand finds her thigh, gives it a little pat and a comfortable squeeze. 

Her hands are meant to be held, they really are. He could hold her hand until the moment she leaves, fingers locked together as they walk through the hotel corridor, empty and echoey with their voices and the sound of their feet on the carpet runner. 

Once in the room, face to face together with the single bed, they both burst into laughter. He’s glad he cleaned things up before she got here, because the room was starting to look a little like his driver’s room–clothes strewn about messily, plastic water bottles on the end table, a television remote he lost the night he got here and hadn’t found until this morning. In the corner, Chris’ luggage sits beside the armchair, backpack neatly stacked with a single suitcase. 

“Did you bring your whole wardrobe?” He jokes, and maybe it’s because he’s never been great at conveying jokes in English, or maybe it’s that they’re both absolutely exhausted, but the joke doesn't land. She’s immediately apologizing, spewing out a jumbled apology about I didn’t know what I was supposed to wear, and then– “I’m messing with you,” he says, and hates that she thinks he’d be that worked up over a suitcase, especially when he’d brought at least double what she had. She could have shown up with twenty suitcases and he still wouldn’t have thought it was too much because, well, she’s here. Right in front of him. 

“Oh,” she pouts, and he kisses the look off her face. He’s wanted to do that since he saw it for the first time. “Oh. I like when you do that.” Good, he thinks. Get used to it. 

They both make plans to shower; her before him. He’s on the couch in the living area of the suite when she re-emerges from the bathroom, the TV rolling and absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. When the sliding door to the bathroom opens, he looks up to watch her. 

Her hair long down her back, carefully combed out so that the soaking ends turn the fabric of her sun-worn blue t-shirt a darker shade. It’s big on her–the shirt–hangs almost long enough that you wouldn’t be able to spot the flannel shorts underneath. He can still hear the sink running in the bathroom and she’s got a toothbrush in her mouth. 

He whistles when she walks back from the bedroom towards the bathroom again, and she stops in the doorway, laughs around the toothbrush and does a sweet spin. “Bellissimo,” he says, gestures a chef’s kiss and she bows dramatically. 

After his shower, he finds her in the bedroom, comfortably perched against the headboard, tucked under the crisp white duvet. The only light in the place is coming from her end table lamp, casting a soft shadow on her face, her knees pulled up close while she turns the pages of a book. He hovers around his suitcase watching her, completely in her own world, the only hint of her presence on this plane being the subtle lean into the light to better illuminate the pages she turns. 

It’s not the first time he’s found himself looking at her like this. She’s easy to get lost in and almost never notices him staring. She just gets so focused on the task at hand–grading papers, cooking a meal, painting her nails, watching a television show, or like tonight, reading her current library rental. 

“Do you want a water?” He asks. Her eyes don’t leave the page, a subtle shake of the head before she finally mumbles a no, thank you. He navigates the dark suite to the kitchenette, finds himself a plastic water bottle in the mini-fridge, and then he’s pulling back the comforter to climb into bed with her. “So, I was thinking tomorrow–” he starts, but she cuts him off with a singular finger held in the air. He can’t help but laugh, stupid smile on his face while he watches her eyes hurriedly finish the page, dog ear the tiniest fold onto the corner. 

“Sorry,” she unapologetically offers, setting the book down on the end table. “What were you saying?”

“Uh, I don’t remember,” he says, because he lost it while he tried to guess what she was reading based on the little microexpressions that crossed her face. His eyes fall to the gold chain around her neck, to the small cross that lays over the blue fabric of her shirt. He’s noticed it dozens of times, it’s constant presence in every picture, every video, every call and outfit and event. He doesn’t even think when he reaches for it, examines it with gentle fingers. “Is this a, uh…” he struggles to find the word, “how do you say, family tradition?”

“Heirloom?”

He nods, drops the piece of jewelry back to its rightful spot. “Heirloom.”

“No, it was a birthday gift,” she explains, fingers the chain of it, “from my brother when I turned eighteen.”

He nods, points out the other necklace she’s wearing, a flower with a pearl in the center. “And this?”

She laughs, “it’s silly,” she says. “It goes with these earrings I have, they’re from my parents when I graduated college.” He learns the flower is a chrysanthemum, that her dad has always called her Mum, that her mom has a particular affinity for pearls that she’s passed onto Chris, that all of these things have combined into this piece of jewelry hanging around her neck and that she cried and cried when they gifted it to her. 

Because the sun is still burning, he doesn’t stop asking about the different pieces she wears until he’s run out of ones to point to. He learns the story of a ruby ring–her birthstone–that she found in a thrift store for seventy-five cents when she was fifteen, how it used to fit on her pointer finger but now it fits her ring finger, how sometimes she makes up elaborate stories of how it ended up in the bargain bin of a Goodwill in North Georgia. 

She tells him about three friendship bracelets. The first and second are made by students, her favorite gifts. The third, blue and yellow–NAPA colors, her brother’s racing colors–made by her nephew. “He’s four, and he is everything annoying about my brother and everything good about my best friend, and I think I would kill someone for him.” Charles is sure that tomorrow he’ll be telling someone they wouldn’t believe the way she lights up when she talks about this kid. 

When he’s run out of things to question, she’s examining the red string tied around his wrist. “What about you?” She asks, “what’s up with this guy?”

“My mate, Pierre. He learns about it from our other friend Yuki,” He explains. “They always know the strangest things, Pierre and Yuki,” he chuckles, continues to explain the traditional symbol of good luck. “I don’t know how well it works, though,” he laughs, and she kisses him. It surprises him, but he’s in no place to complain. Perhaps the bracelet works quite well, he thinks when she moves closer, snuggles under his arm while he continues. 

Three metal bracelets. One red, one silver, one stainless steel. Morse code: Amour, Bonheur, Smile. A ring that matches the bracelet. Two hex rings that track his heart rate and his sleep and a million other things.

He spins the rings while he talks, pulls them off and hands one to her without missing a beat in his sentence. She toys with it while she listens, hands it back to him with a quiet yawn. When he kisses her hair, it’s still damp and smells like the shampoo she used, something he can’t place, something he hopes eventually to memorize. “You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You told me that last week.”

“I know,” another kiss against the unfamiliar scent. “I meant it.”

Charles wants to order room service for breakfast. Chris shuts that idea down the minute it comes out of his mouth, furrowing her brows and making him attempt to rationalize waiting half an hour for food that’s five minutes away. He can’t, so they head to the lobby. 

Chris is wearing the same shirt, pulls a pair of sweatpants over her flannel shorts and ties her hair into a messy, tangled ponytail. She’d keep it down, but her hair dried while she slept and it’s pointing in directions that defy gravity. A ponytail was the only option. Charles doesn’t change, keeps the t-shirt and shorts he slept in on. 

They find Andrea in the lobby, eating at a table for two by himself. Charles pulls a chair over from a nearby table and they sit down with him. By the time Joris appears, the table is officially too full of food to comfortably function. 

She hears his phone vibrate against the hard plastic of his chair, and he casually mentions that the rest of his family is on their way down. 

Chris doesn’t react, not externally, anyways. She finishes what’s left in her mug, bee-lines it over to the coffee bar to make another. Absent-mindedly, she tears the foil from the creamer cups, rips open the sugar packets and stirs it all together. His mom. His mom. His mom. It’s all she can think about. His mother. The woman who gave him life. Chris knew she’d be meeting his mom this weekend, but she figured she’d have more preparation than a couple minutes warning, assumed she’d be dressed, hair styled, makeup done. That she’d be presenting herself as someone you’d be happy to have your son spend time with, not like a  7/11 customer in Dahlonega at one in the morning. Maybe Charles was right and room service was a good idea. 

Even once she’s back at the table, every elevator ding makes her jump, shoots her head in the direction of the opening doors just terrified the people walking out are going to be his family. 

“Are you good?” Charles asks after she flinches at the third elevator bell. 

“Yup,” she lies, slaps a big, phony smile on her face and takes a sip of her coffee. His hand finds her leg, gives it a little you’ll be fine squeeze. 

The next elevator is carrying his family. She instinctively straightens in her seat, moves things around the crowded table so her food looks neat and managed. Joris looks at her with concern, Charles laughs when she refolds a napkin. “Don’t laugh at me,” she whispers. 

Out of earshot, Arthur says something through a stretch and a yawn. His mom rolls her eyes, pushes him in the direction of the coffee bar, mutters something to his other brother that makes him chuckle. When his mom spots Chris, she makes a bee-line for her with open arms. Chris practically trips over the leg of her chair trying to stand up before the hug reaches her. 

“Come here, chérie,” she smiles. It’s warm, just like her boy’s. “I have heard so much about you.” Oh? Chris smiles, suddenly aware that she’s apparently horribly unprepared for this entire introduction. He’s telling his mother about her? 

She hugs Pascale back and looks over her shoulder to Charles with wide eyes. She’s met with a matching expression, Charles shrugging and shaking his head as if to adamantly tell her he has no idea what his mom is talking about. “And what have you heard, Maman?” He asks with a laugh. 

“Don’t start with me,” she says, wagging a finger at her boy, and then to Chris, “Ignore him.” She holds her at arm's length, hands on either shoulder and looks her up and down. Chris laughs, nervous but still noticeably genuine. “You are just beautiful, aren’t you?”

Well. Beautiful isn’t a word Chris would use to describe herself at this moment. Ratty, perhaps. Disheveled. Off-putting. But sure, beautiful is a word she might sometimes describe herself as. “Me?” She shakes her head, “ma’am, look at yourself.”

“Oh, please,” his mom scoffs. “Pascale.”

“Pascale.” Chris smiles, goes in for another hug.

Whether it’s because he’s a brother and not a mother, or because meeting said mother is done and over with, Chris is significantly less anxious when it comes to her introduction with Lorenzo. 

Chris attempts to insist Pascale take her seat, but is out-insisted to finish her breakfast. Charles finds her hand under the table, winks at her when she interlocks her fingers with his. 

– – – 

Outside of their shared breakfast, Saturday is a long day apart for Chris and Charles. A quick kiss goodbye in their hotel room when Charles finishes getting ready, a quicker “good luck,” from Chris called after him on his way out the door, and a thumbs up over his head as a response summarizes their interactions for the rest of the day. 

Chris works on next week’s lesson plans for a few hours, nothing better to do while she waits to leave for the track. 

She watches the third practice session and quali from the grandstand across from the pitlane, and while neither are his greatest showing, Chris can feel it in her bones that everything is going to fall into place for him tomorrow. A third place start is more than good enough to beat out Perez at Red Bull. She knows it like she knows her own name, and nobody is going to tell her otherwise. 

She goes back to the hotel after quali, doesn’t bother to attempt sneaking into the paddock to try and find him. It just doesn’t feel worth it–navigating a place she doesn’t know, avoiding the cameras and the reporters and the chaos–not when he’ll be coming back to the hotel, back to her. 

She falls asleep moments after sitting down on the couch, and isn’t woken up until she doesn’t even know when. It’s the middle of the night, Charles tells her, guides her to bed and tucks her in like a child, complete with a kiss on the forehead. 

- - -

The first words out of her mouth on Sunday morning are an apology. 

When Charles tries to cut her off with a laugh and a kiss, she stops him just short of her lips, claiming morning breath. “Wow,” he feigns shock. “First you fall asleep on me, now you will not kiss me?”

She rolls her eyes, grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down to kiss her. “Happy?”

He nods and kisses her again. He keeps waiting for it to not feel so exciting, so much like a stupid movie, so young, and it’s yet to reach that point. It’s not even coming close. “Yes, thank you.”

From the other side of the bathroom wall she dares to ask him if he’s nervous, if the pressure is finally manifesting itself into stress. He’s quiet for a while. 

“No,” he eventually calls back.

“No?”

He peels around the doorway, messing with the collar on his team shirt. “Yes,” he admits with a scale-breaking sigh. She wishes he was as sure as himself as she is, that he could feel in his bones it is all going to work out perfectly. 

“Well, I’ll be here when you’re done, and we can either celebrate Charles Leclerc, Vice World Champion,” he turns away at the title, the side profile of a smile turning the corner back into the bathroom. “Or, we can celebrate the end of an exhausting season. Either way, we’re celebrating.” He stays quiet. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he finally speaks, tone lackluster, unconfident. It’s hard to hear him like this, to hear the distinct shards of doubt that rattle in his chest. “We’re celebrating.”

We’re celebrating. Tonight is a celebration. The positives with the negatives, the good always outweighs the bad. She reminds herself like it’s a mantra. Tonight is a celebration. 

- - -

Alone in the grandstands with an air of certainty about her, Chris’ bar for friendship has never been lower. She finds a group of girlfriends who appear to be sort-of, almost, kind-of, maybe in the same age demographic as she is. They speak English and don’t ignore her when she talks, and that’s enough for her to latch onto for the evening. 

We like McLaren, they tell her, But those Ferrari boys–they’re cute. You can’t help but feel for them. Chris just smiles and nods, offers up a laugh and pretends she won’t be falling asleep next to one of those cute boys later tonight. 

The girls–flew in from London on Friday just for this-fill her in on everything she already knows. They tell her about Charles and his fight for P2, about the strategic pitfalls of Ferrari and the fact that on paper, it was Charles’ year to win it all. 

They’re more nervous during the race than Chris is, not to say that her leg isn’t bouncing watching the times constantly changing, that she isn’t whispering mumbles prayers into the air between here and there, just that she knows. She knows. 

If it was possible to stare through a helmet, Chris would’ve done it during his pitstop, burning the confidence right into his frontal lobe. Her eyes are glued to his car, his helmet, distant and small and buzzing with energy. He’s got it under control, like a perfectly wrapped gift sat in his lap, like a row of monkey bars and hands hardened by months of blisters, like a first kiss and a second kiss and a third kiss. He’s got it under control.

He does, because after what feels simultaneously like the longest and shortest fifty-eight laps of her life, Chris practically has a front row seat to Charles doing donuts. She’s so happy that she thinks she might cry, not that it takes much of anything to pull a tear from her when she’s this exhausted. The girls she’d befriended jump and celebrate and cheer louder than the fireworks. 

Chris tries to live the moment. To feel it all, the energy and the roar and the joy, which only makes it that much harder not to cry. 

Suddenly, momentarily, irrationally emotionally, while she watches him celebrate with his family and his team in front of the whole world she wishes she was down there with him. Screw the world watching, she wants to hug him until her arms are numb and kiss him until she passes out.

There’s no telling when–or even if–she’s going to ever live through a moment like this again. It’s not one she wants to forget. In the chaos of it all, her hand finds her chest, the hard metal of her cross necklace through the fabric of her top, the pulsing of her heartbeat, loud and racing. 

It’s hours before he’s back to the hotel, but it doesn’t feel late at all. He’s still running on adrenaline, just as ready to celebrate as he was when he jumped into his team’s arms. Over the mechanical shifting of the door lock, he can hear Chris’ feet echoing on the floor just on the other side and before he can even make it through the doorway she’s crashing into him. The pure energy that she is knocks him back a few steps, but then he’s hugging her back just as hard, maybe harder. 

He can feel her tears soak through his shirt, and with a laugh asks if she’s crying. 

“Shut up,” she says, and it only makes him laugh harder, hug tighter. God, the show he would have put on if he could’ve found her right after the race. The trouble he would make. “Oh, my god!” She sniffles, pulls her head off his chest and wipes away her tears. “Kiss me, already!”

And so he does. He kisses the shit out of her. 

She pulls away with a smile, arms slinked around his neck like it belongs to her. “So, how does it feel?” She asks, “Vice World Champion, Charles Leclerc.”

He gives her a quick kiss, nothing more than a peck, shrugs, and repeats the action. “Too busy kissing the girl.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she laughs, drops her head so it’s against his chest and vibrates his entire being. It’s a laugh that lights stars, dances around the room like a windchime in the warm August air. The kind so distinct you could hear it across a room ten years later and still know it was her. “A walking cheeseball.”

“A cheeseball?” He humors. 

“I said what I said.”

His satisfied hum says more than words ever could, fingers comfortable dancing along the bone of her hip. “We gotta get ready,” he says. 

“For what?”

“The celebration.”

last chapter masterlist next chapter

[lukamodric]

@/charles_leclerc: “i love them 🤍”

[il-predestinato]

FYI, she describes him as "le plus chiant," which as best as I can translate in this context, basically means "biggest pain in the ass" (aka. annoying). 🤣 His poor mom. 🥲 🎥: Charles Leclerc

[forelsketparadise]

Charles gets a haircut from his mother.

[f1-stuff]

A Merry Leclerc Christmas ❤️ 🎄

[natailiatulls07]

More little sister Leclerc☹️☹️☹️☹️

Pleaseeee

Maybe something where she’s younger like 10 and Charles is like 16 and her parents said she can’t sleep in their room anymore because she’s a big girl so she goes to Charles room…..

Big girl now

Charles Leclerc x Leclerc!Reader

Summary - Request above <3

Warning - Nightmare

-

When Hervé and Pascale had their first child together, Charles Leclerc, they made a promise that they would be stern and loving parents. They wanted to raise their children to be very respectful, responsible and successful people.

So one of the many 'rules' they followed was; Not allowing any of their four children to sleep in their with them after a certain age. What age is that? Five years old.

-

01.36am

Charles was sat on his bed, he was watching a tv show whilst also texting with his friends. This was an often occurrence, he's a teenage boy who stayed up all night and slept all day especially now during summer break.

His tv was fairly quiet, even though he was an unruly teenager he respected at least on of his parents wishes - "Be quiet as your sisters room is next door"

The room next door to his was Y/n Leclerc, his five year old baby sister. The light of his life. Every night she is put down to bed for 8.30pm and to wake up at 7.30am.

There was a faint knock at his door. Charles gets up from the comfort of his bed and opens the door gently. Just outside in the darkened hallway is Y/n.

Her hair is crazy, she's clutching tightly to her little teddy bear and there's floods of tears streaming down her face. "Cha Cha?" She whispered.

Instant the sixteen year old boy kneels down. "Que se passe-t-il mon ange?" What's going on my angel? Charles collects the little girl in his arms, thumbs wiping her tears.

"Maman et papa ont dit que je devais être une grande fille" Mommy and Daddy said I had to be a big girl Y/n had yet to learn English, Hervé and Pascale wanted all their children's first language to be French. "Mais c'est effrayant..." But it's scary...

He knew exactly what she was on about, he went through it all with Lorenzo when he was at that age and he did the exact same for Arthur. Charles just picked her up and made his way to bed.

"Veux-tu en parler mon ange?" Do you want to talk about it angel? He knew he had to try, that was how he and Lorenzo would calm down Arthur. But when Y/n just shook her head, Charles knew to not ask again.

Instead Y/n just tucked herself closer to her older brother, muttering softly. "Câlin…câlin" Cuddle...cuddle So thats what he did, Charles held her tightly. Rocking her back to sleep gently.

"C'est bon mon ange…toutes les grandes filles ont parfois besoin de leurs frères..." It's okay angel...all big girls need their brothers sometimes He knew how he had to cherish moments like this because he knows how time flies by.

-

[justc2world]

This is so soft 🥹

[miryum]

Foundling Villa- Chapter 1

Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: Swearing, arranged marriage, and a mention of misogyny

ao3 link   next chapter>>

“My lady, we’re crossing the border into Enza. We should be arriving in an hour.” You nodded at your maid, indicating that you had heard her. You didn’t look away from the window. 

“What do you think the prince will be like?” A younger maid gossiped quietly. The older maid shook her head at the inexperienced one, shushing her. “Sorry, ma’am,” the youngest maid whispered in your direction, head hung low. You think she’s named Elena. Your other maid who had been with you since you turned fourteen was a lovely woman named Sara. She knew not to interrupt your stupor. 

Elena’s words dug at you, though. What was he like? The prince and you had only communicated through one letter. Your family had urged you to write to him, and so you did. You received a short letter in reply. There hadn’t been any communication since.

Your mother had told you the carriage ride would be short. She was wrong. It was too quiet, giving you time to dig up anxieties you had attempted to repress.

You were starting to feel guilt about your last days in Williams- the kingdom that your mother and father ruled. You had avoided your family during the final nights of your stay. You weren’t sure if it was out of contempt or not wanting to see your brothers and sisters pitying faces. You had stayed huddled in your room, watching stoically as Sara and Elena tried to get your opinion on what to pack. 

At first, when your parents told you that for the prosperity of the kingdom, they were marrying you off to an obscure prince in Enza, you were angry. You had watched your older sisters get married off, one by one, each with varying results. One of your sisters gained a connection with their husband and fell in love. Another sister became sweet friends with their husband, and while there was no romantic love, there was a strong platonic relationship. Your last sister was married to a prick and rightly hated him. He was misogynist and had anger issues that bullied your sister into submission. 

If you got nothing else, you were satisfied with being friends with the prince. 

So your anger turned to sad acceptance. At least Enza was a beautiful place.

Your older brother had his choice of mistresses for his bride, in which all had been vetted to see if they were a proper fit to be Queen of Williams. Your youngest brother still had some years of freedom before your parents started pointing out the eligible ladies in court. 

But the prince of Enza had no choice. While his older brother needed a suitable queen and therefore had his pick, the younger prince was just another pawn in the game of hierarchical chess. The kingdoms of Enza and Williams both had something to gain from the other and you and the prince were simply the bond of that compromise. Enza, being the bigger and stronger empire, would protect Williams in times of need, while Williams, being a small mining community, promised to supply Enza with gold and iron. Neither kingdom could stab the other in the back with their heirs married.

“There’s a house,” you spoke for the first time during the trip. “A couple kilometres away from Enza’s palace. We’re going to pass it soon. It’s not far from the border.” You took a breath, shaking with the realisation of your future. “I’m going to buy it. The prince isn’t in line for the throne, so I’m not required to live at the palace. It has five bedrooms with adjacent bathrooms. The kitchen is a small thing, but manageable. There’s a sweet little fireplace in the sitting room, which, with a little bit of rearrangement, can double as a dining room. But my favourite part,” you paused and pointed out the window. “Look, there it is.” The two maids stared out the window with you, all three of you taking in a large farmhouse in the distance. Compared to William’s palace, it was small, but any peasant would think it was an empire. The house was three stories and coloured a light baby blue. The windows were painted a bright white that stood out in contrast. There was a wrap-around porch that a small swing hung from. “You can’t see it,” you said, “but the best part is in the back. There’s this large field that leads to a forest.” The house was long gone, but you still gazed out the window hopefully. Sara and Elena exchanged a glance. “I’m hoping to employ a small staff. I’ll have to get a cook, of course, and maybe a cleaner. And then a stable master.” 

“A stable master, my lady?” Sara wondered if she heard you right. 

“Yes. Wouldn’t it be lovely to finally buy a horse or two? You know that mother never wanted me to ride, so I’ve only ridden a couple times. I would love to choose a name and develop a connection with a horse.” 

“And what about the prince, ma’am?” Elena wondered. 

You shrugged. “He can choose whatever he wants. After the wedding night, I’m not required to stay. Neither is he. If he wants to stay at the palace, he can. If he wants to visit me, I’ll allow it. And if he would like to try and live with me… we’ll see how it goes.” After a moment of thought, you said, “I think I’ll name the house the Foundling Villa.” 

The countryside slowly changed to a small village and then a quaint market. You saw people milling about, carrying a carton of eggs, hauling water from the well, or dragging a cow through the street. Most people stopped and stared at seeing an aristocratic carriage prance through their streets. You pressed your body against the seat and stared straight ahead, knowing that it made it harder for people outside to see you. You didn’t want them to see you. You couldn't have them see you. 

Elena peeked out the window and a little girl waved excitedly at her. Elena waved back. The girl clapped happily and tugged at her mother’s arm. 

Slowly, the carriage turned to an inclined road and the palace came into view. Sara sucked in a breath and blinked owlishly at the sight before her. Elena muttered an, “Holy shit.” You frowned at it. It looked like it was overly compensating for something. It was a massive building built with large blocks of brick and stone that looked like it could house the entire population of Williams. The flag of Enza flew proudly from the spires. An impressive perron stood imposingly before you, laid with a red carpet. The King, Queen, and the three princes of Enza stood on the steps to welcome you. 

The reality of it all finally crashed down on you. You were supposed to marry a man who you had only heard of through one letter. You had only seen him in portraits. You were expected to move to another kingdom, which you had never set foot in, and never return home unless accompanied by your new husband. 

You shook your head widely and your hands clutched around the dress you’d chosen this early morning. “I can’t.” You stated, “Turn this around. I want to go home. Turn the carriage around.” 

“My lady, you must go,” Elena pleaded. “They’re waiting.” 

“No!” You cried, “I am not going to marry him! You can’t make me! I will not walk out there to my doom. Take me back to Williams.” You tried to sound stern, but emotion cracked through. Outside, you saw the youngest brother whisper something to your fiancé.

“Milady,” Sara tried her hand at calming you down. “Princess. Y/n!” You whipped around to look at her. ��All you have to do,” Sara leaned forward and clasped your hands in hers. “Is go out there and bow to the King and Queen. That’s it. Then Elena and I will be with you the entire rest of the way. We’ll be by your side walking through the doors, finding your room, getting you prepared for dinner, and if you want, we could even take dinner in your room instead of with the family. But you must step out of the carriage.” 

Your jaw clenched and reluctantly nodded. Sara smiled softly and then knocked on the wall. The footman jumped down and opened the door for you. You exhaled, your heart pounding like you just lost a sprint, took the footman’s hand, and stepped out. 

And then you make eye contact with Charles Leclerc, Prince of Enza, and your future husband.

[brasiliangp]

the Leclercs ♡