#surprise arthur can bake

[snoopyracing]

birds of a feather // cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

word count: 30k (i know i've got issues)

warnings: google translate french and swearing

includes: friends to lovers, childhood bestfriends, soulmate au if you squint, heavy pining, and angst

summary: follows charles and the reader through childhood all the way to present day. based off of 'birds of a feather' by billie eilish.

masterlist

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five and eight

It's a hot summer day in Monaco the first time Charles meets you.

The evening sun cascaded through the windows, golden rays bouncing off the walls as the smell of his Mother's baking wafted through the house. Charles' legs soon carried him into the kitchen and to his delight he found her oven-mitt clad hand pulling out a tray from the oven. His eyes widen when he sees what it is, it's one of his favorite sweet treats; cookies. His Mother spots him as she turns to set them on the counter. "Bonjour chéri!"

Charles doesn't answer, he's too focused on the cookies. He knows she won't let him have one, it's too close to dinner time, but he could probably sneak one when she had her back turned. So when she goes to put something back in the fridge he knows this is his chance, but he's not fast enough. His little hand barely hovers over one of the cookies before his Mother is gently smacking it away.

"No Charles! They are for the Y/L/N's." She hands him a stack of plates, motioning towards the table. "Now go set the table, s'il te plaît." Charles whines about it not being fair before stomping towards the table.

All day the only topic of conversation in the Leclerc household was about how an old family friend was to be moving back to Monaco today. Charles and Arthur had no idea who the man their Father spoke so highly about was, but Lorenzo mentioned something about him being their "uncle", but not really their uncle. Something that at only eight years old, confused Charles.

Even during dinner it seems like his Father mentions their "uncle" somehow during every conversation. Between the constant talk of this mystery man and the cookies sitting feet away from him Charles thinks tonight's dinner is the longest dinner of his life. He can see them sitting there, the cookies taunting him the whole time he tries to eat the unpleasant brussel sprouts on his plate. He hears his Father mention their "uncle" again and his attention is brought back to the conversation. "Papa. Is he really our uncle?" Charles asks as he shoves around the food on his plate with his fork.

"Ah, no. I mean he practically is, but not by blood. He is a very old friend of mine. We grew up together, but he moved to America around nine years ago." He pauses for a moment, eyes flickering between Charles and Arthur. "I hate that Arthur and you don't know him, but he's back now, so hopefully you boys will see him as an uncle like Lorenzo does. Plus, their house is just down the street, so I'm sure we will be spending lots of time with each other."

All Charles can do is nod at him, he isn't sure that he can call this random man "uncle", but for his Father he will try to like him as much as he clearly does.

Dinner is over shortly after their conversation, with a little help from his Father's impatience to go see his old friend. And before Charles can try and sneak a cookie again they are out the door, the cookies held securely in his Mother's hands, heading to their "uncles" house.

Charles realizes his Father wasn't lying when he said their house was just down the street, in fact it's only a block away. He's surprised his Father wasn't dragging them here earlier today with how close it is.

His Father knocks on the door and after a moment a man answers."Hervé!” 

"Y/D/N!"

The two men embrace each other, big smiles plastered on both of their faces. "If it was up to me we would have been over as soon as you guys arrived earlier today, but Pascale insisted we give you guys a little time to settle in."

"Oh nonsense. You're fine." The man steps aside, motioning for everyone to come in. "Come on in. Don't mind the million boxes scattered around."

"It's a beautiful home." Pascale states as she glances around.

"Merci."

The man's eyes wander to Charles and his brothers. His arms extend towards Lorenzo and the two of them hug, the man tousling Lorenzo's hair as they pull away. "Dieu te regarde! You're practically a man!"

Lorenzo can only laugh at the man, whose attention is now on the two youngest Leclerc boys. He crouches down so he's at eye level with them. "Bonjour. I don't think we have met yet. I'm Y/D/N, a very old friend of your Papa's." His hand reaches out for Charles to shake. "You must be Charles."

Charles gently takes Y/D/N's hand and shakes it, something he's seen his Father do hundreds of times. "I am. How did you know?"

A smirk plays at Y/D/N's lips. "When your Papa and I speak, he loves to talk about his boys. Even the ones I didn't get the pleasure of meeting until now." His attention now moved to the youngest Leclerc. "Like you little Arthur." Little giggles came from Arthur as the man pinched his cheek.

"Are we going to get to meet the other members of your family Y/D/N?" Pascale asks.

"Patience still isn't your strong suit, is it Pascale?" The man teases as he leads them towards the kitchen.

As they enter the kitchen they find a woman with an American accent putting away dishes into the cabinets. From what Charles can gather from the conversation the adults are having is that their "uncle" met his wife while on business in America. They fell in love and he ended up moving there to be with her. They got married and had a daughter. He wanted to raise her here so they decided to move back to Monaco.

"Guess you should all meet the reason we moved huh? Y/N! Ma chérie come here!" Y/D/N yells.

And here you came, barreling into the kitchen, not knowing that there were five strangers standing there until it was too late. Cheeks turning pink as you hid behind your Mom's legs. "This shy little thing is our daughter, Y/N."

Pascale's face lit up at the sight of you. "Oh tu n'es pas une poupée? She's beautiful you two!" She glances over at your parents then back to you. "You look to be around the age of my two youngest boys, no?" She squats down so the two of you are eye level as you peak around your Mom's legs. "How old are you?" As you lifted your hand, little fingers all stood up straight indicating that you were five, Pascale smiled. 

"Oh, that's the same age as my Arthur." She points towards the smallest boy, who's dirty blonde hair almost covered his eyes. She then points to the slightly taller boy in the middle, his soft blue eyes watching his Mom intently. "That is Charles, he's a little older than Arthur and you. He's eight." Then she finally points to the obviously very older son. "And that is Lorenzo, he's a lot older. It makes me feel old to say this but he's eighteen!"

Your shyness somehow slowly got chipped away by Pascale and you were now standing beside your Mom, not behind her. "Go on baby. Say hi to them." You Mom encouraged as she brushed your hair out of your face.

Even if you had braved coming out from behind your Mom's legs, the idea of talking to these strangers still scared you. You looked over to your Dad who stared back at you, a smile on his face and a slight nod in your direction told you everything was going to be okay.

"Hi." You said meekly.

The two younger boys gave you a small wave in return.

The adults had started to converse, leaving the kids to stand there awkwardly. Not knowing each other well to be the one to initiate conversation or play.

Your Mom had noticed the quietness between you and the boys, and your constant presence by her legs. "Why don't you kids go play out back? The house luckily came with a playset that is begging to be played on." She pulled open the sliding door, motioning for the kids to go outside.

Arthur was the first to run outside, he was practically already at the door when he heard the word playset. His little legs were already running up the slide by the time Charles and you had exited the house.

You watched your feet drag across the grass as you swung back and forth on the swing. Your Dad's voice playing in your head as you heard Charles and Arthur's laughter echo through the hot summer air.

"I know this is a big change for you mon amour. But I promise, we wouldn't have made this big move if your Maman and I didn't think it wouldn't have been a good idea. It may take some time for you to adjust, but knowing you, in a couple weeks you'll probably be more of a Monégasque than me!"

"I'm only half though. How could I be more than you Papa?" Tiny giggles escaping you as you gave your Father a questioning look.

"Anything is possible chérie! Plus you remember me talking about your uncle Hervé? Well, he has two boys that are around the same age as you. And I'm positive you three will become the bestest of friends like we were at that age in no time. When your Uncle Hervé and I were younger people would always say "Wherever there is a Y/L/N there is a Leclerc" and I'm sure it will live on through you three."

As you watched the two Leclerc boys chase each other through the yard, you knew your Dad would want you to get up and go join them. He seemed so excited at the idea of you and the boys being friends and you didn't want to disappoint him, but at only five years old, your shyness overruled the majority of your decisions.

Charles, even though he was playing with his brother, had noticed how you hadn't left the swing since coming outside. He tried to put himself in your shoes, he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to move halfway across the world.

What it would be like to leave everything you've ever known behind and move to a country that is nothing like the one you'd spent your whole life in so far. Even if your Father was from here and technically Monaco is as much of your home as America ever was, he knows that at least right now, this place means nothing to you.

So, being the empath that he is, Charles decides that it's his mission to make you feel at home. To make you realize that Monaco has been your home all along. That if he was you right now, all he would want is for someone to befriend him, make him feel less alone. His first step; asking you to play.

His skinny frame soon occupies the empty swing next to you, hands gripping the chains as he barely moves back and forth. His feet mimicked yours, dirt and grass staining his white sneakers.

"Hi." Charles watched as your head perked up at his voice. Your doe eyes timidly looking over at him like you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.

"Hi."

"Do you wanna play with Arthur and me?" Charles hopes you don't run back inside after hearing his question, but when your face lights up, head nodding enthusiastically, his worries dissipate. You were just so glad that he had come over and asked you, because you would have sat there on that swing all evening if he hadn't.

In a matter of minutes your shyness and worries about upsetting your Father were replaced with bouts of laughter as Arthur and you ran from Charles. Gleeful screams and giggles filled the evening air as the three of you played and for the first time since getting told you were moving you felt carefree.

The loud laughter and yelling had gotten the attention of the adults and as they watched their children play through the sliding glass door they couldn't wipe the smiles off their faces.

"That didn't take long did it?" Your Mom felt a relief wash over her. At only five years old she knew this move was going to be hard on you, and she wished they could have just stayed in America. But who was she to deprive you of experiencing the life that was quite literally half of you. Deprive her husband of seeing his little girl experience the same things he did as a child.

And as she watched the way the three kids played together she knew it was the right decision. For you to come out of your shell so quickly meant that maybe things weren't going to be so bad here after all.

"Of course it didn't." Your Dad stood behind your Mom, his hand on her shoulder as he watched his little girl laugh and run around. "Because wherever there is a Y/L/N-"

"there is a Leclerc." Hervé finished, an equally big smile on his face.

The painting of orange and pink hues that filled the evening sky told everyone that the sun was making her farewell for the day. Though, that didn't stop you and the boys from still playing and eventually as the colorful painting turned to a star filled sky you all were called inside.

Rosy cheeks and sweaty foreheads adorned all three of your faces as you clambered into the kitchen. "Looks like you kids had fun." Pascale had grabbed the cookies off the counter, but as she opened the lid to offer the kids one, she had a better idea. "How about some ice cream?" Charles' eyes lit up at the mention of ice cream. He loved cookies, but his one true love was ice cream. "I think the place down the road is still open."

And with an unspoken agreement, they are all out the door and headed towards the ice cream shop. Charles and you walk side by side with Arthur trailing behind the two of you. His complaints about being left out falling on deaf ears as Charles tells you about how good the ice cream place is.

The walk isn't a long one and before you realize it, you've arrived. The sickeningly sweet smell hits you as soon as you walk through the door, and your short legs carry you towards the counter, not paying mind to any sort of line that was already formed. Your face was practically pressed against the glass as you looked at all the flavors to choose from. But even with flavors like triple chocolate or strawberry or peanut butter cup. You always go with your tried and true; vanilla.

Charles and Arthur had joined you, faces as equally as close to the glass as yours.

"You think Maman will let me try them all?" Arthur asks, mouth practically watering at the sight in front of him.

"I don't know about that." You recognize your Dad's voice behind you. "You guys tell me what you want and then go wait at the table outside with Lorenzo." The three of you reluctantly turn away from the ice cream and when Arthur tells your Dad he wants mint, Charles and you share a disgusted look. "Ok mint for Arthur, what about you two?"

"Vanilla!" Comes out of both Charles and your mouth. Big smiles spread across your faces as you realize you both said the same thing.

"No way that's my favorite flavor!" Charles exclaims.

"Mine too!"

By the time your Dad comes outside with the ice cream Charles and you had established that; vanilla was the best flavor of ice cream ever, blue was your favorite color, red was his, you both loved dogs, and that he wanted to be a Formula 1 driver when he grew up. You didn't really know what that was, you think you had heard your Dad talking about it or watching it before, but the way Charles talked about it, it seemed like it was something big.

After many brain freezes and Arthur trying to make Charles and you try his mint ice cream, the night was coming to an end. The walk back home was filled with talks of things that you guys had to do this summer, according to Charles, and about how tonight would not be the last trip to the ice cream shop.

As you arrived at your house the grownups said their farewells and goodnights, while you gave everyone a simple wave goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow!" Charles yelled as you entered the front door, and all you could do was yell back.

"Ok!"

And Charles wasn't lying, you did see him the next day, and the day after that. In fact, any free day that you or the youngest Leclerc boys had were spent in each other's company that summer. By the time school started back up the three of you were inseparable. 

The idea of starting at a new school in a different country while knowing no one scared you, so you were glad to have Arthur with you in class and just knowing Charles was in the building made you feel more at ease. Any worries you had about moving to Monaco had dissipated and Charles had just somehow knew that he had accomplished his mission of making you feel at home. It may have taken him all summer, but you were practically family at this point to him.

So when he heard from Arthur about a couple boys in your class not being the friendliest towards you, something about you being an annoying American, he knew he had to defend you.

Charles fortunately had caught them in the act one day. Your cheeks slightly damp and eyes red told Charles it wasn't just them saying you were annoying. You wouldn't tell him what they said to you, but that didn't stop him from telling the boys off. It didn't take much for them to run off, heck Charles could have just stared at them and they probably would have darted, him somewhat forgetting they were probably only five or six, but still there was no reason for them to be mean to you.

Charles wiped away your tears before pulling you in for a hug. "They shouldn't bother you anymore, but if they ever do come tell me. You know you've always got me and Arthur and if it gets bad enough I guess we could tell Lorenzo." The mention of the oldest Leclerc boy made you giggle and Charles was so happy to see a smile on your face again. "You've always got me Y/N, we've got each other. I promise." He held out his pinky finger towards you and you hooked yours around his, officially sealing the promise

And from that moment on, you two always did have each other.

 ten and thirteen

Five years had passed since you first met Charles, and in those five years your bond only grew stronger. Not only with each other, but with each other's families too. To Pascale you were the daughter she always wanted and your Dad treated the Leclerc boys like his sons. It was like you guys filled in the missing pieces in each other's families.

Multiple scrapbooks were filled over the years with memories that would last a lifetime. Pictures of the joint family vacations that were taken every year, first and last day of school pictures, birthdays, and major milestones all filled the pages.

Looking back now your Mom could have kicked herself for ever second guessing the decision to move. Clearly this was where you guys were supposed to be, where you were supposed to be. Everything just felt right. It felt like home.

A new thing that had become a part of your life in the past five years was karting. No, you didn't drive them, but Charles and Arthur did. So, that meant it was now a part of you. Multiple weekends were spent going to watch them race, the smell of exhaust and the sound of the engines were ingrained into your brain, but you had grown fond of it.

Although, in the last couple years Charles had started to take karting very seriously. You knew his dream was to be an F1 driver, and you knew (from him teaching you everything about it one day) how much dedication it took from a young age to get to the top. So, over the last year, when almost every weekend he was busy, you tried not to take it to heart.

Unfortunately for Arthur, this year his family had decided to focus solely on Charles' career for the time being, as karting was expensive, and having two boys doing it was just not something they could swing. But with Charles busy and Arthur now free it was almost like the boys had flip flopped positions in your life.

Between the two youngest Leclerc boys it was always very obvious that you gravitated more towards Charles, the two of you having a bond that many didn't understand, especially considering your age gap.

Three years isn't crazy per say, but at the age you two are right now it's a little different. Charles is thirteen, officially a teenager, while you're still only ten. Two very different stages in kids' lives, and sometimes recently it seemed like Charles was moving on, or growing up, and you worried that he wouldn't want to spend time with you anymore. Because really what thirteen year old wants to willingly hang out with a ten year old? You know you wouldn't want to hang out with a seven year old. 

But the slight gap that Charles was currently leaving in your life, Arthur had no problem filling it in.

During the school year you spent basically all your time with Arthur, being in the same grade and him not dedicating all his time to karting at the moment was a big contributing factor. You still saw Charles, but nearly as much as you used to. He had moved up to secondary school a year or so ago and unfortunately Arthur and you were still in your last year of primary school. So your time to see Charles was limited to his rare free weekends and sometimes after school. 

You had thought come summer time you would be able to see him more and were banking on your annual family vacation, but you were wrong. In fact, you barely even saw Arthur this summer. They were so busy with Charles karting it was like they didn't even live in their home. And when they were home your family was busy doing something.

The annual family vacation had to be canceled and you had basically gone the whole summer without seeing them. That was until today, two weeks before school started, when you came downstairs to see Charles and Arthur sitting on your couch talking to your Dad, who was sitting in a chair opposite of them.

"Ah, there she is." Your Dad had spotted you from the doorway. "They've come to steal you."

Rounding the side of the couch you were now stood in front of the two boys. Arthur was the first to jump up from the couch, his arms squeezing you into him, the two of you slightly swaying back and forth as giggles escaped past your lips. "Tu m'as manqué aussi Arthur."

As Arthur finally let you go your eyes fell on the middle Leclerc boy, who was still sat on the couch. "Charlie." The nickname you had given him that first summer had still stuck around five years later. It fell off your tongue with ease, basically second nature for you at this point. He never minded when you called him that, in fact sometimes he preferred it, but god forbid anyone else call him that.

You could see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, dimples peaking out as he tried to resist it more. As he stood up from the couch he finally let it free, the corners of his eyes crinkled and dimples on full display as he wrapped his arms around you. You noticed you guys weren't almost the same height anymore, your head hit at about his shoulder now. Had he gotten taller since the last time you saw him? There was no way he had grown that much in almost two months, but yet the proof was standing right infront of you.

"Tu m'as manqué." Charles stated as he pulled away from the hug.

"I figured you'd have your kart seat stuck to you when I saw you again."

"Well when that seat becomes an F1 seat, I know who will be the last person I invite to a race."

You wedged yourself between the two brothers on the couch as you rolled your eyes at Charles. "Yeah I won't need an invite because I'll have a permanent paddock pass." You weren't even sure if such a thing as a permanent paddock pass existed, but when Charles makes it into Formula 1, you had better have one.

"No doubt about it." Charles states, which gets him a smile from you in return.

"So what was Papa talking about? You guys are stealing me?"

"We've got something fun planned." Charles had a small smile on his face as he made eye contact with you. And as you stared back at him you noticed something else that had changed in the past two months, his hair. It was shaggy and almost covered his eyes if he didn't have it pushed to the side. You were surprised Pascale hadn't made him cut it yet, or that she hadn't snuck into his room at night and at least trimmed the hair around his face. It was just another sign of how long it had been since you'd seen each other.

You glanced over at your Dad, unsure of what "fun" they had planned, but he was no help. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise." Charles had stood up from the couch, eyes staring back down at you. "Well come on. We don't have all day."

"Be careful! Je t'aime!" Your Dad hollered as the three of you walked out the door.

"Je t'aime aussi!" You hollered back.

The warm sun beat down on you as you walked the familiar streets of Monaco, following the two boys in front of you. Your insistent pleas of wanting to know where you were going were ignored. And it didn't take long for you to just start guessing random places, which were all met with groaned no's from the boys.

Thankfully you guys had arrived at your destination because you were running out of places to name, but the place you were standing in front of was not where you had expected to end up. Though truly you should have known better.

"Did you guys really just bring me here to watch you two drive go-karts?" Of course they brought you to the track. It wasn't like you didn't like watching them race or even just screw around on the karts, but as of recently it was the one thing that was keeping Charles away from you. It just would have been nice to do something that didn't involve karting.

"We aren't the ones who are going to be driving them." Arthur's devious little smile on his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I don't think that's safe, and don't we need an adult with us?" So perhaps you were slightly scared at the idea of driving – no you were actually more worried than scared. You didn't want to seem like an idiot because you didn't know what to do or wreck and make a fool of yourself. That little shy five year old girl was slowly creeping back in as Arthur and Charles practically dragged you inside.

"The adult is already here." Charles points at Lorenzo who's filling out paperwork at the front counter. "I think it's time for you to learn, no?" Your eyes focus on Lorenzo, praying as an adult he has enough sense to not let this happen. But it was no use, he had already handed the worker the paperwork and was walking towards you with a bunch of gear in his hands.

"No chickening out this time petite soeur. Today is the day." Lorenzo stated.

Before you can even protest anymore Lorenzo is handing you all this stuff to put on, arms overflowing as you stare at him wide-eyed. "Do I really need all of this for" you glance over at the track then back at Charles "an indoor track?"

"Safety first Y/N. Plus you need to have the full karting experience." His dimples on display as he gives you a reassuring smile, that somehow works wonders on you, because you're putting on all the gear without him even asking. "Oh wait you're gonna need this." He slides a hair tie off his wrist and hands it over to you. His action put a smile on your face as you quickly tied your hair back.

It was something Charles had done for a couple years now, always having a hair tie on him. You were always pushing your hair out of your face or complaining about it being hot and of course you never had a hair tie with you. So, he just started wearing one on his wrist, so when you eventually needed one, he was there to provide.

With your gear on you guys walked over towards one of the karts and you made sure to listen intently as Charles explained how to work everything.

You slipped the helmet on and sat down in the kart, praying that you could remember what Charles had told you. "You've got this. Just remember what I said and we will be right here if you need us. I’ll be right here. I promise." Charles holds out his pinky finger, the familiar gesture between the two of you meant much more than just a simple promise. And as you hook your finger around his, you know it's going to be okay. "Please be careful. I think your Papa will have my head if you come back with even just a scratch." Lorenzo says as he double checks that you're strapped in well enough.

"I'll be fine."

You gave Charles one last final glance, who stood there giving you a thumbs up, before pressing your foot down on the accelerator. At first you were going so slow, scared that if you went too fast you were gonna wreck. But as you completed a couple laps you started to feel more comfortable and the cheers from the boys helped you out too.

"Floor it!" Arthur yells as you pass by on another lap.

You were really starting to have fun, so you listened to Arthur and pressed the pedal all the way down on the next straightaway. You felt like you were flying, but what you didn't know was that they had put you in the slowest kart, so you really weren't going as fast as you thought you were.

After a couple more laps Charles stood by the starting line, waving the checkered flag, a cheesy grin on his face as you passed by him. As the kart came to a stop you understood why they loved karting so much, it wasn't just fun, it was exhilarating, addicting, you already wanted to go again.

The boys surrounded the kart as you undid the straps and climbed out. As you took off the helmet you couldn't wipe the grin off your face. "Looks like you might have some competition Charles." Lorenzo teases.

Charles ignored his big brother's teasing and shifted his focus back to you. He had felt bad about not seeing you all summer and in all honesty not that much over this past year. But things in his life were changing, karting was becoming a much bigger deal, and he was winning, like a lot. He knew things were only going to go up from here. And as much as he loved racing, and god did he love it, he breathed it he dreamt it, racing was in his blood. There just weren't many times anymore where he felt like a thirteen year old, like a kid. It sometimes felt like he was missing out on things.

But Charles knew that when he came home from a busy weekend or practically a whole summer filled with racing, that things would always be the same at home. His Mom would always make spaghetti on Tuesday nights, you had to jiggle the handle on the gate to the backyard to get it to open, if you went into the ice cream shop on a Thursday night when the owner wasn't there you'd get extra ice cream, the lady across the street will yell at your for playing in the street, and you will always be a couple houses down. 

He knew that when he was around you that he could feel like a kid again. Sure, he had made plenty of friends through racing, but it seemed like all their conversations always somehow revolved or ended up referring to racing. Which wasn't a bad thing, because of course Charles loved racing. But sometimes he just wanted to talk about video games or other sports, or just something random. And he could do that with you.

Now granted, for someone who wanted to have a little break from racing before school started, you'd think he wouldn't be back at a track the first chance he got. But Charles had wanted to teach you how to kart for years, but each time he had mentioned it you chickened out. So he had finally gotten the nerve, with a little help from Lorenzo and Arthur, to just force you to learn.

He knew you'd do a good job, he never had a doubt. It was just your worries that prevented you from learning earlier. He knew you had grown to love the sport, from tagging along to some of his races, or how you can't wait for the Monaco grand prix every year, not to mention how glued you are to the TV when his free weekends and the F1 schedule line up. So, somehow in his own weird way, Charles knew you'd be a natural.

"You did do a good job, I'm proud of you." Charles flashes you a smile as you guys exit the track.

"Merci Charlie." You quickly shed all the gear and handed it back to Lorenzo. "I don't know why you guys didn't teach me earlier. That was so much fun. I see why you guys love it so much."

"Don't act like we haven't tried for years to get you to learn." Charles teases. "We basically just had to force you today."

Memories of all the past failed attempts at teaching you how to kart flooded your mind. The one time you hid in the bathroom claiming to be throwing up, the time you 'tripped' on your way into the building and said you sprained your ankle, or the many times you just flat out refused. So maybe them forcing you was for the better, because you wouldn't have taken the initiative on your own to learn.

"Whatever. At least I finally learned."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The walk back to your house was filled with Charles filling you in on his exciting karting filled summer. From the new friends he had made to the races he had won, he didn't spare any detail. And you just walked beside him, listening to his every word, grateful to just have him back around. Arthur would pipe in occasionally to contradict something Charles had said, fulfilling his little brother duties. And as the three of you traveled through the principality, the summer sun high in the sky, you wished every day could be like this.

The fragrant jasmine shrubs that lined the sidewalk told you guys that you were close to home. "You guys wanna stay for dinner? It's Friday which means Mom's making something pasta related."

Charles would never turn down a Friday night dinner at your house and so he had no trouble in accepting your invitation. Arthur declined, stating that he was going to hang out with some of his other friends, and Lorenzo had split from you guys at the track. Which meant it was just Charles and you, which was fine with you.

The smell of your Mom's famous red sauce, that she swore had to cook for at least half the day, filled your nostrils as you walked through the door. "Mom! Papa! I’m home!"

"In the kitchen!" You heard your Mom shout.

You found your Mom furiously stirring something on the stove as Charles and you sat at the island counter directly in front of her. She tore her attention away from her cooking just long enough to notice Charles was with you. "Well look who's back! I hope you're staying for dinner?" A big smile accompanied her words as she spoke to Charles.

"Of course, you know I love Friday pasta nights."

"Well it's still gonna be a little bit until everything is ready, so if you kids are hungry grab a little snack or something." Her attention was already back to the bubbling pot in front of her before she had finished speaking.

Charles' stomach had been growling the whole walk home, and now sitting here smelling your Mom's cooking had it growling even more. So, he took up her offer and grabbed two tangerines from the bowl of fruit on the counter. Without even thinking about it, he peeled the first one and handed it over to you.

"You're spoiling her by peeling that for her Charles." Your Dad stated as he walked into the kitchen.

Charles shrugged at your Dad's comment as he continued to peel his own tangerine. "I don't mind it. I know she doesn't like to peel them and it's really not a big deal to me. So I guess as long as I'm around she won't have to."

You never gave a second thought about Charles peeling your fruit for you. He's done it ever since you expressed your dislike for peeling them years ago. To you it wasn't you being spoiled, it was just your best friend doing something nice for you. You gave Charles a smile as you popped another piece of the tangerine in your mouth. "Merci Charles." As you looked back towards your parents, you caught them staring at each other, eyebrows slightly raised, and smiles on their faces. "What?" You questioned.

"Oh nothing sweetie." Your Mom answered, attention turning back to the food. She knew you'd figure it out eventually.

The topic of conversation during dinner was all about karting. Your parents wanted to know all about Charles' wins and if anything exciting had happened during any of his races. Charles truly was like a son to them, granted all three of the Leclerc boys were, but you knew Charles was their favorite. They sat there listening intently as he told them everything and your Dad gave him nothing but praises back.

"You're gonna do great things Charles. I just know it."

And finally when Charles changed the conversation to how he finally taught you how to kart, your Dad though first worried at the idea of you getting hurt, was ecstatic to hear that you were quite good and that you enjoyed it. Your Mom didn't like the idea at all, the sour look on her face told you everything. "I can barely handle watching Charles, let alone my baby."

"I was the only one on the track, Mom. Plus it was just for fun, you don't have to worry about me doing the real thing. I really was not as good as Charles says I was." You tried to reassure her, but she still didn't seem pleased.

"Maybe it will help to know that we put her in the slowest kart." Charles chimed in.

Your head whipped to the right of you, where Charles was sat. "You put me in the slowest one?! You really thought I’d be that bad?"

"It was your first time! You were nervous as is, let alone putting you in a fast one."

A scoff came from you. "I feel cheated out of a real experience."

"Well, the slowest is fine with me. In fact, how do we find one slower than the slowest?" Your Mom inquired, nothing shy of a serious look on her face.

As dinner came to an end Charles and you helped clean up and then ventured out back. The sun had just set, allowing for dusk to settle in, the remnants of the sunset still lingering in the sky. The two of you found yourselves on familiar territory, the swings. The metal chains had slightly rusted over the years, but still held strong as the two of you swayed back and forth on them.

Silence fell between the two of you as you tried to figure out how to talk to Charles about the thing that had been subconsciously bothering you for a while. 

Him forgetting about you. 

He had his head down, staring at his feet as he slowly swung back and forth on the swing. "Charles?" He lifted his head at the sound of your voice, blue eyes slightly covered by his shaggy hair.

"Yeah?"

Your hands gripped the chains tighter as you stilled your movements, feet planted firmly in the worn patch of grass. "I need you to make me a promise."

He had copied your actions, even going as far as turning slightly to face you as he spoke. "For what?"

"I need you to promise that you won't forget about me. That when you make it into F1 and become super famous that you won't think I'm some loser. Or even when you move up to F3, just please promise me you won't forget about me."

Charles frowned at your words, never in a million years would he forget about you, or think you were a loser. He didn't want to get into F1 to become famous, yeah it was a perk of the job, but he wanted a seat in F1 because he loved racing, and it meant that he was one of the best in the world.

He held out his pinky finger towards you. "Do you remember what I said to you when those boys were teasing you during your first year here?" You shook your head, the memory replaying in your mind. "That you’ve always got me and I’ve always got you. So that means I don't think I could ever forget about you Y/N, whether I make it into F1 or not. And If I do, I'm gonna need my number one supporter there by my side aren't I? So I promise I won’t forget you."

A big smile spread across your face at his words and as you hooked your pinky finger around his, you knew the promise was true.

But what you didn't know was that sometimes promises are broken.

thirteen and sixteen

Thirteen is a very weird year for you. 

It’s not puberty or the ever revolving drama that comes with being thirteen that is making it a weird year. It’s the embarrassingly painful crush you’ve got on Charles. 

It’s a cliche really, having a crush on the cute older boy you’ve grown up with. 

And one might ask why is it embarrassing? For starters, you can’t be around him for more than five minutes without turning into a blushing mess. He stares at you for longer than a second? Game over. He smiles at you? Done for. He laughs at something you said? You’re dead. 

He doesn’t know he’s turning your thirteen year old brain into mush just by simply existing and it’s embarrassing to even think about him knowing that. 

On the other hand, it’s painful. You’re thirteen and he’s sixteen, once again at very different stages in life. And you know that he doesn’t like you back, that he only sees you as a little sister, but it still hurts. It hurts because you’re thirteen and you think that you’re mature for your age and you honestly think why wouldn’t he like you back. It’s something almost every young girl goes through, and unfortunately it’s happening to you with someone you are very close with. 

Yes, you had always thought he was cute, but that's because he was. That fluffy brown hair, long thick eyelashes that adorned his pretty eyes, his dimples, the little crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. Okay– so maybe that's how you would describe him now, but still, he was a cute kid also, there was no denying that. 

 But if you really had to figure out when you realized you had a crush on Charles it had to have been this past Christmas.   

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The holidays in Monaco were somewhat different than the few years you remembered back in America. You had stopped celebrating Thanksgiving after your Mom’s failed attempt at trying to make a Thanksgiving dinner your first year here. It wasn’t that your Mom was a bad cook, it was that it was somewhat hard to find everything needed for a Thanksgiving dinner in Monaco. And as hard as your Mom tried to make it work, it just wasn’t the same without that damn Ocean Spray cranberry sauce. 

So to make up for not celebrating Thanksgiving your family truly went all out for Christmas. The couple Christmases that you could remember back in America were nothing shy of magical, but ever since moving to Monaco, your family took Christmas very seriously. There was no denying that part of your household was American, because every year your house looked like it came straight out of a cult classic Christmas movie. Like Kevin McCallister or Clark Griswold had taken up residence in Monaco for the holidays. 

It wasn’t just the outside that was decorated, the inside was just as festive and of course the tree was the main focal point. It was a busy tree, your Mom never liked an aesthetically pleasing tree, it was sentimental or nothing to her. Ornaments that were passed down on her side of the family, ones you had made in school, and some you had gotten after moving all had a home on the tree. 

And as if decorating wasn’t enough for your family, your traditions were even more of a big deal. The most important one to you though was making cookies on Christmas Eve. Mainly because Arthur and Charles had been doing it with you since your first Christmas in Monaco. 

Christmas music played on the record player in the living room, the sound traveling into the kitchen as your Mom and you made sure you had everything ready to bake. You were in your own little world, picking out your favorite cookie cutters and humming along to Wham!’s Last Christmas when you heard your Mom speak up. “You’re just in time Charles.” 

Your eyes moved away from the pile of cookie cutters up to the garland decorated doorway where Charles was standing. A smile slowly crept its way onto your face as the two of you made eye contact. He looked cozy, the sweater he had on was slightly oversized and his hair had a messy fluffy look to it. 

You watched as he talked to your Mom, she was surely talking to him about racing, and he would always gladly answer her questions, as she was nothing shy of a second Mom to him. The longer you stared at him, you could feel your heartbeat quickening. And a feeling was arising in you that you had only ever experienced with a boy in your class a year or so ago.  Though, the feeling didn’t last long, you had caught him picking his nose, and with that went away any feelings you had towards him. 

You didn’t even want to think about the word that was happening right now, the idea of it only making your heart race even faster. You tore your eyes away from Charles and noticed that the youngest Leclerc brother was missing, so you blamed your rapid heart beat and surely pink cheeks on that.

You cleared your throat and tried to gather yourself before speaking. “Where’s Arthur?” 

Charles' attention was torn away from your Mom over to you. He pursed his lips, he didn’t know how to say nicely that Arthur said that baking Christmas cookies was for little kids, and he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He let out a sigh before speaking. “He’s not coming, he said he’s too old to be baking cookies.”

“But its-” 

“I know. I told him that it’s tradition and that you would be upset, but he wasn’t budging. So you’re stuck with just me.” 

It annoyed you that Arthur had bailed on you. There was no such thing as being too old to bake cookies, he was just being a jerk. And as far as you were concerned, he’s not allowed any of the cookies when your families have Christmas together tomorrow evening. 

On the bright side you get to have some one on one time with Charles, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise– Arthur bailing on you. You picked up the recipe card from the counter, waving it around in the air. “Well let’s get to work then.” 

Charles is at your side in an instant, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater as he waits for further instruction. 

“Do you think you kids can handle doing it by yourselves this year? I’ve got some last minute gifts that need to be wrapped.” Your Mom inquired, hopeful that you wouldn’t burn the house down on Christmas Eve. 

You didn’t even look up at her, eyes focused on the recipe in front of you, this was clearly something you took seriously. “Yes Mom.” 

Without a word she was gone, leaving Charles and you to your own devices. 

You can feel Charles peering over your shoulder. He’s practically right up against your side and you can feel the soft material of his sweater on your arm. All you can smell is his cologne, something he had started to use within the last year or two, thankfully moving on from the Axe body spray phase. And you’re trying not to make this seem like a big deal, because it’s truly not, but something has shifted in your thirteen year old brain. The same brain being scrambled by him right now, and you think you’ve read the damn recipe card at least ten times now. 

“Did you forget that the recipe is in American measuring terms?” Charles asks. The recipe was your Grandma’s and your Mom had never been bothered to convert it to the metric system. 

“Nope, just double checking everything.” You force a smile as you set down the recipe card and grab a mixing bowl. You added all the ingredients and made Charles do all the labor, which meant he had to mix it and then roll out the dough. 

You dug through the pile of cookie cutters looking for Charles favorite one. “Herree it isss.” You spoke in a sing songy voice as you held up the cookie cutter to Charles. His favorite in question? A penguin with a Santa hat on. Without fail, every Christmas, for the past eight years. Charles made an excessive amount of Santa hat penguin cookies. 

A grin spread across his face as you placed it in his hand. “Wouldn’t be Christmas without this guy.” He wasted no time in pressing the cutter down into the dough and before you guys knew it the first batch was done and in the oven. 

As you started on the next batch Charles kept a close eye on the baking cookies. The two of you allowed for Michael Buble to fill silence in the air and the mouthwatering smell of the cookies soon filled your nostrils. “You know you still call her Mom?”

Your eyebrows furrowed at Charles' random statement. “Huh?” 

He walked away from the oven and back to his original spot next to you. “You still call your Maman Mom.” 

“Yes?” You weren’t really sure where he was going with this, it was nothing new to either of you. 

“I just figured by now you would have made the switch. You speak French with everyone else.” 

You shrugged your shoulders at him, you had never really considered it, the idea felt weird even just thinking about it now. “I’ve always spoken English with my Mom and French with Papa. It would feel weird to switch stuff around now.” You stirred in the flour as you continued the conversation. “You know I could give you some English lessons if you’d like. I think that might have been what you were hinting at.” You teased. 

Charles' eyes widened at your words. “Are you saying my English is not good? I think I speak English very good!” 

“Well.” You didn’t skip a beat. 

“What?” 

“You think you speak English very w-” 

In an instant there is flour all over the upper part of your body, your movements stilled as you’re processing what Charles had just done. You’re mad at first, actually seething because your hair looked so good today and now it’s covered in flour. And you can’t see Charles because you haven’t moved an inch since he threw the flour at you, but he went from having a shit eating grin on his face to a oh shit expression. Your quietness has him worried that you’re actually really pissed at him, but when he hears his nickname come past your lips he knows you're not that mad at him. 

“Charlie. You better run.” 

He isn’t sure he’s heard you right, but when he sees you pick up the whole bag of flour his sock clad feet are sliding on the floor as he runs around the other side of the kitchen island. You're playing cat and mouse around the island for quite some time. The beeping from the oven time ignored multiple times as giggles from both of you filled the room. 

As Charles rounds the corner again his foot catches on one of the barstool legs and you know you’ve finally got him. He doesn’t fall, but he slips just enough to allow you to fully catch up to him. And you may or may not have thrown the whole bag of flour at him, but him being covered head to toe in flour says it was the whole bag. You definitely got him 10x worse than he did you and from that gleam in his eye you know what he’s going to do, but you can’t get away fast enough and his arms are around you in an instant. He shakes his head trying to get as much of the flour off of him and onto you and by you trying to free yourself from his grip he’s transferred a good amount from his clothes onto yours. “Charles! Let me go!” Your pleas are pitiful, laughter dripping off every word. 

“Oh my god!” 

Both of your eyes widen, bodies frozen at the sound of your Mom’s less than pleased voice. The two of you sheepishly stood there as your Mom looks like she’s about ready to cry and cuss you out at the same time. “I can’t leave you two alone for an hour?!” Her eyes shift to behind the two of you, panic written across her face. She’s practically running towards the oven and that’s when you realize the burning smell. And when she not so softly sets the cookie sheet onto the counter you know she’s really not happy. The cookies were burnt to a crisp, the poor Santa hat penguin never stood a chance. “I’m sorry Y/M/N. It was my fault, I started it.” Charles rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. 

“I don’t care who started it because you’re both cleaning up this mess.” A deep sigh came from you Mom as she really took in just how big of a mess the two of you had made, her head shaking in disapproval as she left the two of you to clean up. 

When you knew she was out of earshot you couldn’t but let out a little giggle, it was like in school when you weren’t supposed to be laughing, but everything is just so funny, and Charles follows your actions seconds later. The two of you fools, covered in flour, cookies burnt, and in trouble as you stood there laughing. 

That night you couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in your bed, your brain would not shut off. And it wasn’t because you were excited for Christmas morning, you only wished that was the reason. You couldn’t get how good it felt to have Charles arms wrapped around you out of your mind, or how that stupid sweater made him look even more attractive than he already was. 

As you stared up at the ceiling, you knew you were screwed. You had a big fat crush on Charles and it was going to ruin your life. You knew he only saw you as a little sister and that made everything so much more worse to you. Why did you have to develop feelings for him of all people? 

Christmas morning came and went and before you knew it evening had arrived, meaning the Leclerc’s would be arriving soon. You were in charge of setting the table, a task you didn’t mind, considering being in the kitchen with your Mom on any holiday was like asking to get yelled at. As you folded the last napkin neatly and placed it in its rightful spot you heard commotion coming from the front door, undoubtedly the Leclerc’s arriving. You spotted Pascale struggling to juggle all the presents and you hurried towards her, quick to offer a hand. “Merci chéri.” A grateful smile painted across her face.

The pile of presents grows as you place them under the tree and you’d think your family hadn’t already opened some this morning. Everyone settles into their usual spots in the living room, but your usual spot by Charles is left empty, as you’ve scurried into the kitchen. You’d rather face the unwarranted wrath from your Mom than be unable to compose yourself around Charles. But you don’t get to hide in the kitchen for very long because she’s practically done with everything, so you help her bring in all the food to the table, and admire your table setting skills as you do so. 

Dinner is pretty uneventful and luckily your Dad has Charles preoccupied with racing talk for most of the time. But you can’t help but catch his eye from across the table every once in a while and every time you do your heart skips a beat. By the time presents start getting passed around you had successfully avoided Charles for most of the day, but that is ruined when he plops down next to you on the floor, shoulders brushing as he gets situated. 

“Are you mad at me for yesterday?” Charles' voice is low, like he didn’t want anyone to hear, but he could have talked at full volume, no one would have heard him over how loud your Dads were being. 

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why would I be mad at you?” 

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.” 

Your fingers toyed with the lifted corner of wrapping paper on the present in front of you, your brain trying to figure out what to say. Yes, you had been avoiding him, but it wasn’t because you were mad. It was actually the opposite, but you couldn’t tell him that. “I’m not mad at you. Just didn’t want there to be another flour fiasco today. You thought she was mad yesterday, now imagine that while she’s in her holiday cooking zone.” You give him a reassuring smile, hoping that he’s bought what you’ve told him. But he doesn’t get the chance to respond as your Mom’s voice fills the room. 

“Ok does everyone have all their presents? Our Santa this year was less than enthusiastic about handing out the presents.” Your Mom shoots Arthur a look as he sits down on the floor across from Charles and you. 

“There is nothing left under the tree. I promise.” Arthur states. 

“Alright then everyone get after it!” 

Piles of wrapping paper fill the empty spots on the floor in no time and excited gasps fill the room as everyone unwraps their gifts. You’re always so grateful for everything the Leclerc’s get you for Christmas, they treat you like one of their own, and sometimes you feel they spoil you a little too much. 

With each present that you unwrapped that wasn’t from Charles, you start to get a little worried. You guys exchanged presents every year and if he didn’t get you something this year, you think you might die. So when you come to your last present and it says it’s from his parents, you try to hide your disappointment, especially because it’s an amazing gift. You hop up from your spot on the floor and make sure to go thank them personally, hugs and all. And you’re pretty sure you hear them say something about how you’re their daughter too and how you deserve it, but your brain is still thinking about how Charles didn’t get you anything. 

When you go back to your spot a little perfectly wrapped box with a bow on it is sitting there. You know you weren’t sitting on that, so it had to be placed there after you got up. You think it’s one of Charles that he forgot about, but when you bend over to pick it up you see Charles sloppy handwriting on it. A smile spreads across your face as you look over at Charles who has an equally big one on his. You quickly sit down, eager to know what’s inside. 

“Did you think I didn’t get you anything?” Charles questions, a smirk toying at his lips. 

“Maybe.” Yes. 

“I would never.” He bumps his shoulder into yours, motioning for you to open it. “Well, go on. What are you waiting for?” 

You don’t want to seem like you're absolutely ripping into the present, but it probably looks like you are. It’s a tiny box, like one used for jewelry, and you really aren’t expecting Charles to have gotten you jewelry. But when you open the box, nestled in the velvet cushion, is a ring. You glance over at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then back to the ring. It’s just a simple sterling silver ring and somewhat on the smaller side. To be honest Charles could have gotten you a bag of candy and you would have been happy to have just gotten something from him, let alone a ring. 

But when you pick the ring up from the box you see exactly why it’s smaller, and it makes your heart swell. On the inside of the ring you see the words pinky promise engraved into it and as you look over at Charles, he’s holding out his pinky finger, a matching ring adorning it. Your cheeks are hurting from how hard you're smiling, but you don’t care. It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever gotten you and as you slide it onto your pinky finger you feel yourself smiling even more, if that’s possible. Your arms are around Charles instantly, pulling him in towards you, thank you’s tumbling out of your mouth as he giggles in response. 

“I’m glad you like it.” He pauses, trying to figure out the right words to say. “Things are changing. I’m moving up from karting and hopefully into Formula 3 within the next year. It’s just a reminder that we’ve always got each other, even if I’m gone racing or you’re off doing something, we can look at the rings and know we’ve got a piece of each other with us, always.” 

You can’t stop smiling at him, and that crush you’ve got has tripled in size in a few short hours. Your teenage brain over exaggerates everything and you basically think this means you’re gonna be together forever, even though you aren’t even together. 

While you’re in make believe land, your parents are observing the two of you. Whispers and knowing glances are exchanged, between them and your Moms can’t help but think it’s cute how close the two of you are. While your Dad in particular, no matter how he feels about Charles, thinks no boy is good enough for his little girl, let alone some sixteen year old boy. 

Perhaps you may be a little dramatic when you say that this Christmas was the best one you’d had so far, but honestly it was the truth. Sure you realized you had a huge crush on Charles that will probably end in tears, but you also got the most thoughtful gift ever, that you will cherish forever. So yeah, this was a good Christmas, crush aside. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

And so you lived with admiring Charles from afar for months. Enjoying what time you got together and just holding out hope that maybe one day he wouldn’t see you as his little sister. But life had a funny way of hitting you in the face with reality, especially at thirteen. 

When Charles shows up to a joint family dinner one night with a girl around his arm you feel like all the air has escaped your lungs. And when he introduces her to everyone as his girlfriend you plaster on a smile even though you feel like someone has pulled your heart out of your chest and ran it over multiple times.

It’s the longest dinner of your life and while everyone gushes over his girlfriend, asking her all about her life and interests, you poke your food around with your fork. It’s not like you have an appetite anyways, getting your heart broken will do that to you. And it sucks even more because she’s so nice, like insanely nice, you couldn’t even hate her if you wanted to. Not to mention how pretty she was, she was everything, and you were some pimple faced, awkward bodied thirteen year old. 

You fidget with the ring on your finger and your heart races at the idea of Charles not wearing his anymore, your eyes glance over at him and when you spot the ring still on his finger it calms you a little. But that still means nothing, just that he clearly still sees you as a little sister. What you don’t see is how your Mom has been watching you the whole night. You’ve never told her about your feelings towards Charles, but she’s your Mom, she just knows things. And she knows you're hurting right now, so when she changes the topic of conversation at the table you’re eternally grateful. 

It’s an early night for you that night, not bothering to join everyone for a game of UNO, claiming that you aren’t feeling well. When really you couldn’t wait to go upstairs and just cry it out. What did you do to deserve something like this? It hurt so bad, but you knew there was nothing you could do about it. And as you laid in bed that night all you could think about was how are you going to live without him liking you back?

sixteen and nineteen

Newsflash you do live without Charles liking you back. In fact your crush goes away by the end of that year, no thanks to the new boy in your grade, who eventually ends up being your boyfriend. But it was safe to say you were over Charles, at least you think you are. 

Charles, on the other hand, stayed with the girl who made you go crazy at age thirteen for over a year, but they broke up over text. And to your disappointment, Charles never told you the reason why. Ever since then it’s been somewhat of a revolving door of girls in Charles' life. Okay – maybe not a revolving door, but at least three different girls in the past two years. None of them lasted for more than a couple months though, and it was getting to the point where no one in either of your families got to know the girls.

Everyone knew that they would be gone sooner than later. After his last “breakup” a couple months ago, he hadn’t brought around a new one, he claimed that he needed to focus on racing, that F1 seat was almost in his grasp and that was all that mattered to him right now, but you knew there was something else going on. 

While Charles was having issues in the relationship department, you were actually flourishing. You had met your now boyfriend Lucas, when he was the new kid your eighth grade year. You thought he was cute from the moment he walked into your History class the first day back from winter break. And when the seat next to you was the only open desk you tried to hide your excitement as he sat down, but when he smiled at you first, it was hard to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks. He was the first to speak, asking if you had a pencil. But his accent made your ears perk up – he was Spanish. The big brown doe eyes and dark hair fit him, now that you realized he was Spanish. 

“Do all Spaniards come unprepared on their first day?” You teased as you handed him a pencil. It was his turn to be the one blushing as he stifled a smile. 

“No, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.” 

So he was a flirt – noted. 

The two of you became good friends rather quickly, but per your parents rules, you couldn’t date until you were fifteen. So, you played the long game and prayed that no one else peaked his interest. Luckily for you, he was so infatuated with you that he was willing to wait, and on your fifteenth birthday you went on your first date. He was nothing shy of a gentleman, even going as far as asking your parents permission to take you out, something your Dad was very fond of. And as your parents watched their little girl walk out the door hand in hand with a boy, they couldn’t help but feel a little sad. 

“Our little girl is growing up.” 

Your Mom wrapped a comforting arm around your Dad. “I know. I’m glad though, I figured she would waste her teenage years waiting on Charles.” 

A questioning look washed across your Dad’s face. “What?” 

“Oh honey. Don’t act like you’ve been blind these past ten years. They’ve always been drawn to each other, her more than him. She was absolutely heartbroken when he brought his first girlfriend to dinner that one time.” 

“Guess I do remember being less than thrilled at Charles getting her that ring for Christmas that one year.” Your Dad huffed. 

“Hmm,” she rests her head on his shoulder, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his abdomen as they still stand there, staring at the door. “You know Pascale has always said that Y/N would end up with Charles.” 

Your Dad scoffs at your Mom’s words. “And what do you think of that?” 

“I think only time will tell.” 

While your parents were discussing your love life back at home, you were having a grand time on your date. The pizza place Lucas had taken you to was cute, a fitting place for two fifteen year olds to be on a first date. Thankfully it wasn’t awkward or tense, and you had to thank the two of you for being friends for a year before your date for that. It was just like the two of you hanging out. 

On the walk back to your house your hands never separate, even when they start to become sweaty. And when he pulls you closer to him, so you're basically hugging his arm, you realize you could get used to this.The way his brown eyes look like pools of honey when the sun hits them just right as he looks down at you, the feeling of his thumb gently rubbing circles on your hand, and the way your name rolls of his tongue when he talks to you, especially with that accent of his. All of it has that all too familiar warm fuzzy feeling appearing in your stomach. 

When he stops in front of the ice cream shop near your house he doesn’t even have to ask you if you want any, you’re already dragging him towards the entrance. The little bell on the door rings as the two of you walk inside and the all too familiar sugary sweet smell hits your nostrils. 

“Ah! Chérie!” 

The owner Mr. Martin – a short older man, probably in his sixties, with what you would call haystacks for eyebrows was beaming at you from behind the counter. He had grown fond of you and the Leclerc boys over the years, claiming that he loved seeing the three of you grow up, as he never had any grandchildren of his own. Though, when his eyes shifted to the right and saw Lucas standing next to you his smile fell briefly, if you hadn’t been staring at him you wouldn’t have caught it. 

“Who is this handsome young man?” He asks as the two of you walk towards him.. 

You introduce Lucas to Mr. Martin and it’s at that moment that you realize that this is the first time you’ve brought him here. Something that didn’t seem possible to you because you were here so often that you had to have brought Lucas here at least once, but you can’t recall a time. 

Only when a vanilla cone is in front of your face are you brought out of your thoughts. Of course Mr. Martin didn’t need to ask you what you wanted, it’s been the same thing every time for the past ten years. Lucas had already sat down at one of the little tables, chocolate cone in hand, while he waited for you. 

“I was surprised to see you with a boy other than Charles.” Mr. Martin states as he wipes down the counter. “He must be special because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here with anyone other than your family or Charles.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Yes, this was your first time you had brought Lucas here, but you know you’ve brought other friends here. There was no way in your ten years here that you hadn’t, but once again your mind was drawing a blank. As you glance back over at Lucas a knot forms in your stomach, it suddenly feels wrong to have brought him here. Like in some way you were tainting this place with his presence. Ruining whatever special hold this place has on your relationship with your family– with Charles. 

You completely ignore Mr. Martin’s statements and just give him a smile and thanks before making up an excuse as to why Lucas and you need to leave. He doesn’t take much convincing when you claim to want to see the sunset. His hand is back in yours as you hear the bell ring once more as the two of you leave. And it’s like as soon as you guys are back on the sidewalk walking towards your house, the gut wrenching feeling is gone. The only evidence of it is left in the ice cream and by the time you’re standing on your front porch step it’s all gone. 

Lucas has a lopsided grin on his face, one you’ve grown to love, as the two of you stand facing each other. “You know we are missing the sunset you wanted to see.” His fingers lightly toy with yours, before finally intertwining them again.

“Mmh. It’s okay.” You were getting lost in those big brown eyes of his, the sunset the last thing on your mind. 

“I’d rather stare at you anyways, you’re much prettier.” 

His words make you practically putty in his hands and before you know it you’re having your first kiss. It’s sweet, metaphorically and literally, the taste of ice cream still on both of your lips. His hand cups your cheek and you have to wonder if he’s done this before. But when he pulls away he only has you craving more, so you lean up and steal on more from him. Giggles escaping past your lips as you see the light blush on his cheeks, you were sure yours were bright red. “Guess this is where I ask you to be my girlfriend huh? Not like I’ve been obsessed with you since my first day of school, been waiting all year or anything.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him with a smirk on your face. “Are you going to properly ask me?” 

By the end of the night when you’re laying in bed, you had officially gone on your first date, had your first kiss, and obtained a boyfriend all in a matter of hours that day. You were a giddy mess, excitement coursed through your veins, and you couldn’t help but repeatedly feel your lips, the feeling of Lucas’ still fresh in your mind the whole night. You couldn’t wait to feel them on yours again. And when he texts you that he wants to hang out tomorrow you think your heart just might leap out of your chest. 

Being with Lucas was like living on cloud nine, you truly couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend. As the year progressed you really wondered how you had snagged someone like him– tall, dark, and handsome. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and he made you feel like it too, until he didn’t.

That’s the funny thing about first loves, you really think nothing could ever come between you, that it’s going to last forever. But the only thing that lasts forever is the damage they leave when they’re gone. 

You aren’t really sure what switched in Lucas, but after a year of being together he turned into someone who was never happy with what you did, always picking fights over stupid little things. And you know you should have left him already, but you love him, and you think you guys can make it work. You’re only sixteen and your Mom tells you relationships shouldn’t be like this at this age, shouldn’t be mentally draining, but unfortunately this one is. 

All your arguments as of lately had been about Charles. Lucas, though denying it every time you brought it up, had become jealous of him. You weren’t even sure where the jealousy had come from, you barely saw Charles like you used to. He was in F2 on the cusp of getting that F1 seat and you were busy with school and spending time with Lucas. You had even gone as far as rejecting invites to hang out with your other friends to spend time with Lucas, something now you regret very deeply. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It’s a chilly Friday night in February when everything comes crashing down. The argument started over Charles texting you asking if you wanted to hang out. You were already with Lucas, but you hadn’t seen Charles in a couple weeks and you knew once the season started seeing him would be even more scarce. So, you make the big mistake of asking Lucas if he wanted to hang out with Charles. 

“Why would I want to hang out with him?” His back was turned to you, but you already knew from his tone that this was going to turn into an argument. 

“Well I haven’t seen him in awhile and he texted me asking to hang out, I thought we all could hang out.” You thought maybe by including Lucas in the plans that it would make the situation better. Wrong. 

He turns to face you, walking towards your bed where you’re currently sat. “Did he mention me in the text?” 

“Well no but-” 

“Exactly,” Lucas scoffs at you, his expression sour as he looms over you. “He doesn’t want me to come. I would get in his way.” 

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, Charles was not the guy Lucas made him out to be. “Don’t know what you mean by you getting in his way.” 

“Oh don’t act cute about it Y/N.” Hearing your name roll off his tongue no longer sounded like music to your ears, it now more resembled nails on a chalkboard, like each time he spoke your name it was venom coming out his mouth. “Bet if I gave him the chance he’d try to get in your pants at the first opportunity.” 

Your eyes widened, cheeks getting hot at his accusations. “What kind of girl do you think I am Lucas?” 

“All I’m saying is your friendship with him isn’t normal, and it makes a guy wonder.” 

You were up off of your bed now, the two of you standing in the middle of your room. “This is getting old. I’ve told you, you have nothing to be jealous of.” You had started to twist the ring on your pinky finger, a nervous habit you had developed over the past couple years. 

“That is why your friendship isn’t normal.” Lucas grabs your hand, his fingers twisting at the ring trying to pull it off your finger. “What kind of girl wears a ring another guy got her while in a relationship? Huh? Even worse that you’ve got matching ones.”

Yanking your hand free from his grasp you can feel your blood starting to boil, and you’re thankful your parents aren’t home tonight because you can tell this is going to get ugly. “We fucking grew up together! He’s like a brother Lucas!” You were the first one to yell and you had unfortunately opened the floodgates because now Lucas is yelling.

“Who hasn’t heard that before?! He’s like a brother. Give me a fucking break. You’re telling me you’ve never had feelings for him? Not once in your life?”  

The accusations and ideas he was throwing around tonight were beyond ridiculous. 

“I’m not thirteen anymore Lucas. You know I only love you.” And you don’t realize what you’ve basically admitted until it leaves your mouth and you hear Lucas let out a dry laugh. 

“Ah. There it is. I think that last part may have been a lie, because you still wouldn’t be wearing that ring if you didn’t still feel something for him.” 

You shake your head at him, why couldn’t he get what you were saying though his thick skull. “I only have platonic love for Charles. It’s nothing like what you and I have.” 

He clicks his tongue, and you can hear the gears turning in his head. “Prove it.” You furrow your eyebrows at him, confused as to how you are supposed to prove that you love only him. “Take the ring off and give it back to Charles.” 

You tuck your hands behind your back, afraid he’ll try and rip it off your finger again. “No. It’s just a ring Lucas. You’re giving it more power than it has.” 

“If it’s just a ring then take it off.” You shake your head no at him. “Take it off Y/N.” You shake your head no again and he stalks towards you, causing you to back up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. “Take off the fucking ring!” He’s yelling and you can feel the tears starting to pool in your eyes. He’s never gotten this crazy before and you can tell that this is the end of the two of you. 

“Lucas just go.” You're trying to hold back your tears, but when he tries to reach around to grab your hand you let out a sob. “Lucas, leave! Now!” 

He backs up, and for the first time that night you get a good look at his eyes. They are no longer the pools of honey you once found yourself getting lost in, their dark, like a black void, and he almost looks unrecognizable as he stands there. “You never truly loved me did you?.” 

His words cut through you, because you really did love him, and you thought he loved you. But someone who loves you would never treat you like he has you. “I loved you more than you’ll ever know, but clearly you’ve got some shit mixed up in your head to think that I didn’t.” 

“But you are always going to love Charles more Y/N. You can tell yourself it’s only platonic love, but we both know it’s not.” 

You wipe away your tears as you sit back down on the side of your bed, this was getting old. “I can’t do this anymore. Truly. I’ve tried to tell you how much you mean to me, but Charles is a part of my life and if you can’t deal with that,” You take a deep breath, scared for what's about to come out of your mouth. “Then maybe we should break up.” 

And for the first time that night Lucas doesn’t respond and you’re actually surprised that he doesn’t put up a fight. “Alright then I guess we are done.” When he doesn’t immediately leave and decides to squat down in front of you, you're confused. Especially when he wipes away your tears as his hand cups your cheek. “I never wanted us to end up like this, but I can’t share your heart with someone else.” 

He should be screaming and instigating more arguing, not being gentle and loving. More tears fall down your cheeks as he presses a final kiss on your forehead before walking out your bedroom door. You can hear your parents greet him downstairs, what great timing for them to arrive home, and when the front door slams you’re surprised your Dad isn’t going after him. 

You’re immediately calling Charles and you don’t even have to speak, your sniffles and ragged breathing lets him know that you need him. As you hang up the phone you hear a gentle knock on your door and you see your Mom peek her head in, her heart breaking when she sees the state you’re in. “Oh my sweet girl.” 

“It’s over Mom.” You choke out between sobs. 

She does the only thing that she knows you need right now and just holds you, lets you get it all out as she runs her fingers through your hair. 

But seconds later you’re both greeted with an out of breath Charles standing in the middle of your room. Your tears subside for a moment, as you see him doubled over trying to catch his breath.

“Alright, I’m gonna leave you two be.” Your Mom gives you a reassuring kiss on the head before exiting your bedroom. 

Charles takes her spot next to you on your bed, his arm immediately pulling you into him. “Did you run here?” You ask as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Did you expect anything less when you called me crying?” He’s deadly serious when he says it, and you don’t know it, but he’d drop everything to come to your aid, no matter if you asked or not. You don’t answer him, but when you wrap your arms around his waist and basically tuck yourself into his side, he knows you appreciate him being here. “Am I wrong for thinking this has something to do with Lucas?” 

The tears start to fall again as the fight replays in your head. “We broke up.” Your words barely above a whisper, but Charles has no trouble hearing them, even over your sniffles. 

“Never liked that asshole anyways.” 

You rolled your eyes at Charles' statement, lightly laughing because he was totally lying. “Don’t lie, you liked him, hell everyone liked him.” 

“Ever thought I am just a very good actor? He made you happy, so I just pretended to like him, for your sake.” 

“Wish you would have made your dislike of him known, maybe I wouldn’t be a hot mess on a Friday night right now.” A sigh escapes past your lips, the feeling of Charles gently rubbing circles on your side had started to soothe you. And you wished you could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his embrace. 

Charles doesn’t mean to pry, he knows you’ll tell him when you're ready, but he’s curious as to why the two of you had broken up, as far as he was concerned the two of you seemed happier than ever. But he wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t happy about the two of you breaking up, for reasons unknown to him yet. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” 

Your grip on him tightens and he thinks if he let you, you’d be under his skin if it was possible. “He was jealous of you.” 

Charles feels his heartbeat quicken and he’s not sure why, but he does know he wants to hear the whole story. “And?” 

You know you’re going to start crying again, but it's Charles, you can tell him anything. So you take a deep breath and spill the beans. “It started a couple months ago. He’d pick fights over stupid stuff at first and then it turned into stuff concerning you. I tried to just let it go and make sure he knew he was my number one priority. But tonight’s fight was the worst one yet and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. He was basically insulating that I loved you more than him and I tried to tell him it was only platonic love that I had for you, but he wasn’t convinced.” 

There’s a strange feeling that blooms in Charles' chest as your words hit his ears and it clouds his mind because he’s never had a feeling like this when he’s been around you. It’s foreign and it scares the shit out of him.

You hold back some information from Charles, mainly because you were still processing how you really feel about him. Trying to sort through what Lucas had planted into your brain and what might have already been there, left over from thirteen year old you. But your ring clad finger searches for his and when you feel the cool contrast of his ring, you wrap your pinky fingers together. “Do you think our friendship is normal Charlie?” 

He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused as to what you meant. “Where’s this coming from?” 

Your eyes never break away from your intertwined fingers, matching rings staring back at you. “Lucas said our friendship isn’t normal and basically the fact that we have matching rings isn’t normal either.” 

Now Charles' gaze is also on your rings and for a moment he thinks maybe it isn’t normal, but then he realizes this is your guys normal. So fuck what anyone else or Lucas thought about his friendship with you. “Think he might have been just pulling shit out of his ass at that point. Jealous that he doesn’t have anyone in his life like we do each other.” 

Charles' words do make you feel a little better, because you know no matter what you’ll always have each other and tonight is proof of that, but that doesn’t stop your still broken heart from showing.

“Still kind of made me feel like shit though, like he made it seem like I didn’t love him at all, when I clearly did. I mean god Charles he was my first date, first kiss, first everything. Even with how badly he had treated me these last couple months, we’re always gonna have that connection. How am I supposed to find someone like that again? Fuck. I mean he literally has a part of me that I’ll never get back.” 

And Charles can feel his heart tightening at your words, because you’re truly the most amazing girl he knows, and to know that Lucas treated you badly when all you deserve is the best awakens something in him. 

“I wish you could see how you look to me, how amazing you are. Yes, you have those connections with Lucas, but believe me when I say you aren’t going to have a problem finding someone else.” 

A small smile finds its way onto your face as you hear Charles speak. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” 

“I wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t true. You’re funny, kind, the best listener, and you’re so beautiful. Truly Y/N, anyone would be lucky to have you. And Lucas is clearly stupid for letting you go.” 

The blush on your cheeks probably looked like a bad sunburn with how much you were blushing and as you made eye contact with Charles you suddenly felt like that thirteen year old girl again. His blue eyes burning into yours and when he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear you can’t help the butterflies that erupt in your stomach. And for a brief moment Charles had pushed your thoughts about Lucas to the back of your mind. 

He pulls you into a hug and if there is one place you feel the safest in the world, it’s in Charles arms. And when he whispers into your ear that everything is gonna be fine, you know it’s going to be, as long as you’ve got Charles in your life. 

seventeen and twenty 

He had done it. 

Charles had finally gotten into Formula 1. The thing he had only dreamt of since childhood had finally come true. The long weekends away from home, the training, the tiredness, the stress, it was all worth it in the end. That seat was finally his and you couldn’t have been more proud. He had been in talks with a couple of the teams for a while and he always kept you updated on the possibilities, some weeks it sounded like he would sign with one team, and then the next another. The whole situation was beyond stressful to you, so you could only imagine how Charles felt about it all. 

The day you found out that he signed with Suaber was one you’ll never forget.

Charles had tried to plan some elaborate thing to announce the big news to you, but that meant he would have to keep it a secret from you for at least a day or two. Something he found to be rather difficult once he got home, because the only thing he wanted to do was tell you. 

It didn’t matter to him that it was almost midnight by the time he had gotten home from the airport, he was going to tell you tonight no matter what. He pulled his phone out of his pocket– thumbs moving rapidly as he texted you. 

After dozing off multiple times in the last half hour you had decided to call it quits on your binge session of The Office for the night. You had switched the TV to something random to actually fall asleep to and it didn’t take long for you to be on the cusp of actual sleep until– 

DING

A groan escaped past your lips and you contemplated ignoring it, but when the second alert went off you snatched your phone off the nightstand. It felt like you were staring directly into the sun as your eyes struggled to read the text notification. 

Charlie: come out back 

Your eyes glanced at the time – 12:15. What the hell could he possibly want this late? But you begrudgingly got out of bed, slipping on some shoes and a sweatshirt before quietly going downstairs. 

The light on the back patio illuminated the backyard just enough for you to see Charles sitting on the swings waiting for you. And If you were even thinking about sneaking up on Charles that would have been impossible with the sliding door to the backyard. The thing screeched like nails on a chalkboard even with you opening it just enough to slide through it. His gaze now locked onto you as you scurried off the porch and towards the swings. 

The smile that he greeted you with was one beyond measure. He was clearly happy about something and you could tell just by the crinkles around his eyes and those dimples that right now looked to be deeper than canyons. 

“What’s got you so happy, Leclerc?” 

Your eyes focused on Charles' frame as he swayed back and forth slowly on the swing. He was clearly too big for it – his legs were bent awkwardly and his swing creaked everytime he moved. You could feel the sides of the swing digging into your hips and you realized you probably looked as ridiculous as him. 

“Just happy to see you. Missed you.” His smile still ever prominent. 

You scoffed at his words, he had just seen you a couple days ago. “Yeah right. You wouldn’t have texted me at midnight if there wasn’t something going on. In fact, how did you know I was up or even home? It’s a Friday night you know.” 

“Because I know you Y/N. Your Friday nights are usually spent at home watching some show until you can’t stay up any longer.” 

A grimace finds its way onto your face, what an amazing life you live. “Okay when you say it outloud it makes me sound like a loser.” 

His eyes had softened as the two of you made eye contact. “Nothing wrong with how you spend your Friday nights.” 

You wanted to get off the topic of your nonexistent social life and onto the pressing matter at hand tonight – what had Charles so giddy? “So are you gonna tell me what is actually going on or what?” 

He took a deep breath, he couldn’t believe he was finally getting to say these words out loud. “I’ve got a Formula 1 seat next year.” 

A blank expression is all that is staring back at Charles and he’s worried that you’re somehow mad or upset, but that’s far from the truth. You aren’t sure if you’ve heard him right, because you think you heard him say he’s going to be racing in Formula 1 next year, but your brain has seemed to have short circuited– your heart beating a mile a minute. 

You’re able to get out, “Sorry – what?!” and when you hear those words come from him once again you’re practically leaping out of the swing and into his arms. The fact that it’s nighttime and people are sleeping is the last thing on your mind as you're shouting excited nonsense at him. 

His laughter filled your ears as he stood up from the swing with you still wrapped up in his arms. You just couldn’t believe it, something he had worked so hard for, dreamt about since childhood, had finally come true. If anyone was deserving of it – it was him. 

“Putain de merde Charles! When did you sign and with who?” You asked once you had finally peeled yourself away from him and were able to form a coherent sentence. 

“Sauber – I just signed yesterday. I know it’s not Ferrari like we had hoped-” 

Your jaw dropped and you lightly smacked his arm. “Ferrari will always be there, I promise. And maybe after they see how good you do this upcoming season they’ll regret not signing you. But what I’m really wondering is why you told me you were going to do testing for one of the teams instead of telling me you were going to sign with them!” 

He put his hands up in defense, but the cheesy grin on his face still remained. “I wanted to surprise you! But then as soon as I signed that contract all I wanted to do was tell you. I literally just got home from the airport when I texted you!” 

The fact that Charles wanted you to be the first person he told had you melting and the butterflies in your stomach had you thinking about those unresolved feelings you had towards him. But you pushed it aside because tonight was not the night for that to be lingering in your mind. 

You reached down to his hand and linked your pinky fingers together. The gesture no longer just meant for a promise, but also one of comfort and reassurance. “I do hope you know though how immensely proud I am of you. How proud your Papa would be of you. I knew from that first time you ever mentioned something about becoming a F1 driver when we were kids that you would accomplish it and now look at you.” 

Charles' eyes soften at your words and when he looks into your eyes he feels that funny foreign feeling. The one that blooms in his chest and travels down to his stomach, the same feeling from last year when he held you after Lucas broke your heart. The feeling he chooses to ignore as he pulls you back into his arms, hugging you tightly, like someone might take you from him. He knows his life wouldn’t be the same without you and that he owes some of this success to you– for constantly believing in him even when he didn’t, for dreaming with him, and for being the light on even his darkest days. 

“And I hope you know that I wouldn’t have made it without you. You’ve been my biggest supporter since we were kids, always believing in me, pushing me, coming to support me when you could, and I can’t imagine you not being at my first race.” 

“Oh do you not remember what I said when we were younger? Think I said I’d have a permanent paddock pass, so you bet your ass I’m gonna be there.” 

A small laugh escapes past his lips and his dimples are back out in full force for what seems like the millionth time tonight. “Truly Y/N. Merci, I couldn’t have done it without you. Je t'aime.” 

“Je t'aime aussi Charlie.” 

His pinky finger finds yours once again and when he curls his finger around yours a wave of deja vu washes over you. And that’s when you remembered the last time the two were out here together. You were still kids, but you had made him promise not to forget you once he got into Formula 1. 

Now here the two of you stood, high on the exciting news of him achieving that goal. You can’t help that pit that starts to form in your stomach as you think of what you feared at age ten coming true. You try to hide it, not wanting to dampen the mood, and you know all you can do is pray that he keeps his promise. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

That following March you make the trip to Australia with the Leclerc’s and your family and it’s everything you could have ever dreamed of. Sure you had attended the Monaco Grand Prix every year, and some of Charles F2 races, but you had never been really in the thick of it like this. Maybe it was because it was Charles' first ever F1 race, but the feeling in the air was indescribable. The roar of the engines, the cheers from the crowd, it was something you could get used to experiencing. 

It’s surreal to see him in the car, see him flying around the circuit like it’s nothing, because all you can imagine is eight year old Charles saying he wants to be an F1 driver when he grows up in that car. He ends up placing P13 and for his first ever F1 race you couldn't have been more proud. And you aren’t afraid to admit that you shed a few tears, honestly you think everyone shed a few tears seeing him finally accomplish that lifetime dream of his. 

When you see him after the race he’s beaming like he’d won the thing and you could only imagine what he will be like when he actually wins his first race. You can practically feel the adrenaline radiating off of him when he wraps you up in his embrace. 

“You did so good Charles. You did it, you made it.” Your words slightly mumbled against his shoulder, but he hears you just fine. 

“I’m glad you were able to come. Wouldn’t have been as special if you didn’t.” You don’t think he’s wiped that smile off his face ever since he got out of the car and it only intensified as he spoke to you. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” And it’s true because there’s no other place you’d want to be right now. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The next time you see him is for the Monaco Grand Prix and he’s nearly shitting himself the whole week before. You would have thought this was his first ever time in a F1 car with how nervous he was. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, knows this circuit like the back of his hand, but he still spends an unnecessary amount of time on the sim, trying to perfect every little thing. 

With what little amount of time you see him between practice sessions and qualifying before the actual race you try and reassure him, let him know that he’s still an amazing person and driver no matter the outcome on Sunday. And it seems to have worked because by Sunday his spirits seem to be much higher and he’s got a good feeling about the race, hoping to score some points, and maybe win his home race. 

But when his brakes fail and he ends up crashing into the back of another car resulting in a DNF you’re heartbroken, but you know he’s even more upset. You know he’s going to be so hard on himself and overanalyze the whole situation, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to try and make things a little better. 

When you find him he’s pacing back and forth in what little space he has in his drivers room. Helmet still strapped onto his head and his race suit still done up. You spot one of his gloves on the physio table and the other on the ground — evidence that he had thrown them. He’s so in his head that he doesn’t even see you standing in the doorway as he paces. 

“Charlie.” Your voice is soft and you hope by using his nickname that it may calm him a little. 

His movements stop when he hears your voice and when he finally sees you standing there in the doorway all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. What an embarrassment to have his first DNF at his first home race. It’s like the gods wanted to punish him for reasons unbestowed to him. 

Your reflection stares back at you through his visor as you approach him, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your hands find their home on them. You finally work up the courage to flip up his visor so you can actually look at him and when you see red puffy eyes staring back at you your heart breaks a little more. 

“Let’s get this helmet off, yeah?” 

With a small nod given from him as permission you reach your hands up to undo the strap. You’re trying to be delicate with your actions, but when it comes to taking off his helmet there really isn’t a way to be nice about it. And Charles knows because he’s got his hands over yours, aiding you in taking it off. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him as he practically tore off his balaclava and threw it haphazardly somewhere in the room. As silly as it seemed, the indentions that it left behind on his face somehow made him more attractive. Combine that with his hair being a tousled mess and his skin glistening from the sweat (and tears) and post race Charles may be your favorite Charles. You watched even more intently as he unzipped his race suit, letting the upper half fall at his hips, exposing the tight fireproofs that you loved more than you should. 

Those unresolved feelings that you’ve tried to shove deep down for years had seemed to be crawling their way back up recently. But for today you pushed them back down because you were here to comfort Charles, not ogle at him, no matter how good he looked at the moment. 

He sat down on his physio table with a defeated sigh, hand running through his already messy hair. “I’ve let everyone down – the team, my family, myself, you. Maybe if I wouldn’t have braked too hard at turn seven or didn’t push as hard in the tunnel-” 

You moved to stand in between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders. He was on the edge of spiraling and you knew if you didn’t take him back from that ledge he’d be in his head about it for weeks. 

“Charles. There was nothing that you could have done differently, it was an issue with the car. Which means it had nothing to do with you as a person, as a driver, or your talent.” Your hand subconsciously searches for his, and like it’s muscle memory your pinkies link seconds later. “I promise.” 

“A ‘once in a generation driver’ would have avoided crashing.” 

Ugh. The phrases that the media used to describe Charles were – yes very flattering, but they came at a price. He took them personally and the idea of being anything less than what they claimed him to be took a serious mental toll on him. 

“You had no brakes Charles. What were you supposed to do? Bust your feet through the floor and Fred Flintstone it?” You could see the corners of his mouth turn up slightly at your comment and you knew he was backing away from the edge. His hands find their way around your waist and he’s pulling you into him, your head finding a home on his shoulder. 

“I’m still immensely proud of you. Hell, you could finish dead last in every race and I’d still be your number one fan.” This time there is an actual smile that washes across Charles face, but you don’t get to see it, your head is still resting on his shoulder. “ And I know it’s easier said than done, but please try not to be so hard on yourself, especially when it comes to things out of your control.” 

“What would I do without you?” It’s a serious question that Charles asks himself often. You’ve been each other's rocks for twelve years now. Through the amazing times and the horrible times. No one knows either of you like you do each other. 

You’ve pulled away from his embrace now, your eyes staring back at his. “Hmmm. I don’t know. You’d probably be absolutely miserable without me.” 

And when you finally see that pretty smile of his, dimples and all, you know you’ve accomplished your mission. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Although after Monaco– things changed. 

The first thing and probably the most inevitable was Charles moving out. Honestly, you were surprised he hadn’t done it sooner, but in between the Monaco GP and Canadian GP he moved into his own place. Which in theory wasn’t a big deal, but that meant he wasn’t just right down the street from you anymore. He had gotten an apartment further into the city, which in Monaco that’s not that far, but you knew it would make a difference. 

The days of popping into his house and expecting him to be there were long gone. The whole thing really shouldn’t have been such a big deal to you, but you couldn’t help but think that him moving out was only going to aid in your worries of him forgetting about you to come true. 

After Monaco your communication with Charles started to slowly lessen.Texts that once were answered in minutes now went hours without an answer or sometimes no response at all. You blamed it on his busy schedule, trying not to think too much about it. But much to your dismay, your worries do come true. 

It’s inevitable to you that you are drifting apart when you realize it’s been three months since you’ve seen him, almost a month since you’ve talked to him. And when you see him make it official with some girl you hadn’t even heard mention of after the British GP you feel like it’s just another nail in the coffin. 

You don’t even make the effort to reach out anymore, in fact you make sure not to after seeing that he’s got a new girlfriend. You’d just be wasting your time and energy. And it may seem like you're giving up on keeping Charles in your life, but really what else could you do? It truly hurts like hell to see the person you care about the most not seem to care about you, but you can’t force someone to talk to you or see you. 

He’s living his dream, traveling the world, partying, surrounded by stunning women. You’re still in school, still only seventeen, and not sure what you want your life to look like. It was inevitable really, for the two of you to drift apart, but that little part of you that ten year old you still holds on to, hopes that Charles remembers that promise he made and eventually comes to his senses. Because you know and you know he knows that you two are always going to have that special bond, the ring on your finger a constant reminder of it. And you wonder if he still wears his, but you don’t hold on to much hope that he does. 

Even though Charles and you aren’t exactly the closest at the moment you do want to try and attend another race before you start your final year of school and are forced to give that all of your attention. So when Arthur texts you asking if you want to go to Monza with Pascale and him you don’t pass up the opportunity.

Arthur filled you in on stuff regarding Charles during the flight, not that you asked, but he knew the two of you hadn’t really been talking. And you don’t mean to ask about his girlfriend, but you do, and you can see Arthur tip-toeing around his words. “She’s… nice. I’ve only met her once so I really couldn’t tell you much. You haven’t met her yet though, right?” 

You shook your head at him. “I haven’t even seen Charles since the home race. So no, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her.” 

“Merde. I didn’t think it had been that long.” 

What Arthur doesn’t tell you is that Charles doesn’t know their Mom and him are coming, not to mention you. You only figure it out when Arthur says something about making sure Charles doesn’t know to the Sauber team member who gives him three VIP passes. Arthur claims you guys are here to surprise Charles, give him a little pick me up after his last two races were DNF’s. 

The idea of seeing Charles again after so long already had your stomach in knots, but now knowing he doesn’t even know you’re coming makes it even worse. You were under the impression that he knew you were tagging along with Arthur. And everyone knows Charles is horrible at hiding his emotions, what if he sees you and can’t hide the fact that he doesn’t want you here? A million possibilities ran through your brain as Arthur dragged you towards the Sauber garage, while Pascale went to hospitality. 

Qualifying had just started and you were thankful for the extra time to mentally prepare yourself to see Charles again. With the way you were acting you would have thought you hadn’t seen him in years, but truthfully these three months had felt like years. 

The roar of engines were slightly muffled as you put on a headset, eyes focused on the monitor in front of you. Even with your nerves through the roof, it felt good to be back at a race. The atmosphere was intoxicating, you loved the hustle and bustle of it all, the adrenaline you got from just being here was crazy. 

You were so engrossed in watching Charles that you didn’t even notice someone come up behind Arthur and you until you felt him tap your shoulder. When you turn around the person standing there is the last person you expected to be seeing.  

Leah— Charles' girlfriend.  

Her lips are moving, but you aren’t hearing a word, and that’s when you realize you’ve still got your headset on. You quickly pull them down around your neck just in time to hear her say. “You must be Y/N?” You're shocked she knows who you are and from the look on your face she knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Charles has mentioned you before. It’s nice to finally meet you!” 

It’s sad to say that you had a hard time believing that Charles talked about you to her, but you put on a fake smile and accepted her invitation for a hug. “It’s nice to meet you too!” While Arthur and her spoke you tried to get a good read on her, but it was hard to tell if she was naturally this friendly or if it was all just an act. 

Time slipped away as the three of you chatted and you hadn’t realized Q1 was over and that Charles hadn’t made it into Q2 until you saw Leah’s eyes widened at something behind you. That something turned out to be someone and that someone turned out to be Charles. Leah’s practically hanging off of him while she’s trying to take a million photos and videos. And that’s when you know why Arthur tiptoed around his words about her earlier. Yes she was ‘nice’, but she was clearly using Charles for her own benefit. 

Charles on the other hand was oblivious to Leah shoving her phone in his face. His vision had zeroed in on you from the moment he entered the garage, even with your back turned to him he could spot you in a crowd of hundreds. When you finally turned around he felt like his feet had been cemented to the ground. His body felt hot, like a fever was running through his veins, and it wasn’t from being in the car moments ago. 

Arthur wasn’t supposed to be here and you weren’t either– especially talking to his girlfriend. It throws him for a loop and he can’t seem to get his brain and mouth to work together to even greet you, so he stands there while Leah makes sure everyone knows she’s dating a Formula 1 driver. 

The tight lipped smile you throw his direction doesn’t help how he’s feeling. You should be beaming at him, in his personal space (preferably in his arms), laughing at something dumb he said, anything other than how you were right now. And he knows it's no fault but his own, but it still hurts to see you stand there and act like you don’t like him, like you haven’t known each other for twelve years.

Charles could blame his absence in your life on his career, but that wasn’t the whole truth. 

He had seen your texts and truthfully sometimes he was so busy that he would forget to text you back. But those times when he could give you his full attention over text or the occasional facetime were times he never took for granted. He loved hearing your laughter, seeing your smile, or even just having you send him a text about your day. But with those things he loved so dearly came that funny feeling in his chest. 

The same feeling that he first felt last year when Lucas broke up with you, the night he told you he made it into F1, at his home race, and sprinkled in occasionally at other times. He had realized what it was not too long after the Monaco GP and at first he denied it, he thought there was no way it was possible. But then when that feeling would happen just from getting a text from you he knew he was fucked. He wasn’t even going to say the word out loud, not even think it, afraid of what might come if he even allowed the universe the satisfaction of him accepting what he was feeling. You were supposed to be his best friend and not someone he had feelings for. 

So what did he do to combat this insane revelation he had found out about himself? 

Distance himself. 

If he wasn’t in contact with you or seeing you, then surely this silly little thing, that he once again would not acknowledge by its government name, would go away. Plus his ever so busy career was the perfect excuse for him to use in case his Mother or you questioned him. 

And at first it wasn’t hard at all, he had gradually weaned himself off from facetiming you and then texting. And it wasn’t that bad because he had racing and training and media duties and parties– all the stuff that his life involved now to distract him. But then your texts became less and less and then on one off week he realized just how badly he missed having your stupid contact photo pop up on his phone and how he may have fucked everything up. 

But then he met Leah through another driver’s girlfriend and he had her to distract him even more. He knew what kind of person she was from the get go, but he was basically using her too, so if she wanted to make her whole instagram about him then so be it as long as his brain was free of that thing that must not be named about you. And Leah worked for awhile, she was relatively nice and it helped that she was pretty, but she wasn’t you. 

There was no real connection between them and sometimes Charles would rather watch paint dry than have a conversation with her. And most of the time he just let her sit there and talk while he scrolled on his phone, trying not to act like his heart didn’t skip a beat when a post of yours would pop up on Instagram. 

He wanted to contact you so badly, but what was he supposed to say? Hey, I've been so busy that I haven't even picked up my phone to text you hi. 

He knew he had caused some damage to your relationship when his Mom asked why he wasn’t coming home to see you anymore and that you weren’t yourself. He feels like shit about it, the idea of him making you upset is practically nightmare fuel for Charles and he doesn’t know why he thought distancing himself would make things better, they had just made things worse. Made him miss you even more without even realizing it. 

Clearly Charles had never heard the saying distance makes the heart grow fonder because if he had then maybe he wouldn’t have been stood there like a fool in the Sauber garage right now. Heart racing faster than the car he just got out of at the sight of you standing here in front of him for the first time in three months. 

What the hell was happening to him? What was this sudden effect you had on him? Had it always been there and he hadn’t realized it until now? He couldn’t think straight – it was clearly not a good idea to have tried to ignore these realizations (feelings) he had about you. A bad idea to not see you for months because now that you are here everything is rushing back up to the surface 10x worse than before. 

“Long time no see stranger.” Your voice brings him back to reality, but your closer proximity has him searching for an out. His head glancing in every direction for someone– his race engineer, one of the mechanics, Leah, anybody to distract him from you. 

When his search comes up short he resorts to making his stomach hurt even more by talking to you. 

“Yeah. How have you been?” God. Did he not even know how to talk to you anymore? Small talk with someone you know better than yourself had to be a torture method used by government agencies. 

“I’ve been good.” Lie, but he didn’t need to know that. “I see you’ve been living it up since I saw you last.” 

You were expecting a little awkwardness between the two of you, but the way Charles was acting was insane, it was like it was your first time meeting or something. He couldn’t maintain eye contact to save his life and honestly looked like he’d rather be someplace else at the moment. Your fear of him not wanting you here was clearly not a silly worry, it was reality. 

“Um yeah. Always busy doing something recently.” 

You’ve been fidgeting with the ring on your pinky finger the whole time and your movements catch Charles' gaze. His eyes immediately locking in on the silver ring still shining on your finger. He’s surprised after the way he’s treated you these past couple months that you still have it on, but yet here you stood in front of him with it on, a sign to Charles that he did not deserve you one bit. 

When he sees you realize that he’s staring at your ring and then sees your eyes shift to his naked finger his heart rate quickens once again. His stomach feels like it's about ready to drop out of his ass at the sight of hurt on your face that’s then quickly replaced by a blank stare. He can’t get his words out fast enough, he’s chewing on his words, mouth drier than the Sahara desert. 

“I-um-It’s in my-” 

“It’s fine Charles, really. We’re not little kids anymore. I shouldn’t be holding on to silly childhood promises.” It wasn’t fine, it was far from fine. You’re blinking back tears, your words referencing everything but the ring. But it’s a combination of everything that’s got you upset. The two of you drifting apart, the broken childhood promises, wanting to hate him right now but still being so proud to see him out there doing what he loves, and that damn ring. 

You felt stupid for still having it on, for thinking that he would still have his on. You needed to start being more realistic, but you were still only seventeen. An age that held so much fun and whimsy, you should be out having fun with your friends, not getting upset over a guy who clearly didn’t feel the same about you. The two of you were always going to be at two different times in your lives, it was never going to work out, but fuck there is always going to be apart of you that still holds onto him. He’s got his fingers dug so deep into you that you think you'll be old and gray and still wonder what could have been. 

Each word you spoke felt like a stab to Charles' heart. He wanted to tell you that he still wears his ring. That it’s sitting on its designated spot in his driver's room. But once again he can’t get his words out fast enough, his brain still hung up on your words for some reason. He’s hoping you would realize that the reason he doesn’t have it on was because he had just been in qualifying, but when he sees you slide your ring off and toss it in your bag those stabs to the heart intensify. He feels like he’s losing everything right in front of him, but he can’t seem to get his mind and body to work together to stop it. 

He feels an arm wrap around his and he knows it's Leah. Where was she moments ago when he was looking for an out? Maybe this situation could have been avoided and Charles wouldn’t feel like he had just lost the one person in his life who truly cared about him. 

“Good luck tomorrow Charles.” 

You don’t feel like sticking around any longer, especially if you have to look at Charles and Leah. You let Arthur know you're gonna go find Pascale, but you don’t leave without taking one last glance at Charles. 

It’s a long evening with Arthur’s prying questions about what's going on between his brother and you. All you can do is shrug your shoulders because really you don’t actually know what happened yourself, you assumed you drifted apart, but was there something else that happened that you didn’t know about? 

The next day you decide to watch the race from Sauber’s hospitality with Pascale, hoping to get away from Arthur’s never ending questions and Leah’s presence in general. Pascale luckily hadn’t pressed you on the Charles matter, but she’s practically your second Mother and she knows too that there’s something going on between Charles and you, she’s known from the beginning.

Charles ended up placing eleventh, which is miles better than his last two races, which were DNFs. Though you don’t even bother to go to the garage with Pascale, opting to stay in hospitality until it’s time to leave. It may have been petty of you, but you really weren’t in the mood to see Charles again and from his behavior yesterday he clearly doesn’t care that you're not there. 

But that was far from the truth. In fact Charles was praying that you would show up in the garage this morning, but when Arthur shows up solo he can’t hide the frown that forms on his face. The praying then moves onto seeing you post race, but that is quickly diminished when his Mother shows up without you in tow either. 

Your words from yesterday hung heavy in Charles' mind all last night. I shouldn’t be holding onto silly childhood promises bothered him more than it should have. And he wracked his brain trying to figure out what you could have been referencing. It wasn’t until he was almost asleep that he remembered a certain promise that the two of you made at ten and thirteen. Sleep was the last thing on his mind as he laid there wide awake staring at the ceiling recalling the memory in his mind.

He was such a fucking asshole. He’d done the one thing you promised him not to do. Granted he never really forgot about you, you were still clearly on his mind these past three months, but to you it really did seem like he had forgotten about you. Like he had gone off and became this famous race car driver that couldn’t be bothered to text his childhood best friend.

God he had fucked up, like truly fucked up, and all he wanted to do was explain himself (without revealing you know what), apologize, and try and get back to the way things used to be. That though, was proving to be easier said than done when you wouldn’t even come around. And by the time he’s done with his post race duties you’re back at the hotel ready to head back home. Charles doesn’t think he’ll ever get the chance to redeem himself and you're left wondering why you even agreed to come in the first place. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A week later you're at home sitting on your bed, face shoved into a math textbook trying to figure out some formula when your phone rings. Charles' contact photo pops up on your phone and you contemplate not answering it. You haven’t had any contact with him since Monza so you wonder why he’s decided to call you of all things on a random Monday. But against your better judgment you press answer and put it on speaker before tossing it back down on your bed. 

“Bonjour?” 

There’s muffled sounds in the background, but Charles hasn’t spoken a word, and you wonder if he accidentally butt dialed you. 

“Y/N.” His voice finally echos through the speaker and you hate the way your heart flutters at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue. 

Charles had been working himself up to call you for hours, his finger hovering over your contact too many times to count. He thinks he may have blacked out a little when he finally pressed his thumb down on the screen and then heard your sweet voice, hence his delayed response. Today was his last chance to tell you the big news he'd hoped to tell you last week in Monza, but that clearly didn’t work out. 

The big news in question? Him finally signing with Ferrari. 

The team that he had dreamt of driving for once he got into F1 had finally given him a chance. It was not only his dream, but his Father’s dream for Charles too. Many weekends with his Father spent at race tracks had all led up to him getting that initial seat this year and then finally getting that Ferrari seat for next year, he only wished his Father could be here to witness it. Charles couldn’t have been more happy to finally accomplish that dream not only for himself, but also his Father. 

The other person who knew about how badly he wanted to be sporting that Ferrari red and supported him in finally reaching that goal was you. And to Charles it didn’t matter if you guys perhaps weren’t exactly on the best of terms right now, he wanted you to be the first person he told, just like last year when he got into F1. He sure as hell didn’t want you to find out from the press release, so here he was telling you over the phone. 

“Oui?”

“I’ve done it. I’m driving for Ferrari next year.” It feels good to say it outloud, especially to you because you know just how much it means to him. 

There’s silence from your end for some time and Charles checks to make sure you hadn’t hung up on him, but the call time is still going. He’s about ready to say your name when he hears sniffles echo through the speaker.

“Are you crying?” He’s worried he’s somehow done something once again to make you upset. 

You are in fact crying, as much as you hate it. It’s a mixture of happy and sad tears that you're desperately trying to wipe away like he can see you. Happy tears for him finally signing with Ferrari, a goal that you knew he would accomplish with no issue. Sad tears because you wished he was here telling you in person, wished that things were like they used to be, wished that you never developed feelings for him, and wished that whatever that situation was in Monza last week had never happened. 

“I’m just really happy for you Charlie.” His heart skipped a beat hearing you call him Charlie, it had been too long since you’d graced him with that nickname for his liking. “I told you Ferrari would see what they had missed out on and come running.” 

A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled that night on the swings when he told you about him getting into F1. “I wanted you to be the first person to know.” You can’t ignore the butterflies that form in your stomach at the thought of him thinking about you, wanting you to be the first to know, but you’re still crying, your emotions all over the place. 

When silence fills the line and he still hears your sniffles, he knows it’s not just happy tears you’re crying. It was time to face the elephant over the phone. 

“Listen I know things have been weird between us these past couple months and,” He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “I know it’s my fault. I broke that promise I made you and I hate myself for it everyday.” The idea of him distancing himself from you was the dumbest idea he’s ever had. He wasn’t better off without you, he was better with you. His feelings towards you aside, he’d rather die than not have you in his life. 

“I got so caught up in this new lifestyle and I lost myself for a while.” Maybe he shouldn’t be lying to you, but he wasn’t about ready to admit you know what. He’d already fucked up enough, he didn’t need to go spilling his guts and fuck everything up even more.

“And then in Monza I was shocked to see you there and I felt like an ass for forgetting about you and I was trying to figure out what to say, but you were clearly upset and it was honestly just a mess.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Basically what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for being a dick and that I really miss you.” 

His thumb toyed with the ring on his finger as he waited for your response  and he remembered you still didn’t know he still wore his. “I also still wear my ring. I just hadn’t gotten the chance to put it back on after qualifying last week.” His gaze never broke from the ring as he spoke. “I don’t like that you think I would ever stop wearing it. Gonna wear it till the grave Y/N.” 

His last sentence was mumbled, but you heard him loud and clear. Your gaze shifted towards your dresser where the silver ring had sat for the past week. Perhaps you had jumped the gun with your actions last week, you knew he had to take off his jewelry when he got into the car, but in the moment your emotions were telling you otherwise. “You made me feel like shit Charles. It’s a horrible feeling to see someone exiting your life in real time and knowing you really can’t do anything about it.” 

“I know and I’m so sorry.” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and he thinks he’s done it so many times that he might have a bald spot by morning. 

You feel like you’re forgiving him too easily, but you’ve missed him so much. And to hear him finally admit that he fucked up and say that he missed you too has you unfortunately very easily swayed. He’s been in your life for so long it’s felt like a piece of you was missing these past couple months without having contact with him. So, you forgive him, because you love him.

“I want things to go back to normal, like before.” You’re standing in front of your dresser now, ring rolling between your fingers. 

“They will.” He glanced back down at his ring. “I promise.” 

“You promise?” You asked as you slid the ring back on your finger, a missing part of now you back in its rightful place. 

“I promise.” 

twenty two and twenty five

Over the past four years Charles and you had matured significantly. 

You had graduated and landed a job that you loved at home in Monaco. It required you to travel a lot, which you loved, but also came with amazing off time and flexible hours. A perk you were beyond grateful for because that meant you could attend the majority of Charles races. You had also gotten your own place, a cute little apartment, and was truly embracing adulthood. 

When it came to the love department though– Charles was still there.

Over the four years you had your share of talking stages and two boyfriends who both only lasted a couple months. Your hectic work schedule didn’t help matters, but neither did your feelings towards Charles that you’ve been harboring for the past eight years. You really would have thought you’d have gotten over those, figured it was a thing of adolescents, but your twenties came and the feelings never went. It wasn’t as bad as when you were younger, you learned to handle yourself better and your job keeping you busy helped that. The two of you were at a good place in your relationship and you came to terms that unless you were a big girl and confessed your feelings to him, then you were just going to have to live with him at arms distance. 

Like you when it came to romantic relationships–  you were still Charles number one, as much as he tried to make it work with other girls, they just weren’t you. He had thought multiple times over the years that he was going to tell you how he felt, but you were either talking to someone or had a boyfriend, the timing never right. So he learned, like you, to live with his feelings towards you. A thing that was necessary if he didn’t want a repeat of what happened when he tried to distance himself from you.

So here the two of you were– adults who were completely oblivious to how either of you felt about each other for years, hopelessly pining over each other. 

Charles' career on the other hand was more of a success story than his love life. In the past four years he had accomplished his Maiden win in Belgium during his first year with Ferrari and then his second the next week in Italy. Then went on to win three more races during this year's season. 

A season with three wins may sound like a great accomplishment, but the thing was that he should have had more than three. To say that Charles' fourth season with Ferrari was stressful was an understatement for the ages. He had never been more happy for winter break to arrive than he was this year. He had started the season out on a high by winning the first race of the season, but life somehow had a way of humbling him. 

Horrible strategy calls from the team, bad pit stops, and car troubles had cost Charles his chance at the championship. It seemed like for every high he had– five lows followed. So needless to say when he saw the checkered flag at Abu Dhabi he was somewhat relieved that the season was over and perhaps making the podium may have lifted his spirits a little too. 

But that relief was short lived, because in true Charles fashion, he can’t get out of his head about the what ifs from the season. He had wanted to just let it go, leave it behind him and look forward to this time off and the new season ahead. But all his brain wanted to think about was maybe if we would have gone with softs instead of hards or pitted one lap earlier or managed his tires better then maybe he would have been still coming down from the high of winning the championship right now instead of sulking about. 

He’d been a little distant since break started and you knew he was probably in his head about everything. So when a text pops up on your phone from him late one evening telling you to meet him at the harbor you don’t even think twice about telling him you’ll be there in ten. If you had to guess what he had planned, you’d bet all your money on taking his yacht out to look at the stars. It was something the two of you had done for a couple years now, but it was usually over summer break, not the week before Christmas. But for Charles you would do anything, even brave going out on the water, at night, during the winter. 

When Charles see’s you walk up to his slip on the dock wearing what looks to be the coziest outfit and holding his favorite blanket from your apartment he thinks his heart is about ready to explode. “You’re lucky I love you Charles. It’s gonna be so cold out on the water.” 

I love you. The words echo in his mind as he helps you into the boat. It’s nothing new for you two to say it to each other, and he’s under the impression you’re saying it platonically, but god does it sound so heavenly to hear those three little words come out of your mouth and be directed towards him. 

“I’m the luckiest man alive.” He’s referring to you and that glimmer in his eye would tell anyone that he was, but you don’t see it, you’re too busy getting situated in your designated spot next to the captain's seat. 

Once he’s got the boat a good enough distance out into the water he deploys the anchor and you make your way out to the loungers on the deck. You push two of them together, making a big enough space for both you and Charles to relax. 

You’re already cozied up with the blanket by the time he makes his way over to you, but he doesn’t even have to ask, you’re already pulling back the blanket for him to slide under. 

He lets out a sigh once he gets comfortable beside you. “I needed this.” 

A hum in agreement comes from you as you scoot a little closer to Charles, a gust of cold wind blowing through the air. 

“There’s the big dipper.” Charles points his finger up to the sky, your eyes following where he’s pointing to. The two of you take turns pointing out what you think are constellations, but are undoubtedly random stars in made up shapes, but it doesn’t matter to either of you. 

The gentle lull of the waves crashing against the boat fills the silence that falls between the two of you once you’ve run out of things to point out. And you’ve somehow ended up cuddled into Charles' side, his arm wrapped around you, and your head on his chest. You couldn’t help it, he’s always been a walking furnace, and when the opportunity presents itself to be in his arms you were gonna take it. 

It was something that was happening more and more with you two recently– pushing the envelope per say on what your friendship entailed. Cuddling, staying the night at each other's apartments, hands lingering a little too long after a hug were all normal things for friends to do– right?  Friends who somehow while doing these things couldn’t tell that the other person felt the same as they did. 

Love may be blind, but in Charles and your’s case, you were blind to love. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been out here, but you think you could spend eternity out here with him. The feeling of comfort, safety, and the feeling of home that he brings you when he’s around is something you don’t think you can ever live without again. He’s your person and you hope you're his, no matter what the future for the two of you entails. 

The feeling of his fingers ghosting across your arm and down towards your hand tells you he’s searching for one thing and when his pinky finger links with yours you know he’s got something on his pretty little mind. 

“You wanna talk about it?” You whisper, your head still resting on his solid chest.

He doesn’t respond for a while and you think he perhaps didn’t hear you, but then he speaks and it sounds like blasphemy coming out of his mouth. 

“What if I quit?” 

Your body freezes at his words and you’re hoping he’s not meaning what you think, but when you lift your head to see nothing close to a joking manner on his face you know this is about to get serious. 

“I’d think you’d be miserable. You love racing, you were born to do it, it’s in your blood Charles. All the hard work you’ve put in from a literal child to now–” You shake your head, not even wanting to think about him quitting racing. “Don’t be stupid and throw it all away. You’re just only getting started.” 

A deep sigh comes from him, his eyes fixated on your now intertwined hands as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m not going to, but there were so many times this past season that I thought about it. I know that’s crazy to say after I won three times, but god the lows of racing truly are lows. I’d have a good weekend and then have literally a weekend from hell the next race week. It’s just a lot– mentally. Trying to live up to everyone’s expectations, the teams, the fans, the media, and my own is like a mental prison sometimes.” 

You had sat up at this point, and almost like a small child Charles had clung to you, his head in your lap as you gently ran your fingers through hair. You knew he had a rough season, but you didn’t think it had taken this much of a toll on him. 

“And you’re right. I love racing and I’d be miserable without it, but sometimes I’m miserable with it.” 

The frown that had formed on your face moments ago had deepened at his confession. “I didn’t know the season had affected you this much Charles. Wish you would have talked to me sooner about it.” 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for Charlie, you’re allowed to feel how you feel. And I know you probably get sick of hearing me say it, but I’m still so immensely proud of you. Like I’ve said before, you could finish dead last in every race and I’d still be proud. I know this season was a rough one at times, but you won three times and were on the podium eleven times. That’s still something to be proud of. So for every time you're miserable because of racing, think about me telling you repeatedly how proud I am of you and maybe you’ll just be miserable because of me instead.” 

You see the corners of his mouth move up and you know you’ve gotten a little smile out of him. “That’s funny that you think me hearing you say that you’re proud of me would make me miserable. It actually has the opposite effect, so your plan may work, but it would result in me being happier instead of more miserable, which is what I think we want to accomplish right?” 

“Yes, I love happy Charlie, but I still love miserable Charlie too.” 

He’s sat up, the two of you sitting face to face now, and you aren’t sure if it's the cool breeze or him staring at you that makes a shiver run up your spine. “That’s good to know.” 

He’s still staring at you and even with only the moon as your source of light, those pretty blue eyes of his are as bright as ever, and staring into your soul. And for a split second you think he’s leaning in and you think this might be the moment he’s gonna kiss you, the moment you’ve been waiting for since you were thirteen. But you’re completely wrong, he’s only reaching for the blanket as he leans back onto the lounger once more. 

“Merci Y/N, truly. For always being here for me, especially for tonight. It was nice to finally get that off my chest. Je t’aime.’ 

You claim your spot back next to Charles and you don’t even second guess yourself when you lay your head back on his chest. “Je t’aime aussi Charlie.” 

Charles, while he can’t complain about having you in his arms and your head on his chest. He can kick himself for that moment mere seconds ago. He was finally going to do it, it was the perfect time, but he chickened out and reached for the blanket instead of using that hand to cup your cheek. He could drive a race car at 230 mph, but couldn’t work up the courage to kiss the girl he was in love with. Maybe he’d find the courage sometime in the next four years. But for now he could live with having you cuddled up against him and knowing that even if it may be platonic, you love him too. 

twenty three and twenty six 

The Monaco Grand Prix. 

An world renowned event. A pinnacle for motorsports. People from all around the world come to the tiny principality every year to watch twenty of the world's best drivers race around the streets of Monaco. 

As a child you watched the grandstands go up every year and you dreamed of getting to watch Charles race those very same streets that you took to school. The two of you as kids watching from the crowd, not knowing that some of those drivers Charles would drive alongside one day, even being teammates with some of them. Charles could only hope that one day that would be him on that top step, hearing his own national anthem play at his home race.  

That one day had yet to happen after six seasons in F1. After three DNF’s, horrible strategy, and two lost pole positions– Charles really didn’t think winning his home race was ever going to happen. He had started to believe the “Monaco curse” more and more year after year. 

You on the other hand didn’t believe that the curse existed. You did believe that the idea of one had made Charles be more in his head when the race came around every year, and in a sense perhaps making him not perform the best at times. But no, you didn’t believe in the Monaco curse.

Every year you had hoped he would win and sadly when he didn’t you were there to pick up the pieces. You knew his time would come and granted you didn’t think it would take this long. But the universe works in mysterious ways, there’s a reason for everything, and you knew there was a reason Charles hadn’t won yet. 

And as this year's grand prix rolled around you hoped that this time the universe was ready to give him what he deserved. 

You did have a good feeling about the race this year, or at least a better feeling than prior years. It was mainly because Charles had been so– carefree these past couple days. He’s usually already thinking about Monaco at the race the week before and the nerves have set in come media day, but this year he’s different. 

He’s excited of course, to be at home for the week and to see everyone for more than a couple days, but during the days leading up to media day he doesn’t show you any sign of nervousness or doubt. And you can’t help but think that this year is the year, he seems to finally be in the right headspace to win this thing. 

Charles and you had spent basically every free moment the two of you had together this week. It was nice, the two of you together again like old times. You had gotten the week off from work, a perk from your job, and it wasn’t like Charles had to travel to another country. So, the two of you took full advantage of the week. Dinner with both families together, hanging out with friends, and just enjoying each other's company filled your Monday through Wednesday. 

But come Wednesday evening you found yourself at Charles apartment after a long day on the water with all your mutual friends. You’re absolutely beat and ready to be back at your place when Charles asks you to come back to his, and you want to say no, but the way he looks in golden hour could be used as a hypnotization technique, so you say yes. 

He claims he’s got something to show you, but the whole car ride and trek into his apartment he won’t budge on telling you what it is. It isn’t until he sits down at his piano with a blush creeping up his neck that you know what he’s got to show you. 

“Have you been working on new music?” You ask with a hopeful smile on your face. 

His fingers ghosted over the keys and his pinky lightly tapped one– the sound filling the room. “For a while now and I think it’s finally ready.” The blush had made its way onto his cheeks and he’s fidgeting with his bracelets as he makes eye contact with you. “So, I think it’s only right that the person that it’s for should get to hear it first.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise and now you’ve both got crimson painted cheeks. “You wrote a song for me?!” 

“Yeah.” He states sheepishly. 

You’ve always loved hearing Charles play the piano. There were many late nights spent where you sat in his apartment and just listened to him mess around on the piano. Those nights were shamelessly some of your favorite moments with Charles, it was like the world didn’t exist and it was just you two and the piano. So to know that he thought and even cared enough about you to write you something had your heart about ready to leap out of your chest. 

“Well, let's hear it then.” You sat down on your usual spot on the couch and eagerly waited for the music to hit your ears. 

He hesitates at first, his fingers slightly slipping on the keys, but once he gets himself sorted the sound that comes from that piano nearly brings tears to your eyes. It’s beautiful and heartfelt and you can’t believe he wrote something like this while he was thinking of you. It’s tugging at those feelings you’ve still got for him after ten years and you try not to get your hopes up that this means he feels the same as you. 

When the song is over his head immediately turns to you for reassurance, but all he sees is your body barreling towards him. You’ve got your arms around him before he can even process what’s happening, but from your excited words of nonsense he knows you loved it. 

“Oh mon dieu!” Is the first coherent thing you’re able to get out. 

“I take it you liked it?” 

“Liked it? I loved it Charlie! It was beautiful and the fact that it was for me made me love it even more. Truly what did I ever do to deserve someone like you in my life? Merci a million times.” 

“I’m glad you loved it. I’ve been working on it for months, wanted to get it perfect in time to show you now.” 

You’re both beaming at each other and to anyone from the outside looking in, the two of you looked so in love it was crazy. Crazy that the both of you have been harboring feelings for each other for years and years and neither of you have made the first move. 

“Will you play me some more?” You try to give him your best puppy dog eyes and of course he can’t say no to you, puppy dog eyes or not. You give him one last hug as a thank you before you sit back down on the couch and let the melodic sounds soothe you. In fact it soothes you so much that combined with the tiredness from being on the boat all day you end up eventually falling asleep. 

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you feel Charles gently shaking you awake telling you that is time for bed. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to spend the night at one another’s places. You’ve spent many nights in Charles' guest bedroom after drunken nights out or sometimes just for fun. You’re clinging to him, still basically asleep, as he helps you walk towards what you think is the guest bedroom, but it’s his. 

Charles was only going to grab your pajamas that you had left here last time, they were just in the laundry basket on his dresser and it would just take a second. But you followed him into his room still thinking it was the guest room and Charles doesn’t even know you’ve come in behind him until he turns around to see you crawling into his bed.

That all too familiar feeling starts to bloom in his chest as he sees you curled up and comfortable in his bed. He’d want nothing more than to climb in next to you and hold you all night, but he knows the guest room is his room tonight. Charles doesn’t even make it two steps before you call out his name. When he turns around he’s not expecting to see you lying there staring at him with those sleepy eyes, comforter pulled back as you pat the empty spot next to you. He knows he shouldn’t, this is different than cuddling on the couch or sharing beds as kids, it feels different at least. But against his better judgment he climbs in next to you and like he’s your missing puzzle piece you instantly slide into Charles arms. 

It’s like home, being in each other’s embrace. 

The next morning when you wake up in Charles' room it takes you a minute to remember everything, but the blush that creeps onto your face at the memory of you and Charles cuddling in his bed is embarrassingly bad. And you thank god Charles isn’t next to you right now to see it. 

You do wonder where he’s gone though. He’s not in the living room or kitchen, and it’s still too early for him to have left for media day, but then you hear complaining coming from the bathroom. 

“Maman! No, that's going to be too short!” 

As you peek around the door frame you find Pascale cutting Charles' hair, a tradition the two of them have had every year before the Monaco GP. 

“Charles last time I checked you’re not a hair stylist, let your Maman do her job.” You teased as you finally entered the bathroom and you see him roll his eyes at you in the mirror.

Pascale lights up at the sight of you and leans over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Mon amour, you’re here early.” The look on her face tells you she knows you spent the night, but it’s not like it’s something new or anything happened. Hell even if she didn’t know she could definitely tell you had just rolled out of bed. 

“I spent the night. Fell asleep after we were out on the boat all day.” You shrugged your shoulders, it truly was no big deal (you sleeping in his bed and cuddling with him aside). 

She doesn’t say anything, but she does nothing to hide the smile on her face and sly looks she gives you and Charles the whole time she’s cutting his hair. She’s been waiting for the prophecy to fulfill itself forever and that prophecy just so happens to be Charles and you ending up together. Call it Mother’s intuition, but she’s known you two were made for eachother since you were kids. If you didn’t end up together soon she was going to have to do her own plotting to get you two to fess up about your feelings.

Pascale can see how you two look at each other, how Charles’ eyes light up when you enter the room. How you’ve always been his soft spot since you were little kids. The way you speak about Charles like he’d hung the stars and the moon in the sky. She knew you fell first and Charles a couple years later. All these little things she’s noticed and stored away for that eventual wedding day. 

You can see Charles staring at you through the mirror and it’s making you squirm, his eyes burning into you. “You gonna get rid of that facial hair too?” You try to get him to focus on anything other than you at the moment. 

His mouth opens in fake shock and Pascale curses him for moving. “I’m actually thinking of growing a full beard.” 

“Oh please don’t.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘’t.” 

Charles and you don’t speak about you spending the night in his bed or in his arms. In fact you don’t see him again until qualifying on Saturday where he puts it on pole. You’re ecstatic and you can tell he is too even though he’s trying to remain calm and collected while he does his press duties. He’s gotten pole two times before in Monaco, he knows pole doesn’t mean you win, but he can’t help but think it’s a good sign. 

That night you find yourself back at Charles' apartment by his request once again. Which was a surprise, you figured he’d want to be alone the night before the big race. But it’s quite the opposite, he wanted your company, he can’t get how good it felt to have you in his arms in his bed the other night and he selfishly hopes it happens again tonight. 

“Feeling good about tomorrow?” You asked as the two of you sat down for an amazing pre race dinner of pizza. His trainer may not like it, but you two thought it was a good idea. He needed all the positive energy he could get and if that meant pizza for dinner, then so be it. 

“Yeah. The car has been consistent the past two days and I’ve got pole.” He paused for a moment and you can tell he wants to say something, but he stuffs his mouth with pizza instead. You don’t press the matter anymore, figuring he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, didn’t want to possibly jinx anything. It’s a relatively quiet dinner the rest of the time, he asks about how your job is going and you two shamelessly gossip for a moment about two old friends who recently broke up. 

It’s not until you’re putting the leftover pizza into the fridge that he brings up tomorrow again. 

“It feels right this time.” He’s leaning against the counter, eyes trained on you as you turn back around to face him. “I mean tomorrow– it feels right. I think it’s gonna happen.” 

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you move to lean against the counter next to him. “I think so too. You’ve been different too, more relaxed this week. Think it might be the universe telling us it’s finally gonna happen?” 

A deep sigh comes from Charles. “Mon dieu I hope so.” 

You glance over at the time on the microwave– 11:00 p.m. Shit. You didn’t think it was that late already. 

“It’s getting late Charles. You should be in bed and I should be heading home. It’s a big day tomorrow.” You go to give him a hug goodbye, but he’s just staring at you, and it throws you for a loop. “What’s wrong?” 

He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Was he sure he wanted to ask you this? Would it make things weird? It never has before when he’s asked you, but this time felt different. Fuck his palms were drenched in sweat and he could feel his heart beat racing. 

“Um– well you could just spend the night if you wanted to” 

You try not to act like you weren’t silently hoping the whole night that he’d ask you to stay. You had figured he wouldn’t want you to again after you basically invaded his bed the other night, so hearing him tell you to stay made you a little giddy. 

“Traffic is a nightmare this time of year…” You act like you're weighing your options while you fully know you’re going to say yes. “Probably take me twice as long to get home, even at this time of night.” You fake ponder some more, really putting on a show. “Yeah I guess I’ll spend the night.” 

He tries to hide the smile on his face when he hears you finally accept his offer and as much as he would like to stay up and talk some more, he really did need to be getting to bed. “Well, I probably should be in bed by now. So I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” 

“Yeah. I should go to bed too.” 

So you follow him down the hall towards the bedrooms. When he reaches his room he opens the door, but lingers in the doorway. You being a couple paces behind him, figured he was just waiting to tell you goodnight. But when you reach the guest room, which is across from his room, he doesn’t say anything to you. Your hand lingers above the door knob and something inside of you tells you not to open it– to turn around instead. 

You’re met with his piercing blue eyes staring at you as you turn around. His gaze sometimes could be so intense, but this time you matched him. There was an obvious tension in the air, but neither of you were brave enough to be the one to break it. Then suddenly you see Charles nod his head towards his room before finally going past the doorway. He’d left the door open behind him and you knew that was just another unspoken invitation. And like a moth to a flame you followed behind him, not even second guessing your actions. You hadn’t even opened the guest bedroom door, you were a goner as soon as he asked you to spend the night. 

For the second time in a week the two of you shared the same bed, not sexually, but it definitely wasn’t friendly or at least how normal friends would share a bed. But tonight he’s in your arms, your fingers lightly combing through his hair as he rests his head on your stomach. He falls asleep rather quickly, his light snores filling the room, but sleep evades you that night. Your heads a mess, you can’t help but think that Charles has to feel the same way as you, there’s just no way that he doesn’t. 

What man is this intimate with someone in a non sexual way and doesn’t have the slightest bit of feelings for them? But then your heart breaks at the idea of him just stringing you along and you know you’ve got to set up some boundaries to protect yourself. Unfortunately you were never going to be the one to admit how you felt first, so unless he spills his guts, then this was the last time you’d share a bed with Charles like this. 

The next morning he’s already gone and at the track by the time you wake up and when you grab your phone from the nightstand you see he’d sent you a text. 

Charlie: i left early this morning and you just looked too peaceful to wake up before i left. so i’ll see you before lights out. 

A sigh escaped past your lips as you tossed your phone on the bed, today was going to be a long day. 

You made the journey back to your apartment to get ready and then fought the traffic again to get down to the circuit. The hustle and bustle distracts your brain from continuing your spiral session from last night, something you were grateful for. You were here to cheer on and support Charles, not go into a frenzy once again about whether or not he likes you. 

A good amount of your time is spent in Ferrari’s hospitality chatting with everyone and discussing potential outcomes for the race. You don’t end up seeing Charles until the time between the drivers parade and race time. He’s in his drivers room when you find him and he’s literally the calmest you’ve ever seen him before a race. 

His face lights up when he sees you and he’s immediately pulling you in for a hug. “Didn’t think you were gonna come for a second. We’ve usually seen each other by now.” 

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Just got caught up talking to everyone and you know how our Moms get in a large group. I had to wrangle them in before they invited everyone over for dinner tonight.” 

“Well I don’t plan on being home for dinner tonight. I’m going to be out celebrating.” He’s got a cheeky grin on his face as speaks. 

You laughed lightly at his new found confidence. “Oh someone is sure of themself.” 

He only laughs along with you, as the two of you sit down on his physio table.

The two of you chat some more about random things, like if he’s planning on going to Jimmy’z or someplace else tonight. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been talking until he gets a knock on his door letting him know it’s twenty minutes till lights out. Before you leave you stand in front of him, holding out your ring clad pinky finger and like a natural reflex Charles wraps his around yours, pulling them close to his chest. 

“You’re gonna do great and when you take that top step on the podium I’m gonna be there front and center cheering you on.” 

“You better be.” He’s serious, he doesn’t want to win this thing if you aren't right there alongside him.

“I promise Charlie.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You think you might pass out or throw up when the lights go out and the race finally begins. It then turns into thinking you’re going to do both when there’s a red flag not even halfway through the first lap. Your mind automatically goes straight to Charles and your stomach churns at the idea of him being hurt, screw the win, all that mattered to you was that he was okay. Thankfully he’s not involved in the crash, but the red flag lasts for what seems forever. And eventually you have to endure the start of the race again. 

You’re a nervous wreck the whole race, but you think with how hard Pascale has been gripping your hand that she might be more nervous than you. It’s the longest 78 laps of your life and you’re praying he can maintain the lead, put a big enough gap between Oscar that he can just ride this race out. Lap by lap he’s holding steady but that just makes you more nervous. The knot in your stomach grows more and more as that lap number gets closer to 78. 

He’s driven so well the whole time you couldn’t have been more proud. You’d been holding back tears since lap 68, but when you hear him over the radio on lap 75 say that he’s just going to bring it home you can’t help but let a couple tears fall. And by now you know the win is his. He’s got almost a nine second lead and as long as he keeps his head clear he was going to be the first one to see the checkered flag. 

The feeling of seeing Charles cross the finish line and knowing he had won was indescribable. The whole Ferrari unit was going crazy, already rushing down to be there when Charles got out of the car. You’re cheering as tears run down your face, your Mom and Pascale hugging you, the two of them also in tears. It’s surreal, him finally winning, you can only imagine what he’s feeling like right now. You waste no time in heading over to get the best spot to watch the podium ceremony. You’re front and center, the metal barrier pressed up against your abdomen as more people fill the crowd behind you. 

The feeling you got seeing him come out, take that top step, and proudly hold that trophy was something you wished you could feel forever. To see him wrapped up in the Monaco flag as the anthem played, the visible weight taken off of his shoulders. You were so unbelievably proud of him and so utterly in love with him. The tears just wouldn’t stop coming as you watched him shine up there. The universe had finally decided that this was his time, he was destined to win this race today. 

Charles feels on top of the world as he looks down at everyone in the crowd, he can’t believe he’d finally won his home race. He’d immediately spotted you as soon as he took that top step and he could see how happy you are for him, tears streaming down your face paired with that beaming smile. His heart has never felt as full as it does right now. And as he stands there hearing his national anthem play at his home race he knows that today was meant to be. The universe put him here, put you here, for a reason. He’s tired of pretending like his life wouldn’t be better without you being his. The two of you haven’t broken eye contact for awhile, both of you grinning like fools, and he decides that now is the time. 

“Je suis amoureux de vous” He mouths to you. 

It takes you a moment to realize what he was saying, but when you do you think you’re dreaming. There’s no way he just admitted to being in love with you right here, during his podium celebration. You pinch yourself just for good measure before mouthing it back to him. And if it was even possible his smile gets even bigger. 

You’re the first person he wants to see after the celebratory champagne pop. He can’t wait a second longer to tell you how he actually feels out loud. He doesn’t care that he’s drenched in champagne or that there’s hundreds of people around. He’s waited too long to let a moment like this go by. He’s pushing his way through the crowd to find you, he’s basically getting manhandled, but he doesn’t care, you’re his priority. And when he finally finds you it’s like a scene straight out of a movie. 

His adrenaline is pumping and he doesn’t even think about what he’s doing, he’s just running straight towards you, his heart fluttering when you smile at the sight of him. His hands cup your face and in an instant his lips are on yours. It takes you by surprise, but once your brain finally processes what’s happening, you grab him by his race suit, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss. He tastes like champagne and sweat, his lips soft, and his facial hair tickles your face. Kissing Charles is everything you could have ever dreamed of and more, you’d never thought the day would come. 

When you finally pull back it feels like the world is spinning and Charles laughs at you being drunk off one kiss from him. His hands cup your face once more causing you to focus on him. “I’m in love with you. Have been for years, but I’ve just been too scared to say anything, but winning today let me know the universe was on my side. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity once again to tell you how I feel.” Your eyes widen at hearing him say he’s been in love with you for years. “Don’t act so surprised. I made it painfully obvious sometimes.” His dimples peaking out as he smiles at you. 

“I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen Charlie.” 

Now it’s his turn to look surprised. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Was too scared that you didn’t feel the same.” 

“I could never not love you Y/N. It’s always been you, you’re my person. I wish I would have  told you sooner so I could have been doing this more often.” He pulls you in for another kiss and you think if he didn’t have his arms around you your legs would have given out. 

Never in a million years did you think that Charles would be confessing his love to you after he’d just won his home race. If thirteen year old you could see you right now she’d probably die. You can’t believe the man you love with every fiber of your being loves you back. The universe definitely wanted today to be a win not only for Charles, but for you. 

He grabs your hand and presses your ring clad pinky finger to his lips. “Mon coeur.” Then he presses another kiss to your lips. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi.” 

thirty three and thirty six

The summer sun had started to make her farewell to the principality of Monaco, pink and orange hues swirled in the sky. A little boy and girl play on a weathered playset, their giggles echoing through the open air. The sound of a screeching sliding door tells them that their Maman is coming to get them before they even hear her holler their names. “Come say goodbye to grand-mère and grand-père!” 

Their tiny bodies run towards the house and are soon met with lots of hugs and kisses from their grandparents, who they see very often, but it wouldn’t seem like it by the way they were acting. 

“Ok, who wants ice cream?” Their Papa asks after all the goodbyes are said and they are out the door. 

“Me!” Is said in unison from the two children. 

The little girl has her Papa wrapped around her finger, he just thinks the world of her as they walk hand in hand down the street, while the little boy is definitely a Maman’s boy. 

“You know your Maman and I used to come to this place all the time when we were younger.” 

“We know Papa, you’ve told us a hundred times, and we come here all the time.” The little girl sasses her Papa.

“I know but I just like to reminisce.” The man gives his wife a wink and she knows he’s about ready to go down memory lane.

The journey to the ice cream shop is filled with stories about their younger years and luckily for the children the ice cream shop isn’t that far away. 

That all too familiar sweet smell soon fills the parents senses and it brings them back to when they were around their children’s age. That same bell on the door dings as they enter and that same old man who should have retired a decade ago is still working behind the counter. 

“Ah the Leclercs! My favorite family. You know I’m gonna have to start making extra vanilla ice cream just to accommodate you guys.” 

taglist: @rana030 @blueflorals @sltwins

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.2

Hii guys I hope you enjoy part 2 of this story featuring a love triangle between Arthur and Charles Leclerc. If you've missed part 1 here it is.

As Arthur parks the car, the familiar Italian restaurant you used to frequent comes into view. The sight of it immediately warms your heart, bringing back a flood of memories. "Arthur, this is perfect! It's like you read my mind," you say, turning to him with a smile that reaches your eyes.

"I'm glad you like it," he replies, his own smile genuine as he steps out of the car. He quickly circles around to your side, opening the door for you like the gentleman he's always been.

Inside, the cosy atmosphere of the restaurant feels like a comforting embrace. The soft lighting, the smell of freshly baked bread, and the quiet hum of conversation from other diners set the perfect backdrop for your reunion. As you begin to catch up over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, it feels like no time has passed at all.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur," you say, your voice filled with concern as you reach across the table to take his hand. "When you told me through FaceTime that Carla had broken up with you, I couldn’t believe it. It must have been so hard on you."

Arthur squeezes your hand gently, his expression softening as he looks into your eyes. The truth is, Carla didn't break up with him—he ended things with her the moment he knew you were coming back. After all these years, it had always been you. But he can't bring himself to say that, not yet.

"It was hard," he admits, his tone measured. "But I'm much better now, especially with you here." His words bring a smile to your face, one that he mirrors, feeling a sense of relief that you're finally back where you belong.

After lunch, the two of you drive to your apartment, chatting and laughing the entire way. The sun is setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the city as Arthur pulls up in front of your building. He helps you with your bags, insisting on carrying the heaviest ones despite your playful protests.

As you both reach the front door, the sound of a door opening catches your attention. You turn just in time to see Charles stepping out of the neighbouring apartment, his eyes widening in shock when he sees you.

"Y/N?" he exclaims, clearly taken aback. "I didn't know you were back!"

You smile, surprised but pleased to see him. "Charles! I just got in today. Arthur was kind enough to pick me up and help me with my bags."

Charles glances at Arthur, his expression unreadable. Arthur, on the other hand, remains calm, giving Charles a polite nod. He had deliberately kept your return a secret from Charles, knowing that his reaction might complicate things.

"Here, let me help," Charles offers, quickly stepping forward and grabbing one of the bags from Arthur's hand before you can protest.

"Thank you, Charles," you say gratefully. "Why don't you both come in for a bit? I could use the company while I unpack."

Arthur hesitates for a moment, but Charles is already nodding. "We'd be happy to help," Charles says, flashing you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

As you walk into your apartment, the familiar scent of home fills the air. You set your bags down by the door and turn to Charles with a curious smile. "So, are you still living with your mom next door?" you ask, remembering the days when you used to spend so much time at their place.

Charles pauses, a brief flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes as he answers. "No, I’m just visiting. I’ve been away for a race, but I thought I’d stop by to see her." He adds casually, "I’ll probably come by more often now." His tone remains light, but there's an underlying intention, now that he knows you're back he'll come around more often.

You smile at his words, completely unaware of the hidden meaning behind them. "That’s great! I’m sure she’s happy to have you around. How’s the season going with Ferrari?" you ask, genuinely interested in hearing about his racing career. You remember how passionate he was about it when you last saw him.

Charles’s face lights up as he starts talking about the season. He dives into the details of the latest races, the ups and downs with the car, and the challenges he’s faced on the track. His enthusiasm is contagious, and you find yourself caught up in his stories, asking questions and laughing at his anecdotes.

But as the conversation flows between you and Charles, Arthur’s mood shifts. He stands a little further back, his jaw tightening as he watches his brother monopolize your attention. Every laugh, every shared smile between you and Charles grates on him. He had been looking forward to this moment—just you and him, reconnecting after all these years—but now Charles is here, and it feels like his brother is stealing his time with you.

You, however, are blissfully unaware of the tension simmering between the brothers. To you, it feels like old times, catching up with people who mean a lot to you. You’re focused on the stories Charles is telling, completely missing the way Arthur’s hands clench into fists at his sides, or the way his eyes narrow slightly whenever Charles makes you laugh.

Eventually, Charles wraps up his latest story, and you glance over at Arthur, who hasn’t said much. You flash him a warm smile, hoping to bring him back into the conversation. "Arthur, you should tell Charles about the restaurant we went to earlier. It’s one of our old favourites."

Arthur forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, it was nice," he says simply, his tone clipped. He’s trying to be polite, but inside, he’s fuming. All he wanted was a quiet afternoon with you, but now he’s sharing it with the one person who always seemed to overshadow him.

Charles, not as oblivious as he might seem, catches the flash of envy in Arthur’s eyes. The subtle tightening of his brother’s jaw doesn't escape him, and it only spurs him on. "That sounds great," Charles says, his voice smooth as he locks eyes with you, a hint of challenge beneath his easy smile. "Maybe we can all go together sometime."

He lets the suggestion linger, his gaze lingering on you with just enough warmth to make his intentions clear, even as he fully registers Arthur’s growing tension. Sensing an opportunity, Charles shifts a little closer, his body language open and inviting as he continues the conversation, deliberately drawing you in further.

Arthur, feeling the shift in the air, fights to keep his composure. Every instinct screams at him to pull you closer, to remind Charles that you were always meant to be his. But he knows he can't afford to lose control, not now. If he's going to win you over, he needs to play it cool—even if it's killing him inside. So he forces a tight smile, holding back the words that threaten to spill out, determined not to let his brother see how deeply he’s affected.

But Charles, fully aware of the silent battle between them, isn't about to back down. And as you remain blissfully unaware of the tension swirling around you, the rivalry between the two brothers only intensifies, each of them silently vowing to win your heart.

Here's part 3

Tags: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22

[final-script]

It Wasn't Good But… |LS2

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader

Sumary: It wasn't a good weekend but…

Warnings: English is not my first language !!!There are probably many mistakes (I will correct them later).

Gif: norrisgp

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Your work in social networks allows you to create content, of all kinds, at almost any time and almost anywhere in the world.

You could also show the world some of your hobbies.

Everything could vary, sometimes you would show them, a quiet day in your apartment, maybe with a tutorial on how to bake cookies in between and the next, you could be showing them your essentials for an upcoming trip.

Which was happening at this moment, you were recording to your followers how you were preparing to live one of the best weekends of your life.

You had been invited to experience a full weekend of F1 from inside the paddock, it was not your first Grand Prix, because you had already attended several, being a fan of the sport for many years, but it was the first one you would experience of this magnitude.

Williams Racing, they were the ones who had invited you to live the experience.

They provided you with everything, flights, lodging and of course the corresponding passes. 

(...)

On Friday I showed up for free practice, where from the garage I could see how everything was developing, I was also able to meet Lily, Alex Albon's girlfriend, who confessed that she knew me and liked my content.

At the end of training, I finally got to meet Alex and Logan, who to my surprise recognized me.

Unfortunately we had a short conversation as both guys were supposed to attend a meeting, but with the intention of meeting again, hoping to have more time.

Unfortunately that couldn't be the next day either and almost would be on race day if not for a "shy" Logan Sargeant coming up to me, inviting me to watch the race from his side of the garage.

(...) 

L- Where will you watch the race?

Y/N- I don't know, I guess from wherever the team tells me.

L- i... Would you like to see it from my side?, after all you are a guest of the team and I don't think they will have a problem if you do.

Y/N- if you wanted me on your side, you just need to say it.

You joke, which caused a slight, but noticeable blush on the pilot's face.

L- I... It's okay if you don't want to.

Y/N- I'm kidding, I'd love to be on your side.

The blonde smiled happily and said goodbye to go through his pre-race routine.

Sadly for the team, it wasn't a good race, but they still remained optimistic.

L- I'm sorry we couldn't give you a good show.

/N- it may not have been a good day, but I'm happy I was here.

(...)

Days later on your Youtube channel and other social networks you published the material of everything you experienced over the weekend.

And it won't have been a good weekend for the team but, I can say that I enjoyed it and I returned home happy for what I experienced and with an appointment, thus setting a next meeting with the blond rider.

-----------------------------------

ANOTHERS

FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

Many First Times - Arthur Leclerc X Reader

[honestlyspookytyphoon]

Moving In And Moving On

Summary: After months of being for sale, the house across Pascale’s is sold to a young woman, Y/N. When summer comes, both women have grown close and Pascale tries to set her up with her son, Charles. However, unbeknownst to Pascale, Y/N happens to be the woman who broke Charles’ heart not so long ago…

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female reader, but Pascale turned out to be the main character lol

Warnings: Angst (fed by a cruel thing called reality) – Brief mentions of loved ones passing away – The ending sucks, but I could not come up with anything better for now

Word count: +/- 2.5k

Author’s note: This piece was initially written as part 2 to ‘Cake, coffee and…Charles’, but it can also be read as a standalone. English is not my first language, so please forgive me any grammar mistakes and incoherent writing.

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Pascale was surprised when the ‘For Sale’-sign disappeared out of the front garden from the house across hers. The house had been empty since the elderly owners – Philippe and Lydia, two 80-plussers who had been together for over 65 years - moved to a care home several years ago and after both of them passed away, the family decided to sell it.

For the entire 15 years Pascale has been living in the neighbourhood, the house has been there. She warmed up to the elderly couple living across her quite soon and since then, Pascale had been there many times to chat or to help Philippe and Lydia with gardening or housekeeping when they were having health issues. In a way, the house was a part of her life. That is why, in a fit of nostalgia and melancholy, she decided to get the spare key and cross the street to visit the house one last time, before it would be teared down.

Pascale starts her tour in the small garden at the back, in which rare flowers used to blossom. She lively remembered the times when Philippe and Lydia brought her a small bouquet of these flowers to thank her, just because. Now, these flowers are all gone, overgrown by weed. From the garden, Pascale spots the small balcony at the side of the house, from which you have an amazing view of the surroundings. Philippe would sometimes serenade Lydia from below, knowing these romantic things riled her up the wall. Another fond memory of ancient times.

When Pascale enters the house, it is pitch black and musty. She tries to open the blinds but they are rusted. The power is out as well, so she uses the flashlight of her phone to get one last look of the interior. Despite the deck of dust and the fact that it surely is outdated – the house was built somewhere in the 1960’s –, the interior still creates a feeling of coming home, a safe haven. This feeling also appealed to Pascale’s three sons, who visited Philippe and Lydia from to time when they were young as the house looked like their grandparents’, who passed away too soon. When reminiscing the fond memories of her sons with ‘Phi and Ly’, she spots a picture of the five of them on the dresser. She remembers taking the picture during one of the many cookie-baking sprees on Wednesday afternoon: Lorenzo’s eyes were shooting daggers at Arthur for eating all the cookies, Charles was nickering and Philippe and Lydia were looking fondly at the three menaces in front of them. She gifted them the picture on their 60th anniversary and she never forgot their heartfelt reactions. Feeling tears welling up in her eyes, Pascale decides to take the picture with her before exiting via the back door. It was a house full of memories and history and Pascale hoped that the new owners could feel that too.

A few days after Pascale’s visit, the new owner arrived: Y/N, a 26-year-old woman. Since the house Y/N bought was old, much work needed to be done to meet current requirements and increase the comfort. As Y/N is just at the start of her career and many of Y/N’s savings were used to buy the house, she could not afford professional contractors to renovate the house; with the help of her parents and family, she is doing it all by herself.  However, as she has a full-time job, all work needs to be done during the weekends and after work, disturbing the peace in the otherwise quiet neighbourhood. Hence, to make sure her neighbours do not hate her already, she decides to visit them all to inform them on the upcoming works and to discuss planning.

Pascale was the last neighbour she visited. Y/N had knocked on Pascale’s front door a couple of time during the past weeks, but to no avail. The other neighbours had told Y/N about the special bond between Pascale and the previous owners, so she knew that this talk could be hard; she had to be delicate. Not that she held any accountability to Pascale – Y/N bought the house after all – but she had felt similarly when her grandmother’s house was sold; it takes time to accept that a place one grew accustomed is no longer there. Hence, Y/N wanted to show Pascale what the house would look like in the end and ensure her that she did not expect Pascale to accept her immediately. Taking one deep breath, Y/N rang the doorbell of Avenue Paul Doumer 5.

--- Three months later ----

The construction works were in full swing. The facade stones were taken away, cleaned and reused, the house’s insulation was improved and the windows were replaced. Today, Y/N and her nephew were removing the roof tiles to check and repair the underlying woodwork. Pascale watches both of them through her window. In the past months, she and Y/N have grown close. Pascale needed some time to get used to the new situation, but Y/N had been very understanding and an absolute sweetheart. The construction works never started before 7 a.m. and always ended at 10:30 p.m. sharp as agreed upon with the neighbourhood, she informed everybody upfront when there were any changes in the schedules, and she insisted to pay for the water, electricity and utensils she used. Pascale and Y/N always had a small chat when they saw each other and Lorenzo and Arthur, who visited their mom every month, also grew fond of her. Y/N was yet to meet Charles though, Pascale’s middle son, due to his busy racing schedule.

If he only met her, Pascale thought, she is the type of girl he needs. With the F1 summer break just around the corner and the final phase of the construction works nearing, an idea popped up in Pascale’s head.

---- August -----

The day of the street BBQ had come. Pascale had been preparing this event for weeks: doing a tour around the neighbourhood to fix a date, visiting the town hall to get permission to close the street, rent the tables, seats and parasols, making decorations and, of course, preparing the food and drinks – it has been hectic, but she was determined to make this day perfect.  

It was now 3 p.m. Charles parked his Ferrari at the small parking lot at the church and jogged his way over to his mother’s house. He knew he was running a bit late - something that his mother always told him was disrespectful - but he was met with a little fan on his way to the BBQ and he just could not refuse the small boy’s request to sign his drawing. When he spotted Pascale on the street, a small smile grew on his face; he loved his mom so dearly and it has been way to long since the last time they saw each other.

Pascale has been chatting with Y/N for almost 30 minutes now, only interrupted by her two sons – who told her that Charles would arrive a little later – and some other neighbours. Y/N was dressed in a loose floral dress that came a little above the knees, paired with white sneakers. She was wearing very little make-up and, much to Pascale’s relief, no wedding or engagement ring. Together with the fact that she had never seen any men at the site except for family members and never saw another car in the driveway than Y/N’s, Pascale was convinced that Y/N was single. She knew Charles was too but not wanting to be too intrusive, she decided to just plant a seed between Charles and her new neighbour today and see it from there.

When she heard the deep sound of Charles’ Ferrari, Pascale told Y/N that her third son had arrived and that she would be right back. Y/N’s hands became sweaty. Ever since she found out Pascale was Charles’ mom, she had been dreading this moment. There was no turning back now though.

---- Flashback ----

When Y/N visited Pascale for the first time last winter, her eyes quickly landed on all the family portraits hanging on the wall. It were paintings of a family of five, probably made by her sons in preschool, and pictures of Lorenzo, Arthur and Charles in different periods of their lives. In the middle hung a beautiful black-and-white picture of her husband, Hervé, who sadly passed away when the kids were still little. “There has been no other man in my life ever since”, Pascale said, the love for her deceased husband still evident in her voice. Looking at the paintings and pictures, Pascale could not help but be proud of where her family was now. Arthur and Charles were professional athletes and Lorenzo was active in finance. Both Lorenzo and Arthur had a lovely girlfriend, the eldest already thinking about children. Charles, however, was less steady when it came to love. After two long-term relationships, Charles got a bit lost; it was not easy for Charles to maintain a relationship given his hectic and public life. Although Pascale was sceptical and warned her son many times – as there are always people who try to surf on other’s success –, it hurt her to see him like this, trying to erase the loneliness inside him with alcohol and volatile love. At the end of last season though, a little spark returned in Charles’ eyes. He did not disclose much to his mom, apart from that he met a girl in France whilst being out with Pierre and some other friends and that they were texting each other very often. She had not heard him talk about her since the new season started, so she assumed that she was just another fling.

“That’s Lorenzo, this is Arthur and that’s Charles. Aren’t they beautiful young men, Y/N?” Pascale asked.

“They are, Pascale, they are”, Y/N replied. She was still looking at the picture of Charles, all memories of last winter hitting her like a truck.

It was almost a year ago when Charles and Y/N met each other in a small café in the south of France. Charles was out with his friends, unwinding from the previous season and enjoying a short get-away to prepare for the upcoming winter testing. Y/N happened to be in Nîmes that week for work and that is how they met. She had been quite bold that afternoon, handing her number to Charles when she left the café, fully well knowing who he was. She never expected him to do something with it – he was one of world’s eligible bachelors after all – so she almost fainted when he called her the next day, saying how much he liked talking to her. They kept texting from that day onwards, throwing in the occasional FaceTime-call late at night. Despite the fact that they were both busy and lived in other countries, not a day passed without contact. Long story short, Y/N and Charles were falling for each other, hard.

Pierre did not stop teasing Charles about it, relieved to see his best friend happy again. The people at Ferrari knew that there was something going on, sensing that the fast laps Charles was setting were not only due to the changes to the car. His brothers noticed he was mentally somewhere else when he did no longer weep the floor with Arthur during their weekly tennis matches. The presence of Y/N in Charles’ life changed him, but in a good way. He was glowing.

Y/N grew fonder of Charles by the second; he was such a sweetheart. While she was not into F1 that much before she met him, she was learning about the sport and following the testing sessions in Bahrein, such that they could talk about it without her sounding like a complete and utter fool. She found a renewed motivation in her work, supported by Charles who was amazed by both her beauty and brains – and he told her that, every day. She got back into learning French such that she could – or, at least, try – to talk to Charles in his mother tongue. In return, he gave her cute, French nicknames that made her blush, which Charles found incredibly endearing. She was glowing.

However, when it hit Y/N that the F1 season would be starting soon, she started to think. She loved Charles, she was sure of that, but a long-term relationship would not work. She had her responsibilities at home and Charles would be busy travelling, training and racing - she had been in a similar relationship before and things ended badly. The media would focus more on him too after he finished 2nd in last year's championship, attracting the attention from (new) female fans. Not that Y/N was the jealous type or that she did not trust him, but she knew there are women out there who are better suited for Charles, beautiful women who are willing to make sacrificies. Women Charles deserves. Therefore, before Y/N would move to her new home and Charles would start the season, they met in Turin to talk about it all. Y/N told Charles about her sorrows and although he wanted to deny it, despite him wanting all her reasoning to be wrong, despite him wanting to tell her to listen to her heart instead of her head, he knew she was right. Therefore, Charles and Y/N used the rest of that week in Turin to feel what it could have been; they had date nights in cosy restaurants, strolled through the city, went on hikes together and made the sweetest love. After sharing one last kiss at the airport and promising each other to never forget what they shared, Charles and Y/N parted ways.

For good.

---- Present -----  

Pascale swiftly disappeared to find her son. The local cover band Pascale hired was giving it all on the small stage and people were chatting away and enjoying the delicious pastries from the local bakery shop just a few blocks away. Y/N started mingling with Sebastien and Amélie, a young couple that was also relatively new to the neighbourhood.

Once he greeted everybody at the party, Charles was finally able to give his mom a proper hug. After a preach on how she does not see him enough and once made sure that he does take care of himself and eating enough, Pascale started updating him on all the latest gossip. Charles loves to gossip, especially with his mom because he loves how invested she is in it. After 20 minutes or so, when she decided she told Charles everything he needed to know, Pascale started to look around. She spotted Y/N a few tables further away, entertaining little Kasper. “I want you to meet our new neighbour, Charles. She is there with Kasper and Amélie. Come on.”

Although Charles did not know his mom’s new neighbour, he felt like he already did based on the stories Lorenzo and Arthur had been telling. From what he heard, she seems to be a lovely young woman. When he looked into the direction of little Kasper, he spotted her. She was wearing a white dress, which contrasted nicely against her bronzed skinned. Her hair was up in a messy bun, showing the delicate skin of her neck and shoulders. When he heard that the neighbours’ name was Y/N, his thoughts instinctively drifted back to his Y/N, his lost love, the woman whom he shared to best week of his life with. However, he never thought it would actually be her but now that he sees her, her petite frame, he knows it is her. The woman whose body he knows like the circuit of Monaco. The woman who still owns his heart. The woman he said goodbye to in Turin.

For good.

At least, that is what they both thought. Pascale gently taps Y/N on her shoulder. She turns around. “Y/N, I want you to meet my son Charles. Charles, this is Y/N, the new neighbour I told you about”.

Their eyes meet, for the first time in months. 

Should they act as if they never met?

Should she tell him that she moved on?

Should he tell her that he has not?

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[abugsjournal]

A Cowboy's Cup of Coffee ☕

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Summary: This first chapter is mostly just introductions and getting to know our main character! Also hinting at mutual attraction. The real plot starts soon 👀

Content Warning: internalized homophobia (sort of?)

Chapter 1: The Handsome Stranger

Y/N's POV

     You wake up before the roosters sleeping in the local farms can wake up the rest of the town. You used to rely on them to wake you up but after a couple of months rising before the sun, it became routine. As the owner of the only café in Valentine, part of your job is waking up before everyone else and having coffee ready for them by the time they roll out of bed and make their way to you, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they order. Coffee is 5 cents per cup, and for an extra 3 cents you add a fresh baked pastry to go with the drink. You bake a different pastry for each day of the week. On Saturdays you make mini strawberry shortcakes, on Mondays you make blueberry muffins, and on Tuesdays you make peach turnovers (your absolute favorite). Your little café is closed on Sundays, you won't get any business while everyone is at church anyways.

     Today is Saturday and you're feeling particularly nostalgic. You remember how you were surprised by the news of your beloved uncle's passing, and even more surprised by the amount of money he left you in his will. He never had children of his own so you were the closest thing he had to a son. As a child you spent your free afternoons helping him run his butchers shop. You only helped at the register since all the meat and blood made you squeamish.

     Along with his life savings you also inherited his mismatched collection of coffee mugs and tea cups. That's what inspired the name for your business; The Collector's Café. You scavenged every estate sale you came across for cups, silverware, plates, chairs, and tables. No two pieces of furniture or dishes were the same. You found a vacant building in a small growing town named Valentine. Full of cattle ranchers and folks with big dreams. You hoped to fuel those dreams with coffee. You spent the remainder of your inheritance on the deed to the building, an oven, a few French presses, and your first order of coffee beans and baking ingredients.

     Two years later, here you are, unlocking your doors at five a.m. Within minutes you're greeting your regulars, as tired as they are loyal, and getting started on their usual orders. It's the busiest day of the week but it passes by without incident. You close up shop at two in the afternoon and finish up with your cleaning and other closing tasks by four. During your walk home you take a short detour through the nearby woods to unwind. It's the middle of spring and the native wildflowers are in full bloom. However, it's not the flowers that catch your eye. Peering into the center of a bright orange flower, you find a ladybug.

     Growing up you were always the shortest boy in your class and more often than not you were teased for it, so you developed a soft spot for the small creatures that were overlooked (or squished) by others. You pull out your sketchbook from your worn leather satchel and begin to draw what you see. You usually save drawing for your day off, but the little creature in front of you is just too precious to leave undocumented.

     After you finish walking home you eat dinner and quickly fall into a comfortable sleep, knowing tomorrow is you day off.

     You spend your Sunday morning tending to the house chores you neglected throughout the week. In the afternoon you stock up on groceries and supplies for the café. You spend the rest of your free time out in the woods drawing every little insect you can find. Before you know it the sun begins to set and you know it's time to turn in for the night.

     The roosters begin to caw as you pull your first batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven and set them on a rack to cool. As you unlock your doors and flip your sign to "OPEN" you can hear hooves and boots squelching through the muddy path through town. As the sun rises high enough to send warm beams of light through the windows, your usual group of regulars walk in, each greeting you with  a sleepy grunt or a gravely "Mornin',". Trailing at the end of the usual morning rush you see a new face. He walks in confidently but when you look into his eyes you can see something else, he looks lost. Maybe he's new in town?

     As he approaches the counter you try to make him feel welcome, "Good morning friend, welcome to The Collector's Café! It's not often I see a new face, especially this early, what's your name?"

     Shocked by your level of energy at such an early hour, the stranger takes a second to answer, "Arthur Morgan."

     "That's a fine name Mr. Morgan. I'm Y/N, nice to meet ya!" You smile as you take in the man's features. He's nearly six inches taller than you. Brown hair curls around the rim of his hat and back of his neck and matching stubble covers his jaw and chin. He has a strong nose that looks like it's been broken more than once, suntanned  skin, and the most piercing blue eyes you've ever seen. In the light coming in from the windows you can see they aren't just blue, they have a ring of green around the pupil that bleeds into the blue irises and for a split second you are drowning in them. You blink and remember you're supposed to be running a business. Clearing your throat, you ground yourself, "Now how can I help you?"

     Arthur's eyes wander from your face to the hand written menu propped up on the counter. "I'll have a coffee. Black."

     "Lovely choice, anything else?" You watch him narrow his eyes, still reading over the menu.

      After mulling it over in his mind, he replies, "Add one of them blueberry muffins too." He begins fishing out change from his pocket and drops eight cents into your hand.

     "Thank you Mr. Morgan! Go pick out a seat and I'll bring everything to your table in a moment."

     Arthur nods and begins looking around the eclectic café he finds himself in. He finds a seat in the back corner, a comfortable red chair next to a round oak table.

     You pull a still steaming muffin off the cooling rack and place it on a dainty plate decorated with ivy leaves around the rim. You fill a yellow mug from the freshest brewed batch of coffee and make your way over to Arthur, gently placing his order on the table in front of him. "There you are, holler at me if you need a refill!"

     "Thank you mister." He replies, looking up at you from under the brim of his hat.

     You think he might be a man of few words, or maybe just shy. You're already busy clearing tables as Arthur takes his first sip. You glance in his direction between each table, watching to see if he enjoys what you've made. New customers always make you feel a little nervous, the same nervousness you felt the day you opened your café. Thankfully, you see his eyes go wide as he takes a bite of the muffin, a slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth. You let out a small sigh of relief and return to your work, feeling a swell of pride in your chest.

     You're washing cups behind the counter when Arthur gets up to leave. "Have a nice day!" You call as he heads out the door. He silently tips his hat towards you and then he's gone. When you go to clear the table he was sitting at you notice that not a drop of coffee is left in the mug, and there's hardly any crumbs on the plate. It always warms your heart knowing your customers enjoyed their treat.

     The rest of the day flies by you. As you drift off you find yourself wondering if you'll see the handsome stranger again.

Arthur's POV

     You wake up to the sounds of the rest of the gang starting their days. You groan as you sit up, not looking forward to the tasks that will be given to you as soon as you exit your tent. Hopefully it won't be too bad, you're still worn out from setting up camp. You only just settled in this spot outside of Valentine and Dutch said we should lay low for a while. You get dressed and get your hair semi-decent before stepping outside.

     Javier and Hosea are sitting by the fire drinking coffee. "Bout time you woke up," Hosea greets you as you sit down to join them, "Dutch has been looking for you."

     "Won't kill him to wait one more minute." You pour yourself a cup of coffee and take a large swig. Your face involuntarily contorts in disgust as you swallow and you promptly dump out the rest, thinking about how much better the coffee tasted at the café you discovered while exploring the town yesterday. You make a mental note to go back after finishing up with whatever Dutch has planned for you.

     Walking over to his tent you see Dutch open his arms, the day's first cigar between his teeth, "Arthur! There you are," He throws an arm around your shoulders, "Would you mind escorting our lovely ladies into town today? They will not quit pestering me about it and I think it's about time we started gathering some intel."

     "Sure, I'm up for babysitting." You smirk at your own remark, entertaining yourself as you often do with your sarcasm.

     Dutch laughs and pats you on the back, "That's my boy! Hear that ladies?" You hear a chorus of excited giggles and turn to see Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth practically skipping towards the wagon. You can't help but smile at their giddiness as they chat and sing the entire ride into town.

     After hitching the horses you all split up. Luckily you weren't given anything specific to do in town other than making sure the girls stay out of trouble and making sure they get home safe, so you head right to the café, eager to get your caffeine fix for the day.

     Pushing open the door you hear a small bell ring above your head. "Hey Mr. Morgan!" Y/N smiles at you as the smell of coffee and peaches washes over you, "Back for more already?"

     You chuckle at how formally he addresses you, "Hey Y/N, you can drop all the 'Mr. Morgan' nonsense, Arthur is just fine."

     "Oh, okay! Well what can I do for you, Arthur?" As you look down at the barista you notice his eyes are the same deep brown color as the coffee he serves, perfectly matching his hair. His skin, despite being freckled, is almost as pale as cream.

     "I'll have a black coffee please, and do you have any more of those muffins?" You peek into the display case but you don't see any.

     "I'm all out of muffins, but I do have peach turnovers!" You must have looked as disappointed as you felt, the barista quickly adds, "I promise these are just as good! They're actually my favorite."

     Since your mouth has been watering since you walked in, you cave in and decide to try one, "Alright alright I'm convinced," You slide eight cents across the counter but Y/N slides three cents back towards you. You raise an eyebrow at him, suddenly doubting your ability to count without coffee in your system.

     "Go sit down, breakfast is on me today." He winks at you and starts preparing your order.

     Shocked by his kindness, it takes you a moment to remember your manners, "Thanks Y/N." You make your way to the same corner table you sat at yesterday. The café is full of customers, all happily chatting with Y/N as he weaves between tables clearing dishes and refilling mugs. You're surprised at how quickly he has your order ready. The cup of coffee is steaming and it warms your face as you bring the mug to your lips. After drinking the dirt water the rest of the gang calls coffee for so many years, you forgot what good coffee tastes like. You take a bite of the peach turnover, it's somehow better than the muffin you had yesterday! As the flaky crust softly crunches between your teeth and you bite into the juicy sliced peaches inside, you can see why these are Y/N's favorite.

     You continue watching him as he works. Everyone that walks in gets greeted with the same warm smile and he seems to know exactly how everyone likes their coffee without having to ask. After the majority of folks finish their drinks and file out, Y/N picks up the cups and plates and returns to wipe each table off with a rag.  He places his left hand down on a particularly long table and bends forward slightly to wipe down the edge against the wall. Your eyes travel from his shoulders and down his back. You can't help but stare at his slender waist and how his jeans hug his hips.

     Suddenly, as if he can feel your eyes on him, Y/N stands up and snaps his head in your direction. You feel your cheeks flush warm with shame, you lower your eyes and quickly finish the last of your coffee. Y/N glides over to you, "Need a refill?" Despite being taller than him, you suddenly feel very small with how he's looking down at you in your chair. Is the smile on his face playful? You're too wrapped up in your own embarrassment to know for sure.

      "Ah, no thanks," You can't stand his stare any longer and abruptly stand up, "I think it's about time I head out." Avoiding meeting his eyes you quickly walk past him and towards he door.

     "Oh, alright. See you round Arthur." You feel Y/N's gaze follow you as you go. You walk back towards the wagon, trying to shake the image of the barista's blue jeans from your mind. The girls are already there waiting for you. You silently ready the horses and climb into the wagon.

     "What have you been up to, Arthur?" Tilly asks as she climbs into the back seat.

     "Not much, just had some actually decent coffee," Not wanting to think about how the rest of your morning went, you quickly change the subject, "Did y'all hear anything useful?"

     "Oh yes," Karen interjects, "We'll tell you all about it when we get back to camp."

     The ride back is quiet, the afternoon sun through the trees dappling your path in shade. Upon arriving, you quickly look for something to do and settle on chopping wood for tonight's fire, hoping no one bothers you during the meditative task.

     After dinner you retreat to your tent, tossing and turning restlessly in your cot, unable to take your mind off of how Y/N was looking at you earlier after he caught you staring. You thought he would have gotten upset with you, but you were met with a smile. You think you saw a hint of mischief in his eyes but you quickly convince yourself you imagined it.

     You fall asleep cursing yourself for eyeing him the same way you would eye a woman.

//

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing a fic and I can already tell I have a lot to learn. I'm open to constructive criticism, all I ask is that you're nice about it lol let me know what you think about it so far!

Chapter 2

Taglist: @photo1030

[peakyltd]

Unexpected Friendship

Arthur Shelby x Reader

A/N: I wrote this for @raincoffeeandfandoms 2.7k followers celebration! My apologies Flor that it took me so long but I hope you'll like it nonetheless! 💓

Warnings: None

Words: 955

Days had turned colder and the leaves were trading their fresh green colors for multiple brown and orange tinted ones. Puddles formed on the pavement from the rain that had poured down in the morning.

The sun decided to bring some warmth and light later that day, in favor of Arthur who had decided to walk home after doing some work in The Garrison. He hoped (Y/N) would be home already so they could spend some well deserved time together.

As Arthur crossed the street, dodging a few puddles here and there, he noticed he was being followed.

He turned around to see who it was. “Oi, it’s you.” He spoke up as he looked down at the calico cat who was rubbing his head against Arthur’s legs. He crouched down to pet the curious animal. “Are ye following me home again?”

As he got a purred in response, Arthur got up again. “Lets go then.” The cat, who's colors matched the season, eagerly followed Arthur back to his house.

“You wait here, yeah?” He mumbled as he unlocked the door. The cat sat down in front of the door, waiting for Arthur to return. Not much longer he appeared with a bowl filled with milk and put it down in front of the waiting animal.

Arthur sat down next to him, watching as he drank his milk. “If ye stay a little longer, ye can meet my girlfriend. She’ll be home soon.” He explained as he stroked the fur.

When the cat finished his milk, he started to curiously investigate the area of the house. Arthur watched him, a smile tugged on his lips and a soft chuckle escaped his mouth as the animal tried to enter the house. "You like it 'ere, eh?"

The cat meowed and came back outside, rubbing his head against Arthur's leg.

"Arthur?" A surprised voice made him look up. "Ah. Hello, love." He smiled as he got up, pressing a gentle kiss on his (Y/N)'s lips. "Hi." She smiled at him. "You're early today."

"Ah well, yeah. Couldn't wait to see ye." He confessed as he eyed her. "You look stunning."

Her smile grew by his comment. "Well thank you. I-" She stopped mid sentence as she was distracted by a meow. "Hey, who are you?" She crouched down, the cat approached her immediately.

"My new friend. I told him to wait so he could meet you." Arthur chuckled. "He's cute." (Y/N) said as she pet the curious cat who was enjoying all the attention.

"He has been following me for weeks. I think it's a stray." Arthur explained as he watched the two. "Weeks?" Her eyes fell on the empty bowl. "Wait, is that why we're out of milk so quickly all the time?" She questioned as she looked up at Arthur. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe."

She chuckled as she got up, endeared by the fact Arthur was taking care of the small animal. "Y'know, I was thinking... maybe we could keep him?" Arthur questioned.

"Are you sure it's a stray?" She asked him. "I guess, yeah. He's been following me for weeks." His eyes wandered to animal who was now laying on his back, asking for more attention.

"Well, if you say so." She smiled, while she looked at the cat. "Yeah?"

(Y/N) nodded her head. "Yes. Can't leave him outside in this weather, right?" Arthur shook his head. "That would make us terrible people."

"Lets get him inside then." She chuckled as she kissed his cheek.

The three of them made their way inside and got themselves comfortable. Arthur lit the fireplace and turned on the gramophone while (Y/N) lit the candles and served their tea, acompanied with a piece of her fresh baked cake.

Her and Arthur sat down on their seats in front of the fireplace, enjoying their refreshments. Their new little roommate wandered around the living room.

"We should think of a name." (Y/N) suggested.

"Hm, yeah." Arthur mumbled as he leaned back in his chair, getting a bit drowsy from the warmth and the piece of cake he just had. "Let me think."

They both let their creativity flow to think of a fitting name for the newcomer who had found his new spot on Arthur's lap in the meantime. Already comfortable enough to fall asleep right away.

Arthur's fingers touched the soft fur, making him feel more relaxed and just like his friend, he doze off as well. (Y/N) couldn't help but smile at the sight in front of her. His new friend was already a great addition to the family.

After a while she got up to get a book from the bookcase, accidentally bumping into the sidetable. The sound of the cups coming in contact with their saucers woke Arthur. "Oh, I'm so sorry darling." (Y/N) apologized.

"It's okay, love." He murmered as he looked at the cat on his lap who was still sound asleep. "Well, would you look at him." (Y/N) giggled, amused by the sight in front of her.

"I might be jealous." Arthur chuckled, as he looked up at her. "I think I have a name." (Y/N) raised her eyebrows, excited to hear what he came up with. "You do?"

He nodded his head. "Boots." His answer caused her to smile. "Boots?"

"For all the miles he walked with me, following mine." Arthur chuckled, amused by his own sense of creativity. A giggle escaped her mouth. "I think I actually love it. It does fit him."

Boots stretched himself before curling up into Arthur's lap again. Arthur couldn't help but think that his movements were adorable before moving his gaze back to (Y/N)'s. "I think he likes his name too."

[klbwriting]

Adventures in Atlantean-Sitting

Chapter 3

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Orm tries to escape, but YN is ready for that

Arthur was gone and it was just Orm and YN now. She was smiling as she led him back to the bedroom. He looked around, supposing it would do. He sat on the bed and winced a little. YN cocked her head to the side, eyebrows raising. Orm forced a smile.

“Someone is a grumpy gus today,” she said. Orm’s smile dropped. “O come on, I’m not going to hover over you 24/7, you’re a grown man, but you have to stay here. Someone wants to get you in trouble in Atlantis and I have a feeling Arthur wouldn’t like that. And since he is my friend, I’m going to keep you safe.” He rolled his eyes.

“I can just leave, disappear into the wilderness,” he offered. She pointed out the window where you could see nothing but trees.

“That’s what you just did honey, and guess what I have a roof and free food for you, so how about you stop bitching and settle in?” she said. He sat back a little in surprise. She was so smiley and overly kind just a second ago, what was this? “Now, I’m going to bake some cookies to celebrate your arrival, stay here. I’m sure Arthur doesn’t want to have come back right away.” She turned on her heel and left the room. After a few minutes Orm heard her in the kitchen and he sighed. He noticed her watching him through the doorway, making sure she circled the room as she mixed something in a bowl.

“Perfect,” he grumbled. He had to at least wait a day. Then he knew getting a message to Arthur would take more than a few minutes, he would be well into his duties again tomorrow. Too busy hopefully to come track Orm down right away. He would wait a day and then tomorrow he would turn on the charm, get her to settle down and stop watching him so closely. Then he would make his escape, find a bus station and head to the other side of the country as fast as he could.

The next day Orm sat at the table having yet another chocolate chip cookie from the batch that YN had made. He had to admit, him running would mean no more cookies and that was almost a reason to stay. YN was reading a book on the couch, but she hadn’t turned a page in about ten minutes, so he figured she was listening for him to move more than reading. He sat back, making a small noise in the chair and he saw her sit a little straighter, head tilting as she listened. He smirked.

“So you just live here all alone? Do you have visitors? Friends? Family?” he asked. She closed her book and turned to face him. She looked pained for a second before masking her face as neutral. He almost regretted asking.

“My family kicked me out when I was a teenager. I knew more than I should about what my parents were doing in their free time,” she said. “Rest of the town wasn’t too pleased what I knew about them either.” She looked at him. “I always know where someone I touch is. I didn’t have very good control over the power then. Friends get weird around me once they realize what I can do, and visitors? You were brought here for a reason. My house is completely off the map, not even the utility places that provide me basics knows I’m on the books, if anything goes wrong I contact Batman and he takes care of it. But don’t think I know who Batman actually is, I don’t pry either.” Orm stared at her. She had it rough it seemed, no real connections in her life other than the Justice League, who seemed to just use her for their own purposes. It was sad. She seemed sweet, was very kind, and from the little they talked she was tough and funny too. He sighed, he still needed to run.

“I’m the only person who has been here for more than a few minutes?” he asked. She huffed, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation. “I’ll take that as a yes. You know, if you’re lonely…”

“Are you about to try and seduce me?” she asked, eyeing him. Orm turned bright red, time to rethink his strategy.

“No, actually, that was not my intention. I was going to say if you were lonely, you could go out to the city, I’ll go with you, and we could go anywhere you want,” he said. She still was staring at him before shaking her head. He moved to walk over to her, leaning on the couch behind her, looking down at her face. “Ok, no city, how about just a hike? Something to get out of the house for a while? Please?” He put on the nicest, kindest smile he could. It took a long second, but she smiled back.

“Fine,” she said, getting up and putting on her shoes. Orm did the same. This was perfect. He was going to be faster than her and he could easily escape once they got far enough away. He had money in his wallet, and he didn’t need anything that was in his duffle. Maybe he would send for it later once he got settled somewhere and all this died down. He would apologize to YN then too, he didn’t want to do this, but he had to get away.

They started by leaving the cottage and heading behind the house where there were several different trails. She started down one, not asking which way he wanted to go. She seemed to have a destination in mind, and he would let her lead. She kept glancing back at him, making sure he was following. He slowed after they got several hundred feet from the house and when she seemed distracted, he took off. He heard a frustrated shout, but he was already off.

Several hours later and Orm was at a bus station in Coast City again, waiting for his bus to leave. His leg bounced nervously, not wanting to be caught here. But he had an eye on the main entrance and assumed he was safe. He had no idea how many connections YN had.

Darrell, one of the janitors, let YN in through an employee entrance that was no where near the main entrance. She took her time getting the tack ready, watching Orm sitting and staring at the door. He really thought his would work, what an idiot. She approached him, being quiet and slow, in case he sensed something was wrong. She could see him about to turn and look at her but lucky for her a fight started near the terminal gates, and his focus went to that. She took advantage, pushing the tack into the back of his neck before stepping over the back of the bench and sitting next to him, cuffing him with a special bracelet. Orm groaned, feeling like energy and strength was draining out of him.

“What did you do to me?” he asked, trying to touch the tack, but it shocked him when he got too close.

“Well, I work with a lot of superheroes but also supervillains. I have developed ways to make sure those with powers are disabled before I try and take them in. The tack has a low dose tranquilizer, not enough to make a superpowered person sleep, but enough to make them relatively docile for several minutes, leaving me time to snap this cuff on them. This is an inhibitor; it completely removes your abilities. I know, because I used it on Arthur before,” she said. “Let me know when you get feeling back into your legs, we can go back to my place then. And don’t try getting the cuff off, it knows my DNA, if you try to do it it’ll dose you with the tranq again and it’ll shock you for being cheeky.” Orm growled. “O don’t try to flirt with me now.” YN smirked at him. Orm just glowered.

“I think I can walk again,” he muttered, arms folded like a petulant toddler. YN simply nodded and stood, taking his arm like they were a couple having a quarrel. She walked him out of the station and to her car parked nearby. Once they were driving, she sighed.

“I don’t want you here anymore then you want to be here Orm, but I promised I would protect you, keep you from going back to prison or worse, getting executed, and that is what I’m going to do,” she said. Orm glared out the window. “Ok, you don’t have to talk to me, but I am sorry that you are in this situation. I’m sure this just feels like another prison, and from what Arthur has told me you’ve been imprisoned in one way or another your whole life. I hope you will let me show you that yes, you have to stay with me, but it is in no way a bad thing. I’m not going to hurt you, abuse you, use you, none of that.” Orm looked at her and saw her focusing on the road ahead, but he could see in her eyes that she understood something of his predicament. She was also being forced to deal with him, and she was in a prison of her own in some respects. He sighed.

“Thank you, for taking care of me. And for the cookies,” he said finally. She smiled.

“I made some more while I was waiting for you to stop moving, although your side trip into that adult store, what was that about?” she asked. Orm blushed, having had no idea what was meant by ‘adult’.

“Needed a bathroom,” he finally admitted. YN laughed out loud, and he found it was a sweet sound, something he would like to hear again.

[cheesetalia]

Humans AU FrUK where Francis and Arthur meet on an online dating site/app and bond over a shared love of cooking and baking.

Francis is in for a surprise though when after a few dates Arthur invites him to his home to cook for him. It seems Arthur's skill level in the culinary arts does not match his enthusiasm for them.

Francis is pissed at first and thinks Arthur only pretended to have cooking as a hobby in order to hit it off with him, since Francis had stated in his profile he's a chef.

He doesn't talk to Arthur for two weeks. Then one day he bumps into Arthur's stepson in the grocery store and gets chatting with him. Turns out Arthur is just bad at cooking, but to the horror of his friends and family, doesn't let that stop him.

It seems Francis owes Arthur an apology...although whether he can stand to date someone who creates such atrocities is another matter.

[elisysd]

I lived - One Republic

Masterlist - Previoulsy - Next Chapter

Hope that you fall in love And it hurts so bad The only way you can know You give it all you have

Lyanna had only been to Italy a handful of times, but on the few occasions she had travelled there, she had always been enthralled by the country's landscapes and culture. So, wrapped up in a big warm jumper and staring out of the car window, she gazed out at the landscape and the approaching mountains. They had left a few hours earlier with Charles from Monaco to join the Leclerc family in a cabin rented for the occasion.

When they arrived, Pascale and Arthur had already checked in. Lorenzo was due to join them the next day. The first thing that struck Lyanna when she walked through the front door with her suitcase, while Charles was still struggling to get the bags out of the trunk, complaining that they were far too heavy for three weeks' travelling, was the sweet smell emanating from the kitchen. She placed her bag in a corner and followed the scent. Pascale and Arthur were busy making Christmas biscuits, while some were still baking in the oven and a batch had already been taken out and placed on the table.

“Lyanna! I did not expect to see you guys so early” Pascale greeted her with a hug as Arthur was waving, his mouth stuffed with biscuits.

“Traffic was great.”

“Can someone come and help me over here?” yelled Charles from the entrance.

As Lyanna rushed to help him, she tripped on the carpet and collided head-on with Charles, who toppled backwards, dragging her with him.

“Charles! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” she asked while trying to get up as Pascale was rushing to their side to help them.

“Glad to see that you are still falling for me.” Charles remarked playfully.

“Smooth Leclerc, very smooth.” She said while rolling her eyes.

With a quick movement, he stood up, taking Lyanna by the waist and holding her against him. The two lovers excused themselves to Pascale and pretending to be tired, Charles headed for their bedroom, Lyanna close behind.

The room was warm and cosy, with a giant fireplace facing the bed Lyanna dreamed of rolling into. Charles spotted her looking at the fluffy pillows and soft duvet, put down their bags gently and approached the young woman with hushed steps before seizing her by the waist and dragging her onto the bed with him. She yelped in surprise and tried to break free of Charles' embrace, who had no desire to let her escape so easily. His hands wandered along her hips and waist, sending a shiver down her spine, before he found a sensitive spot and decided to tickle her. Lyanna squirmed in all directions before trying to fight back. In vain. Charles was much stronger than she was. No matter how hard she tried to kick into the wind, nothing seemed to be able to stop him. As for her, she didn't know whether she was crying or laughing. It had been so long since she had felt so light.

Charles finally stopped when she was out of breath from laughing so hard and looked at her. Her flushed cheeks, messy hair and sharp breath, he found her so beautiful.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I know. I love you too.” She said back.

Charles propped himself up on one elbow and tenderly touched Lyanna's face. She closed her eyes, sighed contentedly, and curled up against Charles.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the love of my life, Lya.”

“And I’m pretty sure you’re mine.” She answered him while she turned her head towards Charles and smiled gently.

“Are you guys decent? Mum asks us to go and get some wood for the fireplace.” They heard Arthur’s voice coming from the other side of the door.

“Well duty calls.” Charles straightened up and placed a kiss on Lyanna's forehead.

“I’m going to see if your mom needs help.”

It was cold and dark when Arthur and Charles headed for the cabin where the wood was stored. As Arthur handed his brother some logs, he asked what he had bought for Lyanna.

“It's going to sound cliché but I've had a keyring made with a photo of us at Monza and the date of the Grand Prix engraved on it. I know she's not much into jewellery so I wanted her to have something practical and a part of me that she can easily take with her wherever she goes. I also had a copy of the keys to my flat in Monaco and the one in Maranello officially made for her.”

“That’s cute.”

“'I’ve also had something modified but I don't know if it's a good idea. Can I ask you what you think?”

Arthur nodded his head and couldn't help smiling widely as Charles explained. When Charles had finished, Arthur took him in his arms.

“I’m so happy for you, brother.”

“Thank you Tutur.”

In the bedroom, Lyanna was busy carefully wrapping her Christmas presents. As she looked at Charles' gift, she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She knew he didn't need anything material, so she had turned to a more personal, even intimate gift. She was giving him a diary, her diary. The one in which her darkest thoughts were consigned, the one she had kept for several years when she had been diagnosed with depression and her psychologist had advised her to put her feelings in writing. Everything was there, from her downfall to her first meeting with Charles and everything that had followed. The last entry was from last week. A date with just three words on the last line of the last page: I am happy. Since it was full, she saw no point in keeping it. And just as she was about to put it in a box and never open it again, the idea came to her to give it to Charles. It was a way for her to open the door a little more to her life, to her soul. Her darkness and her light. A way of saying to Charles, I entrust my life to you, I trust you with my whole being. I'm offering you a weapon that you could use against me, but I trust us, I know that won't happen. She finished wrapping it and put it down with her belongings. She'd give it to him when they were alone, she was far too embarrassed to give it to him in front of Charles's brothers and mother.

She heard a fuss on the ground floor, a sign that the boys had returned, and hurried down the stairs. Charles was busy putting wood in the fireplace, while Arthur had moved to the sofa and was tapping away on his phone. The smell of vegetable soup wafted through the house and Lyanna instinctively headed for the kitchen.

“Can I help you with something, Pascale?” she asked.

“No, I’m all good. It will be ready soon. How are you doing? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“I’m great. It’s been a complicated few weeks because of work but 2024 looks really good. I can’t wait.”

“Oh? A new project?”

“Maybe. I can’t talk about it yet but if it really happens, it’s going to be amazing.”

“I’m happy for you, Lya. You deserve it. And I’m happy to have you here for Christmas as well. I hope it didn’t cause any problems with your family.”

“No, don’t worry. They are used to not seeing me around. They are just happy that this year I’m not spending it alone.”

“What do you mean? Were you celebrating Christmas on your own?” repeated Pascale in disbelief.

“It’s no big deal… I was decorating the flat and watching Christmas movies while stuffing my face with cakes. It’s just that I was busy around that time of the year the last few years so I couldn’t really spend it with my family.”

“Anyway, I’m glad to have you.” She said while giving the actress a hug.

On the morning of 24 December, Lyanna woke up alone in the cold bed. Charles had got up at the crack of dawn with Arthur, with whom he had gone snowboarding, leaving Lyanna and Pascale alone to prepare the meal. They returned in the late afternoon, accompanied by Lorenzo and Charlotte, his girlfriend who had also come to spend Christmas with them. The evening was spent in good spirits. All the boys did was bicker, which made the women laugh a lot. When everyone had had their fill, they moved over to the sofa where Pascale started a Christmas film. Lyanna and Charles chose to sit on the floor by the fireplace, snuggled up together under a blanket. Lyanna was curled up between Charles's legs, his hands resting on her belly and drawing gentle circles.

As they did every year, the Leclerc brothers fought with their mother for the right to open their presents now and not have to wait until the following day, which Pascale categorically refused.

Seeing Lyanna's exhaustion, Charles decided it was time for them to go to bed. The young woman was half asleep, so Charles decided to lift her, which drew teasing from Arthur to which Charles replied with a middle finger. Once in the bedroom, he laid her gently on the bed and began to gently remove her dress, not without letting his gaze trail along the young woman's curves and admiring the shape.

“It’s rude to stare.” He heard her mumble in a half-asleep voice, jolting him out of his reverie.

“I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you.”

“And you only think that while I’m half naked? Good to know.” She joked now perfectly awake.

Charles laughed and got rid of his shirt as well as is pants to put on pyjama bottoms.

He went to the wardrobe and took out his bag, which he placed on the bed before taking his place beside Lyanna.

“I know that my mom said that we were supposed to wait for tomorrow for Christmas presents, but I really wanted to give you this one tonight.”

He took out a cardboard folder and handed it to Lyanna.

“What is it?” she asked while opening the folder and looking through the pile of documents with a frown.

“I've asked to have the papers for the Monaco flat changed so that your name appears next to mine as the owner.” He began to explain. “I’m not asking you to move in with me, yet. Even if I would like nothing more than that. But it’s just a way of saying that I’m very serious about us. And I want you to think of Monaco as your home, officially. The modification doesn’t change anything, it has no impact it’s just purely symbolic…”

“Charles… it’s… I don’t know what to say…” she said with tears in her eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing. It really isn’t. Thank you. Well… I also have something to give you.”

She took the diary she had packed earlier from the bedside table. As Charles carefully unwrapped it and listened to Lyanna explain at length what it meant, he couldn't hold back the tears.

“Lya, I’m… it’s…” he could not find the right words. “I love you.” He simply said. “I’m going to cherish it, I promise you. You are perfect, so perfect to me.”

“It was important for me that you had it. And I really hope that by giving it to you I can also let go of everything so we can build our life together on the right foundations.”

“So no more running away from our problems and no more secrets between us.”

“I promise you to always tell you what goes through my mind even if it sounds silly to me.”

“And I promise to do everything that is in my power to make you happy.”

“You already make me happy.”

On Christmas morning, the house was buzzing with excitement. Pascale had made hot chocolate for everyone and put the Christmas presents on the dining room table. The boys pounced on them as soon as they saw them, and Lyanna was surprised but touched to see that presents with her name on them were waiting for her. She thanked Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo for the attention before giving them the presents she had chosen for them. When everyone had calmed down, Charles handed her a box. Lyanna was surprised, thinking that what he had given her the day before was already a very nice present.

“So now you have officially your set of keys for both Maranello’s flat and Monaco’s.”

“I love it Charles, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much!”

She quickly took her set of keys out of her handbag and replaced the old one with the new one.

“And now you always have a piece of us with you when I’m not around.”

“I also have something for you.”

She pulled out an envelope and handed it to the pilot, who looked at her curiously as he took out the content. It was a letter. Not just any letter, but one in which Lyanna told her landlord that she was leaving her London flat.

“Lyanna? What is this? You love London and your flat.”

“I love them, it's true, but I love you more. And I recently realised that my home is where you are. Keeping the flat didn't really make sense anymore, so I asked an estate agent in Nice to find me a new one. I made a few visits while you were away at the factory and fell in love with a flat not far from the station, which means I'm only 20 minutes away from Monaco. I got the news that I had the flat just before we came here. And you said it yourself once, I don’t need to be in London to work, so…”

Charles rose from his chair and walked towards the young woman. He grabbed her hands to force her to her feet and took her in his arms, kissing her deeply.

“I’m so happy right now. I could win a world championship.” He whispered against her lips.

========

author's note: Pure fluffy and cheesy chapter to forget about today race... So happy for Lando but Ferrari ferraried again.... anyway I hope you liked the chapter. Don't forget to leave a like, a reblog and/or a comment, it supports the story and it lets me know that you still appreciate it.

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[crowleywowley]

hai….i’m back….here to give more modern (plus some general) hcs!! :3

⭑i like to think of john and abi as highschool sweethearts :) But they were pretty on and off, so everyone was surprised when they made it to senior prom (john wore those tuxedo t-shirts)and eventually graduation! they got pregnant with jack a few months after graduating

⭑when it’s time for spring cleaning, DUTCH IS THE LOUDEST MF IN THE HOUSE. he’s blasting the 70s music, waking up everyone in the house very loudly announcing that it’s spring cleaning day…poor hosea, john, and arthur

⭑i like to think charles makes these super pretty bracelets and sells them online :3 some of the gang members got some! they’re very meticulously crafted and he takes pride in his art!

⭑Karen is def a crazy cat lady. She has FOUR OF THEM!!! She’d give three of the cats really pretty names but let Sean name her most recent one…in which he named the poor cat “napkin” 💀

⭑Dutch and Hosea have an unreal amount of hawaiian pattern shirts..it’s crazy. hosea wears them in the spring and summer but dutch wears them year round

⭑For some reason, it’s tradition on Arthur’s birthday to go to Texas Roadhouse (I know he’d FUCK UP that bread they give as appetizers). He usually has his family, an s/o, and a couple friends there :)

⭑Speaking of fucking up rolls…I think Artie in general would just have a guilty soft spot to sweets. His s/o would come back with those rolls or just any pastry or candy and arthur will feel so special and spoiled! He’ll also do the same thing for them in return :) (Or just any kinda fave food they like)

⭑Lenny was a SUPER smart kid in school. I like to think in the modern au he just graduated outta highschool, but he got all of these scholarships and awards for being such a smart kid. He’d def major in some sort of writing or literacy thing in college

⭑Sadie can and will destroy anyone at those bull riding things at restaurants. she’s got a plaque of her name on it at a restaurant she won at!

⭑This is more of a general one, but seeing Arthur and John compared to eachother is so funny…Arthur is like this big bear while John is skinny and dorito shaped

⭑It’s also funny seeing the heights of the vandermatthews (name still in progress) family. From shortest to tallest it goes Dutch (5’8”…short dutch all the way), Hosea (5’10”), John (5’11”), and Arthur (6’2”)

⭑One time John borrowed Dutch’s laptop and clicked on a weird website, giving the laptop a virus. John was grounded for a few days and Arthur didn’t stop teasing him about it

OKAY!!! that’s all i have rn ^^ i think i might be saying too many hcs but i love making them…they’re too fun!! (sorry for showing my arthur favoritism again sighhhh 😭😭)

So sorry it took me several days to get to this, real life has had me busy 😔 but I’m here now and EEEEEEEE so fun and silly!!!!

-I’ve also always seen John and Abi as a high school sweethearts type of thing, I think they broke up and got back together so many times in that immature high school way until like senior year when they just stayed together

-Dutch is that one vine where the guy was dancing to Morning Train by Sheena Easton

-crying real tears rn imagining Charles crafting stuff for his pals🥹🥹🥹🥹 I could see him eventually getting into bigger crafts too

-Listen I’m gonna defend Sean bc I just KNOW that napkin the cat fits her namesake so well. It’s one of those skrunkly white kittens

-Arthur having a sweet tooth is canon in my heart sorry ladies, I think he’d enjoy baking goodies for his friends/partners bc he’s suchhhhh an acts of service/gift giver love language kinda guy

-I think Lenny was just one of those kids in high school that everyone loved. He was nice to everyone and genuinely really smart, sorry haters but he definitely got voted prom king or something. As he should!!!!!!

-Sadie drives a cool truck but not in a douchebag way, like that woman is hauling shit AROUND!!!!!!!!

These are all so fun and so silly! It’s been a rough week so I genuinely enjoyed getting to read these :) yall please never hesitate to blow up my inbox with thoughts like these!!

[goob-stardust]

APH FrUk - Headcanons

Arthur doesn’t verbally express all his emotions and with the centuries of coexisting with Francis lead to him shutting of most of his emotions around him (pre-relationship).

Francis though had been around Arthur so much that he began to decipher certain actions or patterns, yet even then he still can’t fully read him, though he is the closest to completely understanding him. 

Francis is usually the first one to address issues, or point something out (If Arthur did it, it would most likely cause an argument). 

Arthur is the boyfriend who can pick up skills in like two seconds, the only thing he can’t do is cook, bake yes, but ask him to make an egg and all you’ll risk a house fire. 

Francis is usually the big spoon but Arthur switches it up once in a while which Francis loves while Arthur secretly despises it (He loves being the one held but knows it would be unfair to Francis to cuddle him, plus he loves him so)

Arthur - Workaholic, Francis - Procrastinator: This usually ends up with Francis having his work build up and Arthur helping him despite his protest.

Arthur loves baking though since everyone assumes he couldn't even do that it took forever for Francis to lift his kitchen ban, aside from being to perfectly make tea and coffee beforehand he had to basically beg to stand in the room.

Francis actually loves Arthur's pastries and sweets, and constantly is always surprised by his ability to bake especially since it can be considered harder than cooking, Francis usually leaves Arthur to make the sweets since that's his only culinary skill.

It’s short cause why not, jp, I’m getting used to tumblr

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/144374053

Chapter 18

“The hell is she doing?’’

“Making a ‘earthen oven’, apparently,” Hosea answered before he re-inserted his pipe back between his lips and continued to watch Savigne stomp on what looked like mud. 

Dutch scratched his neck. “For?”

“Baking stuff would be my guess.”

"Getting’ a bit domestic here, ain't it?" Micah said from the tree he was leaning against. He spat to the side. "Don't like it, Dutch. Thought this here was an outlaw camp."

Dutch just watched in silent contemplation, his coffee in one hand, cigar in another. To Hosea, his dislike for Savigne was obvious, as was the effort he made to conceal it. Concealing his thoughts and emotions was second nature to Dutch, something he did reflexively, almost unconsciously. He lived life like it was a game of poker, cards always held close to the vest.

Hosea shrugged. “Why shouldn’t she? Pearson has a whole setup, nothing odd about cooking in camp.”

Dutch hummed his agreement, gently rolling his cigar between his fingers, a contemplative look on his face. They sat in silence and watched Savigne as there was little else to do in camp. It was a hot day and everyone else had either rode out or had ran back into their tents for shade. 

“You know Hosea,” Dutch said at last, “I’m surprised you’re not with me on this. That you can’t see how this…” waving his cigar towards Savigne, who was now plastering the wet mud over the dome she had built out of sand, “...isn’t good for Arthur.” Jack ran over to join her and she was showing him how to help. He looked excited to get his hands muddy.

Hosea gave him a sidelong glance. “Not sure what you mean. Arthur looks in a better mood to me.” That was an understatement but an intentional one. He knew losing this tug of war had wounded Dutch’s pride and it wouldn’t do anyone good to scratch that scab.

Arthur didn’t look in a better mood, he looked happier than Hosea had seen him in years. His version of happy, of course, which was a lot more muted compared to other folks. For Arthur, happiness was a lack of restlessness, of a state of peace. Happiness was less brooding, less running away from camp or spending days in his tent, glumly re-evaluating his life choices. Not getting drunk every night and going around picking on folks, needling and teasing them to rile them up for the chance to get into a fight. Hoping Bill or Javier or John will take the first swing so he can pummel them because Arthur was bigger and stronger than most of them, more experienced in fistfights and, with whiskey in his veins, as formidable as a cardinal sin.

“Sure,” Dutch consented, “But that only means he’ll fall harder when things go sideways. As they must.”

“How so?”

“She’s not coming with us,” he said with a tinge of exasperation. “Look at her! The woman is building a kitchen while we’re running from the law.”

“I don’t know why you can’t just enjoy things as they are. None of us know what comes tomorrow. If we did, we’d still have the money from Blackwater, for one thing.”

“Forget about the past. We all made some mistakes, I’ll give you that. Can we at least agree that we can’t stay around much longer, given the state of things?”

“It’s a big country. Have you ever considered that we can make it if we scatter?”

“Scatter?” The surprise on Dutch’s face was the first genuine emotion he had seen today.

“Well yes, I mean we don’t have to hang around each other like a clump of kitten. People here can go their own ways, can’t they?”

Dutch blinked at him. “Their own ways? To do what? People here are here because they got nowhere else to go.”

“Pshhhh…they’ll find somewhere to go when they have to, trust me. You telling me Pearson can’t do nothing by himself in the world? Not like we suckled him on our bosom, the man joined us fully grown. All these people joined us from somewhere, and except for John and Arthur, none were children. They’ll go back to that somewhere.”

Dutch shifted in his chair with discomfort. “We are family.”

This nonsense again, Hosea thought. Sure, Arthur was family to him. He couldn’t love him more if he was his own blood. But that’s exactly why he was ecstatic that this whole situation with Savigne had worked out. It could be Arthur’s last shot at some domestic bliss and Hosea pitied any man who never got to experience that. His short years with Bessie had been the pinnacle of his life and he would give anything to relive them.

“Even in families, children leave and go about their own lives,” Hosea pushed.

They were silent for a long time. Savigne was stomping on mud again and adding what looked like hay to it. Jack was right there with her, stomping along.

“So you mean to tell me we should just what – part ways?” Dutch huffed eventually.

Hosea chewed on the stem of his pipe. It had gone out a while ago, but he enjoyed the weight of it between his teeth. 

“What use of sticking together after the last job is done? Can’t live like this forever.”

“I don’t see why not?”

“Live like some religious commune? Didn’t take you as one for that sort of thing, Dutch.”

“Doesn’t have to be like that,” the other man snorted. “Life is easier together, isn’t it? You need something, you got all of us to help you. Javier needs something, Mary Beth needs something – we’re all here. Protection for our folks…people are social creatures for a reason.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Hosea said finally, turning to him. 

“Tired?”

“Of being the leader. I mean why not just take your woman and enjoy life without the headache of how to provide for a bunch of grownup folks?”

Dutch rolled his shoulders. It had been clear to Hosea for a while now that what had started as a necessity and a few men taking young Arthur and then John under their wing, had grown into something bigger for Dutch. He went about crying how hard his job was all day, but at the merest suggestion that he didn’t really need to do it, acted offended. Hosea was starting to believe that Dutch didn’t really want things to change because he didn’t want a life where he wasn’t the leader of a group. 

“What’s that woman doing now?”

He glanced up at Molly, leaning against the tent pole and looking like she had just woken up. “I believe she said it’s an oven.”

Molly snorted. “Is she going to bake bread or something? She’d be more useful helping Ms. Grimshaw.”

So would you, Hosea thought, but of course didn’t say it. 

Molly strolled to stand behind Dutch, giving his shoulders a massage. Their audience had turned into four. Savigne and Jack were heading to the water to wash off their muddy feet. 

“Stomping in mud like a peasant,” she muttered. “Baking bread. At least the other one was a proper lady. What was her name?”

“Mary,” Dutch said, absent-mindedly. 

“Yes, that one. She was prettier. Graceful. Don’t understand what he sees in…her.”

Hosea ignored her. Savigne got along with most people in camp, but ever since her relationship with Arthur had become official so to speak, there was an underlying current of resentment towards her from some quarters. Arthur wasn’t hanging out with them as often or volunteering for as many duties in camp as he used to. He would still come and sit by the fire most nights, but he was more distant and now divided his time, especially his time in the evening between them and Savigne.  

They watched Savigne and Jack play in the water, splashing each other. “I like her. She’s a headstrong woman, goes her own way,” Hosea mumbled around the stem of his pipe, trying to defend them without overtly defending them. “They're just enjoying each other's company, no harm in it.”

"But see here," Micah drawled, "that bothers me none. They wanna play house, it's a free country. But gotta say, I worry if Arthur is getting a bit soft."

"You worry that the guy who beat your face in is getting soft?" Molly snorted and didn't see the baleful look Micah shot her way. 

"Arthur is fine," Dutch interjected mildly. “A woman isn't going to change him. He's just having fun."

Hosea bit his cheek because he knew this expression on Dutch. Dutch was worried. He was protective, you could say even possessive of Arthur. He had always depended on Arthur's skill set more than anyone else in camp. But ever since the Blackwater business, Dutch was convinced - nay, obsessed - that Arthur needed to be present for every job. He hadn’t been there that day and things had gone sideways in a big way. He wasn’t wrong - Arthur was the best gunslinger in camp, he had the nerves to see things through, he had undying loyalty to the gang and a good, clever head on his shoulders to improvise. John was perhaps just as good in shooting folk, but he was a wildcard - the man had run away for a whole year because he was fed up with his nagging woman and his wailing kid. That’s something Arthur would never do. Well, would have never done. Before. Now all bets were off of course.

All in all, Arthur was the queen on Dutch’s chessboard, and any game was infinitely harder without a queen. Unfortunately for Dutch, now he had gotten a taste of something different, something Dutch simply couldn’t provide for him and he was liking it. No wonder Dutch resented Savigne. Maybe he saw Savigne the way he saw all opposition: someone acting with the sole intent to undermine him.

Molly grimaced and went back into the tent.

“He’s more than a son to me,” Dutch said, relighting his cigar. “But she has him wrapped around her little finger, can’t say I approve.”

As opposed to wrapped around your finger, Hosea thought darkly. 

As if speaking of the devil, Arthur rode into camp. He jumped off his saddle and walked towards them. His eyes flitted shortly to Micah who took the cue and slunk away. The animosity between those two kept getting worse. The more serious his affair with Savigne became, the frostier the cold in Arthur’s eyes turned at the sight of Micah.

“Dutch. Hosea.”

Hosea looked at his blood covered shirt and checked his face if he was drunk, but no, Arthur seemed sober. Business then, not personal.

All three looked up when Savigne squealed with delight at Jack holding up a frog. Arthur’s gaze shifted. “The hell is that?” he waved his hat at the new structure by his tent.

“Behold!” Hosea chuckled, “Your new oven!”

He grunted, puzzled. “She goin’ to bake bread or somethin’?”

“I reckon you’re gonna find out soon enough.” Hosea gave Arthur a side glance. “And don’t you forget about poor old me if she does.” Molly came back out and, saw the disinterest in Dutch’s eye, gave him a pouty, hurt look and walked off with a bottle at hand. Hosea smacked his lips and said he’s going to check on the Braithwaites and ambled away, leaving the two man to their talk.

“You don’ wanna send me out with him, Dutch,” Arthur growled. “One of us ain’t coming back from that, I tell ya that.”

”Can you drop this nonsense?” Dutch said, exasperated. He noticed the frosty flicker in Arthur’s eyes.

“Nonsense?” was the low, disbelieving question.

”He paid for his mistake. He was drunk.”

”Don’ care. I killed folks for less.”

”He knows you mean business,” Dutch tried, softer. “He’s never getting near her again, he’s not stupid.”

”Unless he drinks again you mean. Since yer buyin' that bullshit.”

”We’re all here,” Dutch insisted. “He won’t dare…”

”We was here that night. And I don’ remember anyone else puttin’ their fist in his face.”

“I don’t remember you doing it for Jenny,” Dutch drawled and watched the other man tense up. It felt good to tarnish Arthur’s newfound halo. This playacting was tiresome. He knew who Arthur was in his heart - a mean old dog: loyal and steadfast, but also selfish, brutal and cold. Only time he played the hero was when it either amused him or benefited him. He had mellowed a bit when Isaac was around and tried to be a better, worthier man for Mary, but it hadn’t stuck. In fact, after those affairs he had only turned meaner. To him, that had been Arthur’s prime - a dependable man who was not afraid of getting his hands dirty. This…boy, playing house in an outlaw camp, following a woman’s heels like a puppy wasn’t his real self. 

There was a long moment of silence. “I know I ain’t no knight in shinin’ armor, goin’ ‘round saving folk, Dutch. Guess you could say, I didn’ care enough,” the younger man sighed finally. “Truth is, Jenny wasn’t my woman. She was a sweet girl, but I didn’ know her or cared one way or ‘nother.” He shrugged, unapologetic, eerily reminding him of the old Arthur he knew for the first time in months. “That ain’t the case no more. Fact this man has done it before means that’s his nature, so maybe think on that.”

”I get that,” Dutch said, frustrated. “And I’m telling you, she’s safe.”

"Don’ feel safe to me,” Arthur crossed his arms and leaned back on the tent pole, looking out.

Dutch was offended at the implication: Arthur didn’t trust him. When the onion was peeled down to its last layer, this was at the heart of their conflict and it infuriated him. He was reluctant to take it head on though, because this Arthur was a different man and could possibly not fall for the “How dare you!” outrage card and then he would have no other play left.

"We need Micah,” he tried instead and ignored the other man’s grimace of disagreement. “You know how many folks we lost. Micah is an excellent gunslinger, even you can’t deny that. I’m just thinking of the gang here.”

"You sayin’ I ain’t’,” was the dark chuckle of a response. 

“Forgive me but yes, I think your priorities have…shifted.”

The dismissive shrug surprised him. Was a time, this argument would have offended Arthur greatly. Dutch felt a subtle fear creep in that he was already too late to reel him back in, that he was standing at a station, bag at hand, waiting for a train that had long since passed.

“Aren’t we family? Does the gang mean nothing to you anymore?” he said, barely keeping his voice from shaking.

The deepest cut he could inflict and Arthur merely tilted his head in thought. Unbelievable!

“Family,” the younger man huffed finally. He bounced off the pole, turned around and gave him a long look. “Am I family?”

“Of course you are. I would call you my son but you are much more than that to me.”

The gunslinger nodded as if expecting this answer. “All them years, I did as you asked, when you asked, how many times you asked. Didn’ I?” He nodded again to himself, not waiting for an answer. “Now I’m askin’. If I’m family, show me. Send this rattlesnake away. Whatever slack comes with it, I’ll pick it up, y‘ave my word.”

Dutch clenched his jaw. “As soon as he’s not useful anymore-”

The other man stepped closer, shaking his head. “No. Today. Now.” He gave Dutch an intense look. They stood glaring at each other for a moment.

"Son…” Dutch tried.

Arthur waved his argument away, eyes locked to his.

He swallowed, feeling boxed in and hating it.

"Y'ain’t gonna do it,” Arthur said finally. There was bitter amusement in his tone. But something else, too. Something like…a hushed understanding. The moment hung between them and once again he was overcome by the feeling that he had missed the train.

"You have no right to-” he jumped to his feet, insulted.

To his amazement Arthur stepped around him and kept walking. He called after him but received not even a hesitation in his step. He watched in disbelief as he marched away and Savigne jumped up from the table she was sitting at to come around to meet him. That smile on her face, the look in her eyes... he hated it. He had saved Arthur, raised him better than his own father, taught him how to shoot, how to shave, how to read, gotten him his first woman, given him a purpose in life. What had she done other than batting her lashes and parting her legs?

He watched how Arthur stopped a small distance away from her, rigid and tense. How she noticed his posture and hesitated. 

Savigne changed her mind and stepped back, wary of his anger and unwilling to play games when he was in this mood. Suddenly her innocent attempts at mischief seemed crude and petty.

"You want to sit down?” she asked cautiously instead, turning to pull out a chair.

He gave her an inscrutable look and didn’t move.

"You okay?” she said quietly, unsure what to do. Last time she had seen Arthur angry was when he had bashed Micah’s face in and that Arthur, calm and collected like this one on the outside had been capable of such nonchalant violence, that the memory still made her nervous. She didn’t think he would hurt her, but she didn’t want to worsen his mood with her clumsiness.

"Waiting,” he said through clenched teeth, his chest heaving.

"For?” she asked, pulse strumming.

"Yer thing,” he said finally, somewhat softer. When she still didn’t move: “Unless ya don’ wanna no more.” There was bitter disappointment in his tone, as if he expected the rejection. Why he wanted today what he obviously so begrudgingly, reluctantly endured, she didn’t know, but he had a vulnerability, a tension about him since he had set foot in camp and it had only grown deeper after his talk with Dutch.

She set her jaw and stepped up, took a breath of courage and hooked his shoulder to pull him down. For a moment it felt like he wouldn’t comply, a childish pettiness in his refusal because he had been reduced to asking for it, but then he stiffly bent down and allowed her hug. She was surprised when she felt his left hand on her lower back, almost in an awkward attempt to hug her back. She kissed his cheek and whispered “Welcome back”, hands tightening on his shoulders and lingering longer than usual.

She stepped back when she felt him nod. His eyes flicked to her and she thought that they were a shade softer.

"I hesitated,” she huffed, brushing her blouse, “because your shirt’s bloody and disgusting.”

The small grin of relief that broke out on his face was like the sun piercing rain clouds.

“Fair,” he said and his mood visibly lightened.

"I got you something,” she said and pulled out a chair. “Come sit.”

His eyebrows rose as he stalked over to take the chair and turned it to sit with his back to the camp. She ran to the tent and returned with a bottle and two shot glasses. She placed the bottle in front of him and he took it to inspect the label.

"Luther said it’s the good stuff,” she moved to sit to his right. “I don’t know much about whiskey, hope he’s right.”

He grunted and uncorked it, poured both glasses and held his up. She clinked her glass to his. “To luck!”

"Sure could use some more o’that,” he grumbled, but she was glad to see the corner of his lips curl up.

He gulped it down in one go while she took a sip. Whiskey went straight to her head.

He smacked his lips and rolled his tongue around his cheeks.

“Well?”

He grunted in approval and poured himself another shot. “Smooth,” he said, reading the label again. “Why’d ya get this fancy stuff?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

"You got a raise or somethin’?”

“I just came into some money.”

"That so?”

"Yeah. $200 a month that I don't have to pay as rent anymore.”

He gave her a sheepish look and she cackled, pleased. He chuckled despite himself and shook his head. “Should ‘ave known,” he mumbled and sipped his second glass.

Dutch’s phonograph started suddenly and Arthur grimaced, shifting his gaze to the lake.

Savigne glanced towards the camp, then back at him, her eyes crawling over his bloody shirt. She rose from her chair. “I’m going to get some water. Then we’ll clean up. Take the table in please?”

"Yes ma’am,” he sighed. 

She went and collected two buckets of water, one with soap and without. When she returned to the tent she told him to undress. He did as told, amused. She wiped him down with soapy water first, taking her time, gliding the washcloth over the strung, rigid muscles of his shoulders as the fingers of her other hand found knots to untangle. She pressed, burrowed, kneaded and watched his head loll as he grunted in satisfaction. She traversed his broad back, down his narrow waist to draw lazy circles on his buttocks, her free hand mimicking the motion on the other cheek. He squared his feet and she glided it along his inner thighs, down his legs as she kneaded his calves and then back up in the front, stroking slowly and gently between his legs, feeling him harden at her touch but ignoring it, gently caressing his abdomen and then up his chest. Then she took the washcloth in regular water, wrung it and did the same thing, just as slowly to rinse him off. He was fully aroused by the time she made her way to the front and stepped up to her, a hand playing with her locks, his eyes set on her face, his breathing faster. She didn’t shy away from his erect cock and gently wrapped the washcloth around it and stroked it meticulously, her other hand caressing his trembling stomach muscles. His hips twitched towards her, drops of water glistening on his dark pubic hair. He uttered a low moan and panted with need but she ignored that too and moved up to finish his chest.

He reached for her but she danced back and started to unbutton her blouse. He wasn’t in the mood for rejection and stepped after her, slapping her hand away, resuming the unbuttoning himself. “Don’t rip it,” she murmured to slow him down. He peeled off her clothes and leaned in to kiss her but she pushed him away. “You have to wipe me off first,” she whispered and handed him the soapy washcloth. She smiled coyly at his frustration and he bit his cheek to imply that he would play her games. For now. He mimicked her movements and despite his full blown erection, his touch was deceptively light and gentle. “Missed a spot,” she whispered when rushed, and “wet the cloth again” and “Do that part again.” He gave her a look, pupils dilated, but stubbornly did as told.

It took a while but as soon as he was done he grabbed the back of her neck and jerked her towards himself, to give her a hungry kiss, his other hand squeezing her buttocks. “Ya done teasin’?” he mumbled into her lips, the fingers on her nape rough. She struggled against his grip and he chuckled darkly, kissed her again, holding her head in a vise. Whatever had been on his mind earlier was the furthest thing on his mind now, that was for sure. Savigne knew he was in a mood, had known it since he had walked in with a bloody shirt and those hiked shoulders, and she loved that she was the outlet, the cure for his frustrations; that she was the well that he returned to drink from again and again.

“Time t’make you dirty again,” he grinned before he hoisted her up and walked over to drop her on the table, settling between her legs. His hands ran up her upper legs, fondling hard before light fingers danced over her folds, making her yelp and bite her lip.

"Yeah, think ya done teasin'," he smirked when he felt the wetness there and he grabbed her hair to kiss her again, his other hand on her lower back, jerking her flush against himself.

"I don’t think…this table will…hold me,” she tried between rough kisses. His skin was still wet, sticking against hers as she ran her hands over his shoulders. Arthur ignored her trepidation, stroked himself twice and promptly guided himself in. She held her breath as his swollen head breached her. He grabbed a buttock to pull her on himself, slowly rocking in, then back out, then in again a little further as she panted into his mouth. Like a pendulum gaining force, in and out and back in until he was fully sheathed, pulsing in her, filling her and stretching her. He groaned at the sensation and paused with the effort to remain in control. 

Then he kissed her again, hands hooked around her thighs to pull her in. Since that first night, every encounter was colored by his unabashed want for her and it coiled a spring in her gut. That look he gave her with hooded eyes, the tension of his fingers against her flesh, grabbing, clawing, pulling at her - all reflections of his desire for her and it wound up her body, breathing life into it like winding gave life to a stopped watch. Dutch’s phonograph was blasting an aria in the background and distantly she was thankful for the cover because when he started to move again the table creaked fiercely. She crossed her ankles behind him and he pulled her closer still, one arm across her lower back to hold her in place, the other hand splayed on the table behind her, allowing him to buck with more force.

He rocked into her unhurried as his lips traversed her neck and shoulders, his hand kneaded her buttocks. Too soon the friction against her inner walls started to build and her moans became harder to contain. She started to claw at his shoulders and hips. He pushed her back then and when she fell on her elbows he leaned in to kiss her breasts with a wild hunger, suckling her nipples, gently biting the plump flesh, licking and scraping his teeth at the sensitive underside. Savigne whimpered as he crawled over her to loom, hips rolling and bucking faster now, wet skin slapping against wet skin. She arched her back and he sharply jerked her ass half off the table, angling her before he resumed his pounding.

Her arms wobbled and her ankles uncrossed when she fell flat on her back. Her threw her legs over his shoulders, bending her in half when he leaned over her again. His right arm wound against her thighs on his chest to secure them while his left hand grasped the edge of the table above her head. She tried to mumble a protest about being bent over awkwardly but it evaporated when he continued bucking into her, reaching deeper yet. Soft cries bloomed between her gasps as he fucked her into the table, folding her on herself. She gripped the forearm above her head, felt the corded muscles straining with the pressure of his hold. Her other hand cupped his cheek as he grunted, huffed and groaned above her, watching her face while he rolled his hips and rocked into her harder and faster. 

She cried his name and he peeled her hand from his cheek to guide it between them.

“Touch yerself,” he whispered, eyes never straying from her face. She immediately recoiled, feeling exposed when she was trapped under him like this, in full view of his hungry gaze. He rolled his hips and smacked into her with with vigor, forcing a shudder of gasps from her. He snatched her retrieving hand and guided it back between them, his eyes sharp as ice. “Do as yer told,” he growled, his voice low and hard.

She glided her hand over her swollen folds and whimpered. Reaching lower, her fingers parted around his cock pistoning into her, making his breath stutter. His eyes were glued to hers as she moaned helplessly and did it again, eyelids fluttering with ecstasy, fingers gliding up and down, brushing and massaging herself and him at the same time, pulling a sound from him she had never heard before. Sliding and caressing, pressing and dabbing, closing and spreading again until suddenly the tightly wound coil in her gut unfolded so fiercely that she spasmed, rising on the back of her head, digging her shoulders into the table, convulsing with the force of her orgasm. Her heels sharply dug into his shoulder blades as she distantly felt his hot mouth close on a nipple when her back arched. A moment later he spat a whisper of a curse followed by a series of moans and his hand gripping the edge of the table clenched hard enough to make the wood sing.

When she finally remembered to breathe again, his forehead was between her breasts, hot breath painting her skin and her legs were still slung over his shoulders. He whispered a husky “Christ,” before he shakily straightened, carefully dropping her legs from his shoulders and snaking his hands around her back to pull her up. Her muscles twitched and shivered as they elongated after being pressed awkwardly. She sat in his embrace, feet dangling as he huffed into her neck.

"Don’ move,” he whispered long moments later and pulled out to walk away. She swayed on the table, a trembling flushed mess. He returned with the washcloth and wiped between her legs, threw it back into the bucket and bent over to place open mouthed kisses on the inside of her thighs while she combed her fingers through his hair. He kissed his way up, over her stomach, licking the faint bite marks on her breasts and throat, kissing her jawline and finally kissing her mouth, hands cupping her face.

His eyes were that amazing shade of blue green when he pulled back, calm and gentle, as if he wasn’t the man who had fucked her mercilessly minutes ago.

"Ya okay?” he asked quietly. He was always distinctly gentle with her after an episode like this – not exactly apologetic, but more careful in how he handled her, more doting. Almost as if his superiority of size and strength over her excited and aroused him, but afterwards there was a veiled undercurrent of guilt or shame for using these advantages against her.

"I’m...okay," she panted, wiping her hair off her face. The music continued in the background and they listened to it for a while, foreheads touching, hands caressing; trying to extend that weightless feeling of the afterglow just a little longer. "And you?" was her belated question, intentionally vague and broad. 

"Am now," he sighed.

Not for the first time she wondered what he used to do before they met when he was hot and heavy like this because at times she marveled at the force of his sexual frustration. Odds were, a lot of drinking and fighting. And probably pleasure houses, if if he was into that sort of thing, since Mary married a long time ago. The idea stirred a sour tinge of jealousy in her, even though she knew she didn't have the right to be jealous with whatever came before her. Didn't she have old flames herself? Still, it was hard to counter an emotion with logic and she struggled with it. Maybe that sort of thing was nature or maybe it was the lack of it growing up, but despite telling herself she's above such petty things, in her heart of hearts Savigne had always been jealous when it came to affection and though she knew it to be more casual for a lot of folks, she couldn't grasp the concept of sex without at least a little bit of affection, so naturally she was jealous of that, too. It was ironic, really, because half the time she was correcting Arthur that she isn't "his" woman and that she didn't belong to anyone and yet here she was, wondering who else had been touched by him, kissed by him, filled by him.

A little annoyed at herself, she pushed against his chest and he stepped back with some surprise, allowing her to jump off the table. "I'm going to refill the buckets," she said, starting to put on her clothes. "I'm all sweaty, can't sleep like this."

"I got it," he countered and pulled on his cotton pants and left with the buckets. 

She gathered and placed the dirty clothes in the baskets and sat on the bed waiting. He returned and gently slapped her hand away when she reached over. He wiped her off and grabbed her arm when she turned to put on her chemise. "Did I hurt ya?"

"No," she stammered and smiled. Then more assured: "No." She knew that he didn't mind hurting her at all; in fact, there was a side to him that greatly enjoyed it, but he was cautious in mapping out her borders and red lines.

She turned again but he didn't release her, nudging her to look up at him. "I need ya honest," he said seriously, those eyes crawling over her face, prodding, searching for the reason of her mood change. Arthur was surprisingly intuitive and perceptive. At times she was amazed how quickly he read her mood swings. Even when he couldn't exactly guess what was going on with her, he almost always knew that something was and the more time they spent together, the eerily better he got at it.

"I am," she said and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "I liked it. Which should be obvious unless you're blind and deaf."

He nodded and let her go. Eventually they lied down facing each other as the last notes of the music died out. 

He was perched up on his elbow, thoughtful and quiet, gliding his hand over the lingering marks of his iron grip on her body. 

"Tell me what's in yer head."

"Mostly it's nonsense," she sighed. 

"Like why yer here?" he said a long while later, eyes flicking to her face. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, cautious. 

“Here. In camp. With me.”

He was a man of few words and at times untangling his meaning was an art form.

“Shouldn’t I be?” she said finally.

He grimaced, his fingers caressing her hip, her rib cage, shoulder and back down, watching the cotton of the fabric smoothen under his hand. “Can’t think why,” he said, attempting casualness but she heard the timbre of self-doubt. He was one of the most confident men she knew but at times revealed a surprising tendency for self depreciation and the events of the day must have rattled him somehow.

“I know we’re very…different,” she tried. “But different things sometimes complete each other, no?”

He was silent for a while, seemingly thinking about that. 

“If I was to leave, would you come with?” he said suddenly, before his eyes shied away again.

“Leave where?”

He shrugged, his warm palm gliding up and down and up and down. “Don’ know. Somewhere else.”

She thought on it for a while, caught a bit off guard. They hadn’t been together for very long but in all these months, he had never asked anything of her. Now he was suddenly asking for something very big.

“Would you want me to?” She said carefully.

He scoffed. “Ain’t I askin’?”

“Okay then. Probably,” she said.

This seemed to surprise him and his hand stilled momentarily on her hip as he gave her a long look.

She snorted at the doubt in his face, amused.

“Why?” he said at long last. 

Because I love you, you fool, she thought. “It’s not the shooting lessons, I’ll tell you that,” she said instead. 

“Y'ain’t sick of me yet?” he pushed.

She wondered if this is what she sounded like when her stupid inner voice babbled in her head.

“Wouldn’t be here if I was.” 

He didn’t seem mollified. She cupped his cheek and he stilled, finally meeting her gaze. 

“It’s the tent,” she whispered as seriously as she could. “I really like this tent.”

A smirk bloomed on his lips. “Honesty at last.”

“Clearly it’s all calculated,” she said, waving her arm about. “Besides, I might need saving again, smarter to stick around you.”

He snickered, amused, but his gaze was unmistakably warmer.

“Of course once I learn to shoot, it’s a different story.”

“Well then I ain’t got nothin’ to worry 'bout,” was the smug retort.

She gasped and slapped his hand away but he didn’t move, just grinned at her with that damn gaze she couldn’t hold.

“Said you liked it,” he drawled, hand gliding over her hips, eyes more playful.

She flopped on her other side. “Unlike you, I’m working tomorrow. Let me sleep.”

She felt him reach over to the lantern on the crate and turn it off, then settle behind her, arm draped over her. 

“I like being with you,” she said a few minutes later, more somber. “It’s not that hard to understand.” The camp had grown quiet, all she could hear was the lap of the water and the buzzing of insects. 

He was silent for a while. “I ain’t a good man,” he said finally.

“What does that even mean?”

“You forget what I do for a livin’?”

“Oh…” she mumbled, “…that.”

“Yeah. That.”

She thought of his bloody shirt from earlier, his odd mood since. “Did something happen today?” she asked.

It took a while, but eventually he said “Had to do somethin' I ain’t proud of,” with some reluctance.

There was a very long silence between them. Savigne didn’t have Arthur’s sharp perception, but she was convinced that he was at last asleep. His heartbeat was steady and his breathing low. 

“When I was twelve or thirteen, I was transferred to this orphanage in a small town for a few years,” she whispered to the darkness of the tent. “There was a Tommy there. Some kid, maybe like early twenties, who was a menace. The meanest person you can imagine and crazy, too.” 

When she had been in her own tent, she would sometimes talk to herself. Because most of her life was spent around others, in rooms with multiple bunk beds, in meal halls filled with other kids, in crowded classrooms, having a place that belonged just to her, where she was alone was a luxury. Talking to herself in the privacy of her own tent had been an affirmation that she had earned it, that she had made it.

“He had his own gang. He wasn’t even that big; he was a gangly, wiry kid, but you know how some people have that something that others fear and follow?” she asked, a rhetorical question she didn’t expect an answer to. “He had that. There were men older than him in that gang, kissing up to him all day, acting like foot soldiers to him. Anyway, Tommy would go around causing all kinds of mayhem, beating folks, robbing them, extorting them, you name it.”

“Eventually he found out that Mister Stiller…” she hesitated, trying to think how to say it, even though she was her only audience. “He…uh…‘liked’…his daughter…a little too much.” Her face heated up in the dark but she kept still, not wanting to squirm and wake him behind her. Thinking of Elizabeth always made her want to squirm.

“Everyone knew about it. They pitied Elizabeth. Folks were extra gentle to her. Like, they would give her free cans of food when she went grocery shopping or an extra few feet of cloth if she was at the tailor or they would give her a discount if she needed new shoes. As if all that would make up for the horror that girl was suffering through every night,” she hissed, clenching her jaw. 

“But nobody had the courage to do anything about it. Not the so-called law, not the judges, not the churchgoers sitting next to him every Sunday. Because Mister Stiller was an important man and he owned half the town. But, you see, he didn’t own Tommy.”

“One night Tommy broke into his house, slapped his wife around when she tried to stop him, dragged Mister Stiller out to his horse, took him god knows where and beat the living shit out of him. I mean, ‘breaking both arms, both legs, cracking his skull, splitting some of his ribs’ kind of beating. It's not like Tommy liked Elizabeth or anything, it was the principle of the thing, you know? Unlike all those ‘proper’ townsfolk, he wasn’t willing to look the other way. Mister Stiller miraculously lived, in case you’re wondering, but he never walked again. He never ate solid food again. Among other things. Can’t say I’m sorry about that.”

Something hooted outside and she wondered what it was. The tent swayed gently in the summer breeze, shadows moving. Arthur was warm and quiet behind her. Everyone in camp sounded asleep, too. A sense of belonging came over her, of comfort, of…home. Something about the moment was perfect and she paused, mystified and spellbound by the feeling.

“Now, people knew it was Tommy, of course,” she whispered on after a while, “But once again, nobody did anything. That’s small towns for you. Probably smart, considering the boy had his own army at that point and besides, nobody was eager to become the next Mister Stiller.”

“I think on that sometimes and I think ‘so was Tommy a bad man?’ And I think, yes, he probably he was. To many people, most people even, he definitely was a terrible man. But I bet to at least one person in that town, he will forever be the greatest man who ever lived.” 

She listened to the steady drumming of his heartbeat on her back. Her mind went to the day when she was standing in that dark pantry, her wrists tied, terrified. She couldn’t make out the muffled words outside the door but she sensed the intent, an inkling of what was waiting for her and it had made her shake like a leaf. She didn’t know if she had the strength, the resolve to go through it, to go somewhere else in her head when it happened, and then when it happened again. And again.

“You’re never going to convince me that you’re not a good man,” she whispered, trembling with the memory.

She jumped with surprise when his hand slowly moved to cover hers. She slightly curled her fingers around his, anchoring the hold. He didn’t say anything but she felt a warm kiss bloom on her shoulder like a flower. 

She thought she would be up all night, haunted by old memories, but she was fast asleep when another hoot came, not that much later.

[aoioozora]

Hey there! I was surprised that your OC Ivy is actually Indian as well! Can you tell me something more about her? :)

Hi! Thank you for your ask :))

I'm actually Indian too, so I totally wanted to make an Indian OC! I never really saw any until yours and I was pretty surprised too. I must say it gave me some motivation to make my own.

Anyway, here's Ivy! (I'm still figuring out her lore, so some of these MAY change in future lol)

About my COD OC, Ivy "Vampire" Valentina Salvador de Almeida

Basics

Ivy is the only daughter of Salvador and Helen de Almeida.

She was born in India, in the state of Goa, on the outskirts of Madgaon and lived there for a few years before moving down south to Karnataka, where she spent her formative years. Her teenage and adult years were spent in Liverpool, England.

She can speak Konkani and English fluently, while she has partial fluency in Portuguese and Kannada

She's a devout Roman Catholic

Her personality type is ENFJ

She's a tall girl standing at 5'7"/170 cm! Always stood at the back of the line for school assemblies. She inherited her height from her dad.

She's a WO2 Drill Sergeant in the British Army and serves in the Infantry Training Center where she trains infantrymen in basic and advanced skills.

She's nicknamed 'Vampire' from her slightly long canine teeth, all natural.

Personality

Being an extrovert, she enjoys company and doesn't like being alone.

She's normally quiet, but if she does speak, she's charismatic, genuine, and charming, and this often got her into quite some leadership positions in school and university, and allows her to very easily make friends.

Drinking makes her talkative, and even flirtatious, but she'll have to drink quite a lot to get to that point.

She has a strong sense of justice, and cannot stand it if innocent people are needlessly harmed. Being a drill sergeant gives her a little power to execute justice if needed.

She's optimistic to a fault, often getting bogged down by reality sometimes.

Her restless, adventurous spirit makes her hate being in one place. She enjoys travelling and doing highly thrilling activities like bungee jumping. She can also be quite reckless; give her a motorcycle and she'll be popping wheelies and even drifting.

Being an only-child, she can be quite selfish and bossy, though most of it was beaten out of her during her basic training.

Likes and Dislikes

She enjoys cooking and baking and can make a variety of dishes.

She loves reading historical accounts and all sorts of fiction, especially thrillers and mysteries. Her favourite novel is 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. She also enjoys Dostoevsky's novels

Her favourite Indian food is Mysore masala dosa and English food is Scotch egg

She hates milk tea and extremely spicy food (her Indian card is always at the risk of being revoked)

She loves anything that has garlic in it, though her favourite would be garlic bread

Her favourite dessert is apple pie

An area that has her whole heart is the Western Ghats

Her favourite color is phtahlo green

English Ivy

Her father is an adventurous man, so he took his family hopping around a lot from Goa to Karnataka, and eventually to England, where his wife got a job as a nurse.

Ivy and family moved to England when she was around fifteen years old, and settled in Liverpool.

Getting used to England's cold and gloom was a nightmare for poor coast born Ivy who loves the sun and heat. She can comfortably tolerate 30-35 degrees C like most Indians, but absolutely suffers through English winters despite eventually getting used to it.

Her years in Liverpool eventually bestowed upon her the glorious Scouse accent, though hers has an Indian lilt to it.

She had a hard time adjusting in English society, especially as an extrovert and a teenager, and often felt unwelcome in school. However, her university years were much more pleasant.

Do not talk to her about the Indian food in England. She will not hesitate to begin her TED talk.

If there's anything she actually does like about England, it's the abundance of pubs. She loves to drink, but considering how reckless she is known to be, she's surprisingly a responsible drinker and rarely lets herself get blackout drunk.

I've yet to think about her interactions with TF141, but that's all about her for now!

Wow, I really did infodump on you lmao. I hope it was an interesting read ^^ I'm excited to develop her some more and make more Ivy content <3

Thank you again for your ask! Have a great day/night :)

[lollipencil]

In The Pale Moonlight Part 7

Honestly, I'm struggling to write a traditional chapter for this AU. Then I remembered the introductions I did a while ago. So, @harleyification, let's see if I can recapture the magic?

Enjoy and be gentle ---

(Martha Kent (Marc))

When Clark called home asking for a pie that "a young teen might enjoy", Martha wasn't too sure what to think. "I'm helping a friend with his new kids," was all he'd say over the phone, but with that tone that hinted at something related to Work. So, Martha shrugged and got baking.

It was pretty late when Clark appeared in his suit, as did a little tag-along. "Hello dear," she warmly greeted her son before turning to her guest, " and what's your name, sweetheart?" "Moon Knight," The teenager in mummy bandages blinked glowing eyes in mild surprise. "Batman asked me to help teach him and his brother how to fly," Clark explained, "There is another, but he can't fly at all, so..."

"Oh, and where is he?" "Want back home," Moon Knight muttered, "Went first." "I'm going to drop him back tonight, but figured a little pick-me up before would be best," Clark smiled like the sun. "Of cource," Martha nodded and silently planned to send the rest of the pie home with him, "Come on in, I've tried something new this time: Toffee Apple pie sound good?"

Those glowing eyes perked up slightly. Near-silent footsteps followed her inside as Martha wondered if they still had some custard left.

--- (Martian Manhunter (Steven (and the others)))

J'onn might have missed the meeting where they were introduced to the whole League, but he knew Batman's new sons. Or, at least, one of them.

It would seem that something in the universe had conspired so that everytime he visited, only Mr Knight was visiting. Not that he really objected. The young lad was a sponge for knowledge, and was happy and eager to hear about Mars in its prime. It warmed his heart to be able to share his planet's history with another.

So, when Batman called him into a private meeting with Mr Knight, J'onn had no clue as to why. "Hello J'onn," Batman stated calmly, genuinely, "Mr Knight wants to share something personal with you." "Oh?" J'onn had not expected this. "Yes, I already know what. But before that, I want your word that it does not leave this room." And there was the batgrowl they all know and love. "Of cource. I will maintain the secrecy of whatever is revealed here and now."

Batman nodded and turned to Mr Knight. He hesitated, before his mask shrinked into its domino form. "I want to tell you, I've not told anyone before. Everyone else who knows found out and- I trust you," he stammered past his nerves, "And it's best that you know. Two birds one stone, innit?" "Ok," J'onn calmly nodded even as he filed the proverb for future reference.

Mr Knight swallowed. For a few moments, J'onn waited. Then he felt the invitation. He looked up at Batman who nodded, and made his way inside his mind.

And finally met Mr Knight's brothers. J'onn had never felt a mind like their's, multiple yet natural. His face smiled while a mental handshake was extended to the boys.

Keeping this secret would be no problem.

--- (Khonshu (All of them))

It had been an whim. Khonshu had been about to approach a very promising individual about becoming his avatar, when he felt it. A call. Had it been anything else, he would have ignored it, but someone was calling him.

So, Khonshu left Arthur Harrow, and appeared somewhere he was not expecting.

A child's bedroom. Hand-drawn pictures splattered in blood, the source of which lay trembling close by. For a moment, Khonshu was stunned. It was far from the first dying child he'd seen in his long existance, but how had this child managed to summon him?

The child's hand twitched on a slightly crumpled drawing, a artistically pleasing depiction of himself, albeit in cheap felt-tip pen. Looking closer, he could see them all: Marc Spector who still fought even in his despair, Jake Lockley who was trying to take the pain from him, and Steven Grant, asleep and blissfully unaware of his approaching fate.

Khonshu made up his mind. "Little ones," he greeted, "Do you wish to live?" "What-?" Marc weakly answered, using every last bit of strength to look at Khonshu. "You have undergone great suffering. But I am here. If you wish it, I will shield you from harm, and in return, you can help others like you, others who live in fear of harm. So, I ask you, will you protect the travelers of the night?" "...yes." "Then rise my Moon Knight, and come back from the brink."

As flesh healed, the relief of life carried Marc and Jake to sleep. Staring down at his new avatar (or was it avatars?), Khonshu knew what he must do. After all, they had called to him as travellers first.

[exhaustedcatte]

Teddy Remus Lupin

“Ted! D’you mind helping me clear out the attic?” Andromeda Tonks yelled from the kitchen.

The taffy-haired boy slung his arm across her shoulders as he veered his grandmother towards the stairs. “Yeah, ‘course I’ll help, but what’s the occasion?”

“We haven’t enough rooms for guests.”

Teddy shrugged.

They made their way into the attic, a spacious cavern with cardboard boxes piled high along the perimeter.

Andromeda handed Teddy a cloth and a duster to arm himself with, and then set to work.

The pair removed the boxes and Teddy found numerous playthings and toys, all from his childhood.

“We can sterilise them and give them to Hermione. She is expecting, isn’t she.”

“Oh Ted,” Andromeda clapped her hands together, “that’s a lovely idea.”

Andromeda levitated the boxes downstairs, to pass on to the kids and what was unusable was to be donated.

They worked in tandem, occasionally pausing to rifle through obscure Black Family possessions and some of his grandfather’s muggle keepsakes. Teddy pocketed an interesting looking device – a Walkman, it said. He didn’t want it to end up in the Weasley bin and have Arthur fiddle with it.

The doorbell rang when they were halfway through. Teddy unloaded the last of his toys into a plastic bin, and jumped over miscellaneous trash to open the door.

“Hiya Ted!” Harry grinned.

And at the same time, Draco smiled, “Hello, Edward.”

“Hey guys!” He huffed a laugh, “How come you’re both here?”

“Surprise,” Harry ruffled his hair.

His uncle shook his head in disagreement, “Your knuckle-headed godfather must’ve forgotten that today was my turn to have you.”

“Did not!” Harry pressed an offended hand to his chest.

Draco rolled his eyes at Teddy and behind him Harry mouthed ‘kinda did’.

“Teddy! Who is it?”

“It’s just Draco and Harry, grandma,” Teddy yelled back.

“Where’s your grandmother?” Draco asked him, politely sidestepping the mess that had been levitated into the drawing room.

“We’re cleaning the attic, she didn’t want anyone sleeping on the couch, so.”

“We’ll help, let’s get your grandma out of that allergy box,” Harry clapped Teddy’s back.

“I’m allergic to dust,” Draco sniffed delicately.

Harry raised a brow, blinking in disbelief, “Could’ve fooled me when you followed me to the most cruddy places, Malfoy.”

“Aunt Andromeda! Let’s get that finished for you,” Draco marched ahead, neck growing pink below his mullet.

The three boys sent Andromeda down to bake her infamous biscuits, while they tidied the place.

“So, which one of us are you banishing to up here?” Draco asked, lifting his hands to levitate boxes downstairs.

“Can’t you just use your wand, you showoff?” Harry jested.

“I don’t have my wand on me Potter, and it’s not like you don’t know how to forgo using your wand.”

Teddy ignored the banter. “I’m actually thinking I’d like this place for myself.”

Harry pivoted on his foot, “That would be wicked.”

Draco lifted another box and was magicking that downstairs when he bumped into Harry and the things in the box came pouring out.

“I swear to fucking Merlin, Potter,” Draco began, as Harry moved away – hands raised in surrender, but Teddy accidentally interrupted him.

“What the hell is that?”

“Language,” Draco murmured absently, kneeling down as well.

There was a huge album, embossed RJ. Lupin, crammed to the brim with pictures.

“Wow,” Harry breathed, touching the cover reverently.

“That’s not…” Teddy looked up for confirmation. “That’s my dad’s.”

Draco hesitantly opened the book.

Inside were pictures Teddy had never seen before.

There were photographs of four young boys, round faced and bright eyed. Pictures of them wearing matching scarves, all of them bundled in one huge sweater, them sporting matching butterbeer ‘staches. Four boys doing absolutely everything together.

The tawny haired kid, despite the thin silvery scars on his knuckles, had the biggest smile on his face. He stared hard at it, trying to burn it into memory, swallowing the growing ball of heat in his throat.

“Dad,” Harry smiled sadly, tracing a photo of James Potter tackling Remus in a hug. “I used to hear that I looked exactly like him for all my life. I don’t anymore.”

The implication was obvious. Harry was now older than James had gotten to be.

“You still look very similar. He was a handsome man, your dad,” Draco rubbed Harry’s back consolingly.

“Calling me handsome, Malfoy?”

“Take it as you will.”

The next few snapshots were of Remus, Sirius and James. Heads bent over a huge piece of parchment, fitted smartly in dress robes, pie-faced on halloween, wearing Santa hats.

Then came another year.

Remus was visibly the tallest of the quartet. He had shot up severely, his face was more rugged, almost roguishly handsome. A shadow of stubble on his face, hardened jaw, a strong nose. He had shed the last shreds of childish innocence, to give way to a handsome young lad. But even still, his big amber eyes, even through pictures, were so kind. Love omnipresent in them.

Remus was shot studying, or gallivanting with his troop in all the photos. He was stooped over a wrinkly hand (Teddy wondered if it was Hope Lupin) painting the nails a pale pink. Remus was in the library, the kitchens, the astronomy tower, all after bed-time. Teddy felt relief bubble up in him, his father had had fun in his time at Hogwarts, no matter the circumstances.

Draco turned the page.

There were a lot of pictures of whom Harry identified as Sirius Black. The man had had an incredibly handsome youth. Beautiful grey eyes, long shiny hair, cuttingly high cheekbones. His complexion pallid, a shock against the ink black of his hair. His heart shaped face drew stop at a pointy chin.

Where Remus looked hardened, Sirius appeared delicate. The Black genes were strong, he recognised a lot of Andromeda in his grand-uncle.

“He was quite the looker,” Draco acknowledged.

Teddy noticed through the corner of his eye how Harry kept looking at Sirius and back at Draco. He also seemed to find the Black genes in a relative, just like Teddy had.

There was a picture of Sirius laughing at something a girl beside him was saying. The red-head had appeared in many photos as the boys grew.

“My mum,” informed Harry.

Sirius was captured sticking his tongue out at Peter, tackling James, hugging a few other friends. All candid. Teddy assumed it was his father taking these pictures.

More artistic shots of the Black family heir were also pasted in the album – Sirius teetering on the edge of a balcony, downing a glass of wine, holding his wand up in lumos, standing against a bike in a parking lot dressed in leather.

“That’s a whole lot of Sirius,” Teddy noted quietly.

And then they flipped another page. Remus – expertly blowing a smoke-ring.

A shocked laugh escaped Teddy, “Is he holding a cigarette?!”

“Your father and his friends were quite the troublemakers, don’t be fooled by all the pictures of them studying,” Harry laughed fondly.

Draco agreed, smiling, “He retained that streak for mischief. It’s what helped him cope, I suppose.”

There was a whole spread of shaken photographs, giving away that the person behind the camera was either inexperienced or a pureblood, possibly both. All the photos were of his father. Reading, drinking tea, rolling weed, dancing too.

“My father was so cool,” he realised.

“We’d have made good friends,” Draco mused. “Maybe in another life.”

“If your head were less inflated, maybe.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

Then there were photos of just Sirius and Remus together.

There was not a hair’s gap between them in that timeframe. Them in a music shop, pointing at a stack of records. Remus reading to Sirius. Remus, Peter and Lily Potter holding up a banner for their two quidditch boys. Sirius playing with Remus’ hair. Remus applying kohl on Sirius’ eyes. The two of them laying beside each other under the shade of a tree. Them laughing, smiling, even crying.

Them kissing.

“What.”

It was a very clear photo. Remus was kissing his best friend. They were stood in the middle of an empty apartment, cardboard boxes stacked high behind them.

“What the hell?” Teddy asked weakly, head spinning at this knowledge.

“Er…” Harry turned to Draco, who also seemed at a loss of words.

And then there were more. Teddy could see in their eyes the amount of love they had for each other. Absolute adoration.

“Oh my god,” Teddy gasped at the scandalous photo. Even Harry’s eyes bugged out.

The two men were clearly not dressed below their bed linens. Sirius had draped himself over Remus’ tan chest. Both of them sound asleep.

“Well, what can I say. Seems like they had fun and I respect that,” Draco shrugged, trying to appear unfazed, but there was a distinct flush on his skin.

The photos ended abruptly after a series of shots of the Potter family and themselves. That’s when the war took a toll on them.

They closed the album silently. The quietness extended till Teddy cleared his throat.

“So… my dad and Sirius had a thing?” He asked, trying to be casual.

“I didn’t know,” Harry said honestly. “But seems so, huh.”

“Mum did mention once that Sirius was a disgusting faggot. Now look, I am too,” Draco laughed.

“It’s not disgusting,” Teddy assured hastily. He had to say it aloud, he owed it to his father, his uncle.

Harry agreed vehemently. “It doesn’t matter!”

Draco smiled at them, “I know, but thanks Ted, Potter.”

Teddy moved the album into his own plastic bin, to keep it safe.

The trio turned their attention to the rest of the things spilled on the hardwood floor.

Teddy sifted through the heap.

There were envelopes with letters; unsent, he guessed. Thick stacks of postcards, all addressed to some town in Wales. There were other things, but he wouldn’t ever know the reason his father had kept them. Quidditch jerseys with POTTER and BLACK printed on the backs, broken rectangle glasses, some sort of muggle board game. Banners with Gryffindor painted onto it. Records of ABBA, Queen, David Bowie, Frank Sinatra – the covers of which had a small Love, Lily scrawled on them. Parchments of recipes, all signed in the end with Cheers, Pete.

“Oh Remus,” Harry sighed.

Teddy blinked back his tears.

This entire house held the life of his mother, and he loved that a lot. To be able to learn of her in her own childhood home. Teddy had inherited his mother’s ability to shape-shift. He was also a Hufflepuff like his mum.

He didn’t know what of him was Remus.

But McGonagall promised him that she saw a lot of Remus’ personality in him; in his driven attitude, snark, in his pranks and his extreme love for chocolates and tea and sweets. She always smiled at him with pride and a tinge of reminiscence.

Teddy’d had nothing materialistic of his father, whose life even Andromeda knew only from the two years shared in Hogwarts. And he was suddenly gifted with more of his father’s post mortem possessions than he knew what to do with, but he’d keep them safely, he’d protect all of what was left of Remus.

Teddy ran his fingers along the edge of a photo frame. The picture inside was unlike those in the album, it was definitely a magicked one. Sirius was kissing the corner of Remus’ mouth, whose lips were stretched into a wide smile. The photo cut off right when the boys began to crack up.

“He was happy. He was in pain every month, but still so happy.”

“Ted,” Harry raised his head up. “Your dad loved you to pieces. He went through a lot, but he found people to love, and you were one of them.”

Draco affirmed this with a silent nod.

Teddy knew that, of course. In his room, in glass frames were pictures of him as a child, being held by his parents. Remus was obviously ecstatic, staring lovingly at the little cherub in his arms. Teddy didn’t doubt for a second that his father loved him. It was visible. Just as it was in his pictures with Sirius.

Teddy gathered all of the things and carefully placed them in his box, to keep in his room and to go through them leisurely.

They cleaned the attic in record time, when the smell of Andromeda’s baking wafted up and tickled their noses.

She distributed teacups and placed a platter of cookies on the teapoy.

“Grandma,” Teddy began hesitantly after they settled on the sofa.

“Yes?”

“Tell me about my dad and Sirius? Please?”

She froze midway pouring Harry a cuppa. “How did you–?”

“Remus had an album,” Draco explained softly, apologetic. “Evidence is plentiful.”

She laughed a little to herself, “Oh, of course. He had a habit of preserving all kinds of bits and bobs, your dad.”

Teddy sat up curiously. “Why?”

“I think he believed that if he didn’t have a memory of it, it didn’t exist. Things were always ripped away from him…”

It became solemn.

“So, did Sirius introduce you to Remus ever?” Draco sipped his tea.

Andromeda got a faraway look in her eyes, “It was the first time Remus had entered this house. Hand in hand with my cousin, who had been cut off and disowned then. He was the only one I trusted with Sirius’ heart. My cousin had grown up without love, but Remus was so patient and loving. And I’m certain Sirius was also the same.”

“Dad loved him, didn’t he?”

His grandmother smiled, wistful at the edges. “The two of them were the closest I will believe of soulmates. Opposites in many things but united in their values, experiences and such. He loved my Dora a lot, truly, but him and Sirius were like a house on fire.

“Even to an onlooker, they made an interesting pair. Where James and Sirius were the obvious duo, Remus and Sirius had a different dynamic built on very similar behaviours. Both stubborn, loyal to a fault, smart; even the childhood they experienced was riddled with guilt, shame, trauma. And where you could tell how much of a brother James was to Sirius, Remus meant to him very differently, and it showed.”

Harry had polished off his tea. “They deserved a happier ending…”

“Life owed them at least that,” Andromeda agreed sadly.

“Maybe they will meet again. The cycle of intertwined lives never end when two people are in love,” Draco leaned against Harry’s shoulder, unaware.

Teddy prayed silently that wherever his father was, he had gotten to meet his friends again. He hoped Sirius and Remus would get another chance at experiencing life together.

The dog star shone bright, in the night sky, beside the moon.

[gollldrush]

random cute leo & arthur thing for @exquisitexagony because why not

It had taken some doing (more like begging) to convince Pete to look through Arthur’s paperwork to figure out his birthday. Much to her delight it wasn’t too far away. It gave her enough time to plan something, giddy as hell about the chance to celebrate something for once. She picks a day – not the day – to surprise him.

“You and me, 7 o’clock, movie night.” Leo slams down a 6 pack of beer on the counter, her face lit up with a grin. “Dooon’t even bother trying to get out of it, I already talked to Pete and he said you can take off early. And if you don’t show up just know I know where you work.” She points at him, sliding the beer off the counter and walking swiftly to the door before he can utter a word of protest.

The apartment isn’t overly decorated but still enough to be considered cheesy. A ‘happy birthday’ banner hangs in the doorway of the kitchen, colorful balloons scattered about the living room. On the dining room table is a cake that she had baked and (hideously) decorated herself, sat next to two small boxes delicately and perfectly wrapped with bows on top. Two party hats – one of which she would force them to wear – and their favorite type of beer chilled in the fridge.

And now she waits. She hovers anxiously by the door, a grin so wide on her face that it hurts. A little bounce of excitement each time she hears someone draw near, only to be disappointed when it ends up being a neighbor. She shifts her weight from side to side, beginning to pace.

6:57.