₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡
summary: When a young aspiring journalist is sent abroad to cover a a coronation, she hears rumours about the 'Prince of F1' and goes undercover to investigate them.
pairing: prince! charles leclerc x fem! reader
9.8k words
disclaimer: i do not own anything in these films, the only original character is the character y/n.
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You jumped up from your desk as soon as you saw him, and trailed him through the office. “Excuse me, sorry- Ron?!”
He turned to you. “Not now.”
“This will just take a second, I just have some questions about your article? The fashion week piece that I’m editing?”
He groaned, clearly uninterested in giving you the time of day. “Go for it.”
Nevertheless, you continued on. How could someone who makes so many noticeable mistakes have a higher job than you? How could someone so self-centred and rude be in that position of power? “The main problem is that Max wanted 300 words, and you’ve written 600, and also the models and designers you quoted weren’t even at the event so…”
“Y/n,” he sighed, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I don’t have time for you right now, just go off and fix it? Yeah?” he smiled, that punchable, asshole smile, and walked off. You rolled your eyes.
Working as a journalist bitch was not your plan when you moved to New York, but alas, your rent does not magically pay itself. Categorically, you enjoyed your job. Decent pay, good co-workers (minus asshole Ron), and it was pretty cool to be in one of the high-rise offices of New York, especially around Christmas. But… the whole getting to write articles part wasn’t something you got to do. You were an editor now, not a journalist. It was… slightly infuriating to know that someone less qualified got paid more money to write shit that you always ended up rewriting for him, but as we mentioned before, bills don’t pay themselves.
“Let me guess, you’re going to completely rewrite the article and save his ass?” Damon, your best friend, asked.
You faked a smile. “It’s almost like that’s my job!”
He rolled his eyes. “Tell him to shove it,” he scoffed. “Any of us could write that better- with our eyes closed!”
You groaned as you sat down.
“How the fuck are you ever going to be taken seriously as a real journalist if you are such a good editor?” he added. “He’ll never promote you if you’re always going to stay as his bitch.”
The ding of your laptop ended the conversation
Max wants you in her office- NOW!
“Oh fuck,” you said under your breath.
“What?” Damon asked, looking over your shoulder. “Oh… good luck.”
You walked into her glass office, praying to something to make this as painless as possible. “If this is because of Ron’s article-”
“It’s not, sit down. I have something else for you,” she smiled. You followed her instructions and stared at her, unused to the kindness. “What do you know about the Royal Family of Monaco?”
“Monaco?” you wracked your brain. “The King died a few years ago, the new King just got married, and the other two are racecar drivers, right?”
“Exactly, anything about the second eldest Prince?” she mused.
You grimaced. “He’s more loyal to Ferrari than his girlfriends and he’s a royal disgrace?”
She grinned. “Yes! Exactly that! Obviously, Charles moved off from the royal duties a long time ago, but Lorenzo has decided to abdicate since his fiance has fallen ill, in Monaco there’s a rule that the throne can be uncrowned for one year and it turns out Lorenzo abdicated in December last year.”
“So Charles has to take the throne?” you asked. “But he’s a driver there’s no way he’d… what happens then?”
She smirked. “That’s exactly what you’re going to find out! His Royal Highness is due back at the Castle this weekend, but in case he also abdicates, I need someone to write on it! There’s a press conference on the 18th, and I want your boots on the ground!”
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but why me?” you smiled, genuinely curious.
“You’re intelligent, talented, hungry for a story- also none of my regular writers are willing to give up their Christmas,” she admitted. You nodded, knowing you were a last resort.
“Thank you for this opportunity, I won’t let you down.”
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“He’s gorgeous!” Damon fawned over the pictures of him.
You shrugged. “He’s such a douche, I cannot believe people still find him attractive after all the stuff he’s done.”
“Who wouldn't forgive a face and body like that?”
You looked at the photos. Yes, he was conventionally attractive, but his track record of scorned girlfriends, and the semi-awful fashion sense (who , over the age of 12, still wears tie dye jeans?) put you off. “He’s not my type.”
He stared at you. “He’s everyone’s type. Everyone is a Ferrari fan, and everyone is a Charles LeClerc fan.”
“I still don’t see it,” you shrugged.
“You should try to seduce him! Make him your husband and just excuse all the cheating so you can be royal and rich,” he suggested.
“I do not want that,” you scoffed. “Plus, I’m not on the market right now.”
He groaned. “You two broke up a whole year ago. Don’t let him yuck your yum 12 months on!”
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You walked into Rudy’s, your dad’s diner, you couldn’t but feel the weight of the conversation you were just about to have. You had spent Christmas as just the two of you every year since your mom had passed, you didn’t want to just leave him alone. The regulars raved about the pies as you stepped in from the cold, snowy air.
“The usual?” your dad asked, you nodded and smiled, waving to some of the regulars you knew. “How are you doing sweetie?”
“Good, great!” You smiled, plastering on your best ‘i’m fine!’ face.
“What happened?” he asked, concerned. You deflated.
“I have good news and bad news,” you explained.
“Bad news first,” he decided.
“I won’t be here on Christmas- but, It’s because I got my first story.”
He grinned, pulling you into a hug. “That’s amazing! Your first real story! This is your big break!”
“You don’t mind that I’ll miss Christmas?”
He shook his head. “This is your big break, take it. Don’t worry about me. You go over to wherever, and you make me proud.”
You smiled, pulling him into another hug, and thanked him.
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The flight was long and uncomfortable, thus the joys of economy, and the dickhead that stole your cab wasn’t much nicer either.
You and the rest of the press were all then bundled into cars and brought to the palace.
“First time?” The reporter beside you questioned. You nodded your head, slightly embarrassed about the fact that they could tell, but he just chuckled. “Word to the wise, pick a new career.”
The rest of the car was an eruption of laughter, small agreements, or a scoff. You chuckled along, but you couldn’t help but feel small. You were the only woman in your car, the only new reporter, and-
Woah. Holy shit.
The Monaco Palace.
Any and all other thoughts were pushed to the back of your mind as you stared in awe at the beautiful structure. The wide windows and beautiful pillars, all decorated perfectly for Christmas. Though it wasn’t snowing (like back home), you did appreciate the gesture of making it feel like Christmas. You were enchanted by the palace, it stood tall on the edge of the bay, fitting in perfectly with the rest of the gorgeous scenery.
You walked in behind the rest of the press, a nervous energy buzzing in the air. Prince Charles was an F1 favourite, a master of the sport, and now he had to give it all up for the crown. Everyone was more than excited to see if he’d actually show up, which seemed increasingly unlikely as the moments ticked away. He did every single piece of press Ferrari or the FIA asked him to do, and he seemed to enjoy the majority of them, but the second the palace asked him to do something, he was ‘too busy’. It left a bad taste in your mouth. You were exactly a patriot, but you thought that one should at least appreciate the fact that they were a part of their country, and the people deserved to hear from their Prince, not only through sports interviews. He’d been photoshopped into the palace's Christmas cards for the past 4 years, for god’s sake.
You pushed your opinion of him to the side and turned your attention to the palace. The tall white walls and arched ceilings, the beautiful and historic artwork hanging off the walls, god, you’d give anything to be allowed free reign in here with your camera. Your attention was then grabbed by the PR liaison, Penelope, standing at the panel desk looking increasingly nervous.
After another 30 minutes of waiting, the repress started getting restless. Lorenzo was never late. Hervé had never been late. Pascale was never late. Arthur was never late. Charles was the outlier. He slept with too many women, drank too much, and ‘disgraced the crown’, according to the Monegasque reporters beside you. You didn’t care much for all of the gossip pages he frequented, and only watched F1 on the occasion that your father wanted to watch it. But, it was clear that he thought that following his dreams of being a racecar driver were more important than his duties, and while you understood the push and pull of having a dream, there were also expectations to meet, and he didn’t meet them.
“We regret to inform you that this press conference has been cancelled-”
She was cut off by about 200 reporters shouting and groaning.
You politely raised your hand, and all eyes turned to you. “When can we expect the press conference to be rescheduled?” You asked and the room was alive again, this time, in agreement.
“As of right now, we won’t be rescheduling,” she offered a polite smile as everyone collectively groaned again.
“Well can we at least expect a date at which he’ll be crowned?”
“He will be crowned on Christmas Eve, at the annual Christmas Ball,” she smiled.
“Which is a private event, so what are we to tell your people? They can’t see him getting crowned as their next king? No media are allowed in, no cameras, phones are barely allowed. What will your people think?” you questioned, your voice dripping with condescension. The rest of the reporters cheered you on, no one had stood up against his behaviour before. No one.
She faltered, and then the room started being cleared by security, much to the chagrin of the rest of you. You were kicked out, a collection of grumbles and groans, knowing Christmas was ruined because of some stupid Prince and his childish antics.
You couldn’t go home empty handed. You’d never get a chance like this again, so breaking and entering into the Monaco Palace wasn’t that bad of a crime, right?
You came into a long hallway, the marble walls and floors taking your full attention, until you came across a picture. It was the royal family, a picture of the five of them, taken before Hervé passed. Charles was only 20, Arthur was only 16. Lorenzo was 29. And they lost their father. In the photo, they’re sitting at a dinner table, looking happy. It didn’t look posed, or professionally taken. It looked like it had been taken on an iphone. Charles was smiling bright, his arm around his little brother and his father. Lorenzo’s arm around Pascale as she held Arthur’s hand. Charles was truly the thing that dragged you in. His bright smile, eyes crinkled at the edges, laughing so hard he must’ve felt sick. The way everyone else’s eyes were on him. He was like a magnet. Not because of his good looks or lovably dorky personality, but because of something else. He was just… interesting.
“Can I help you?” a security guard asked, his voice booming and strong. You jumped.
“Gosh! Sorry, umm-yes-no-um-”
“American?” he asked, and you were sure you were busted. But then he smiled. “Follow me.”
You followed him through the halls until you were in front of a tall woman with brunette hair. You knew who she was, her name was Georgia, the palace coordinator. She was terrifying to stand in front of. You’d never felt so judged in your life.
“You’re the new tutor?” she questioned. You just nodded. “I thought you couldn’t come until January?”
“My last job finished up early,” you lied. A sinking pit in your stomach started growing, but you just swallowed it. You’d deal with it later.
“Oh,” she smiled. “Perfect, I’ll bring you to meet him,” she smiled.
What were you getting yourself into?
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Turns out Arthur LeClerc needed a tutor to help with his engineering course. Thank god you’d dated that engineer who wanted to mansplain every single part of a car to you, and you could get by the maths with a calculator. Arthur wasn’t exactly a fan of having someone younger than him tutor him, he felt stupid, you could tell. You did everything you could to reassure him that it truly was alright to need help, and he was starting to come around, but every time you two really started talking, Charles would appear. And yes, Charles had been that asshole who’d taken your cab at the airport. Even more of a reason to hate him.
“Arthur!” Charles called up as you finished explaining a sum, which he was finally getting, but of course, Charles had to distract him. “Sim work?” he offered, popping his head in the door. You frowned. He was clean-shaven, unlike the small goatee and mustache he’d been sporting before. Objectively, he was attractive either way, but you personally preferred the facial hair.
He frowned back at you. “What?”
Arthur attempted to get up to join his brother, but you held him down to his seat with a hand on his shoulder. He sighed.
“What?” you repeated. “Arthur is busy with lessons, your Royal Highness, you can come back in 2 hours, when he’s finished,” you smile politely, though your tone was less than warm.
“2 hours?” Arthur sighed, looking at you with pleading eyes.
“I’m not the one who failed their midterm,” you said, matter-of-factly. He nodded, agreeing.
“Why did you look at me like that?” Charles smirked, walking into the study.
“Like what?” you asked, engrossed in the work, trying to decipher Arthur’s handwriting.
“Like you didn’t like what you saw,” he mused.
You scoffed. “I was just surprised by the baby face, that’s all.”
He frowned, making Arthur laugh. “Baby face?”
“You look like a 12 year old boy without facial hair, it freaks me out,” you pointed out.
Charles left the room with whatever dignity he still had intact, and you and Arthur rather enjoyed the teasing.
“Will you be my guest tonight?” he turned to you, discarding his work.
“What’s tonight?” you asked.
“Some boring drinks and dinner thing with the whole of Charles’s team, and other nobility. It’s going to be such a chore to go without you, please come?”
You smiled. “I’d be honoured.”
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You kind of hated the whole ‘double agent’ thing. You were getting on really well with Arthur, Charles was enough to stomach (in small intervals), and Lorenzo had been too busy to really meet. Georgia had been on you about different things, but you always had to remember that a) your name was in fact not Y/n, but Martha. And b) You still had to be a reporter. You still had to break into these people’s privacy, and make it a story. You were pretty sure what you were doing was illegal in America, so you were just hoping it wasn’t a crime here. As the night went on you snapped pictures of Pascale, Lorenzo, some of the other nobility and some of the important F1 drivers (a friend was doing an expose on one of them for cheating so… yeah). You didn’t catch a glimpse of his Royal (pain-in-the-ass) Highness all night, that was, until he made an(uncharacteristically (not)) late arrival. You also left Arthur to go hang out with his girlfriend, who had surprised him this weekend by arriving a whole week early.
“How are you enjoying the party?” Arthur smiled, walking up behind you as you tried to take photos of the nobility as secretly as possible. You quickly hid your phone.
“Very much so, thank you for inviting me,” you smiled.
“Staring at Charles?” he questioned, noticing how you’d been following him around the room.
“Trying to find something to eat,” you lied. Again, that pit in your stomach grew every single day that you were at the palace. “Not a fan of the meat-jelly.”
He grimaced. “Me neither, follow me.”
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Possibly the best gingerbread cookies entered your mouth soon after. “Wow,” you nodded, and he smiled back. You stared at him. “Where’s Jade?”
“She’s off with her friends,” he answered, but you knew it was a guess.
“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden? You hated me three days ago,” you chuckled.
“You’re not like everyone here,” he shrugged. “You’re normal.”
You smiled. “I know I’m, normal, btu so are you-”
“A ‘normal’ 24 year old who has a palace and a crown, as well as an affinity for racing cars. I’m so normal.”
You laughed. “No one’s perfect.”
Then a tall man, who looked a little bit like Arthur, joined you.
“Cousin Arthur,” he smiled.
“Cousin Simon,” he sighed, less than impressed with having to see him.
Simon looked at you, slightly confused. “Was your mother feeling charitable, inviting the chambermaids again?” he joked, but it wasn’t funny. Arthur didn't laugh, he groaned.
“She’s my tutor, actually. And I invited her. Mrs. Martha Whelan, meet my cousin, Simon.”
You stood up and held your hand out to be shook, but he shied away. “Nice to meet you Simon.”
“You can address me as Lord Dukesburg,” he explained, taking great offence. Ah, this was Simon Dukesburg, the man who has been after the throne since Arhtur’s father died. He said some of the most out-of-touch shit about Lorenzo, saying he couldn’t be the King because he wasn’t Herve’s blood-related son.
“I find that nobility who require someone to use their title might be compensating for something,” Charles interjected, making you stifle a laugh, whereas Arthur laughed out loud.
“And what might I be compensating for?” he scoffed.
“I wonder,” Charles smirked. Then someone else interjected the conversation and pulled the both of them away from you and Arthur.
“Simon hates Charles,” Arthur explained. “He’s ahead of him in the succession, since it goes by age, not actual blood relation, he’s ahead of me.”
“So if Charles abdicates, Simon has the throne?” you questioned.
Arthur nodded. You looked up at the two men again, and found Charles already looking back at you. You offered a small smile, which was returned, then you turned back to Arthur.
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“I'm really not sure there’s any dirt here,” you sighed, explaining it for the millionth time to your boss.
She wasn’t having it. You ended the call feeling even worse than before. Honestly, you were one day away from just leaving the palace all together and admitting your crimes. It was eating you up inside, you could barely sleep, barely eat. It was all a little bit too much for you. You understood that reporters had to be cut-throat, but god, it was hard work pretending to be someone you weren't, especially to people as kind as the LeClerc’s. As you walked through the halls of the palace, unable to sleep, you heard some piano music. You followed the sound and found Prince Charles at his piano, incredibly talented. Sadly, it ended the second he noticed you, about 30 seconds of you being there.
“Sorry for interrupting, your Royal Highness,, I’ll head back-”
“Call me Charles,” he smiled.
Slightly blind-sided, you weren’t sure what to say. “That was beautiful,” you smiled.
“Thank you,” he smiled, getting up. “My father made me take lessons. It’s a great passion of mine.”
“I’ve heard your father was a great man,” you smiled.
“He was,” Charles agreed..
“Won’t be easy to replace him,” you mused, hoping he would give you something, anything worth writing the story over.
“I’m not trying to replace him,” he explained. “No one could.”
“Oh god! No, I didn’t mean it like that- just… there must be a lot of pressure on you, I didn’t mean it…” you trailed off and he smiled.
“Well, you’re under more pressure than you bargained for, right?” he smirked.
Shit. He knew. Somehow. He knew. You were bout to get arrested by the fucking Prince of Monaco. How embarrassing.
“My brother can really be a handful,” he chuckled.
You took a deep breath. He didn’t know. You were safe, for now at least. You chuckled. “He’s actually pretty great.”
“After our father died, he took it very hard,” he explained.
“I lost my mom, same age and everything,” you explained, a flat smile on your face.
He nodded. “So you know what it’s like then.”
You nodded. “Holidays are the worst.”
“I’m glad he has someone to talk to.”
“So, now that you’re back… is it for good? Arthur talks about you all the time. He misses you when you’re gone. Is all that talk about abdication just… rumors?” you questioned, feeling like the worst human being in the world for manipulating this family the way you were. They were good people. Maybe yes, they’re rich and commit tax fraud, but good people.
He sighed. “It’s very hard to know what to do.”
FUCK!
Great. So there is a story. Ideal. It’s not like if he’d just said, ‘yes, they’re all just rumors’, you could’ve gone home and never had to think about the awful things you’ve done here, but now you have to stay, to listen to him. Great.
“I heard you didn’t want to give your… lifestyle,” you asked. “Is that true?”
“What lifestyle is that?” he scoffed, slightly amused.
“I don’t know. The women, wine, and cars?”
“Is that what you think I am?” he chuckled.
“I don’t know who you are, Charles, but if your brother is any indication, I wouldn’t exactly believe everything I read. Good night.”
And with that you left the room, feeling like a terrible person, and he was more than intrigued by you.
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Christmas Eve rolled closer and closer, and every night seemed to be one of celebration. You decorated the tree with the family (aka you sat in the corner not eating or drinking because of the guilt, and watched over Arthur, making sure he was alright).
“To family and friends,” Pascale smiled.
“And new friends!” Arthur called, lifting your hand. You smiled at him, thankful that you had a friend there.
“What are your traditions Martha?” Charles asked, turning attention to you.
“Well, my father and I light a candle and we bake my mothers favourite cookies,” you explained, a smile on your face. “I know how it feels to… have someone missing during traditions,” you assured Arthur, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Just then, Lady Sophia appeared in the doorway. Lady Sophia, Charles’s childhood best friend and the leading lady of the greatest will-they-won’t-they story of all time. She wore a beautiful long flowing gown with a present in hand for Pascale. She elegantly dodged cousin Simon’s advances (you applauded her for that), and went straight to Pascale and Charles.
“Sophia, it’s lovely to see you,” she smiled, pulling her in for a hug.
“It’s lovely to see you too,” she smiled, then moved on to Charles. “Charles, good to see you.”
Charles greeted her with his best flirty smirk, and Arthur turned to you, fake gagging, which made you both laugh. All eyes turned to the two of you for a moment, before you quickly shut up, and the greetings continued. Lady Sophia was staying for Christmas, how wonderful. Maybe you could get an early access to their engagement story- god you felt sick with yourself.
You turned to Arthur engrossed in the small toy car he had in his hands, a gift from his father, he spoke about it as you listened, barely noticing Charles over both of your shoulders.
“I remember when you first got that,” he chuckled, ruffling Arthur’s hair. “You were so happy with it, you wanted to be just like dad.”
“Now you are,” you smiled, squeezing Arthur;’s hand. He’d be moving up to F1 next year, in a Haas seat (Esetban Ocon shit the bed, oops), and Arthur was the next best Ferrari junior driver. Arthur beamed back at you, and Charles gave himself a moment to study you.
You were so gentle, so smart, so kind, so… you. He was entranced by you. You were some sort of enigma. He didn’t want to sound full of himself, but women did throw themselves at him, it was a simple fact, and you didn’t. You weren’t interested in him at all, in fact. It was refreshing.
“Charles!” Lady Sophie called. “Will you put my ornament on the tree?”
He (begrudgingly) took his eyes off of you and joined her at the side of the tree. Funnily enough, her ornament was a heart.
“Be gentle with it,” she told him, and he sighed, knowing it wasn’t just the ornament she was talking about.He placed it on the ree and when he looked back at you, you were already engrossed in conversation with Arthur about something else and he thought it best not to pry. You barely liked him as is, he shouldn’t push his luck.
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The day you get bossed around by Arthur LeCerc may actually be the biggest joke of your life. He found out that you were a journalist, and he didn’t even care. He just… wanted a friend, and for you to write the truth about his brother. Which you were happy to oblige.
So, instead of going over aerodynamics, you baked Christmas cookies.
“What’s with Charles and Lady Sophia?” you questioned, shovelling some of the batter into your mouth. Arthur shrugged.
“She’s had a crush on him for ages, but he’s never liked her back,” he shrugged, eating some of the icing. “She’s always trying to get with him though.”
“Simon seems to like her,” you pointed out, shooing him away from the icing (he’d eaten half of it).
Arthur groaned. “Simon has wanted everything Charles has had since they were 3. He even tried go-karting. He was shit though,” he chuckled. “But y’know, everyone wants what we have.”
You cracked a smile. “You are the royal family of one of the most beautiful countries in Europe.”
Arthur sighed. “It was different though, before my dad died, it was-” he cut himself off, trying to to cry. You pulled him into a hug.
“He’s not gone Arthur, you’ll always remember him,” you smiled, he nodded against your neck. “Come on, we need to get these in the oven before I eat all of the batter.”
He laughed, joining you beside the oven.
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The next morning was the children’s fundraiser, where everyone was expected to be a guest. You, again, were Arthur’s, Jade having left a few days earlier to spend time with her family. One of those asshole reporters came up to you, but he got them away, and you knew that by tomorrow, people would already assume you were his new girlfriend, or something along those lines, so you made sure to tell him to talk about Jade in interviews. After the wonderful carol service, Pascale came out to the stage and addressed the public, announcing Charles’s speech.
When she called his name, he didn’t show.
Arthur sighed, grabbing your hand and running you to the Orphanage. There he was, playing with the children. He looked so… happy. He was telling them about every corner in the Monaco Grand Prix, and telling them what it felt like to win it. They all sat around him, listening intently, desperate to hear from him. You took out your phone and took a photo, seeing a tiny glimpse of that same 20 year old boy from the picture.
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“Charles, help me understand why you were unable to carry out your duty today?” Pascale asked, exasperated with her son.
“I thought my duty was to those children,” his words bit through the tension in the air.
“There is much more to being kind than simply compassion,” she sighed. “You need to be strong, a leader. You need to be someone that those people can look up to and say, ‘that’s my king, and he can make the hard decisions’. Not someone who tiptoes around his duties like a schoolboy. Arthur had to give your speech instead. Now every outlet thinks your abdicating and giving the throne to him right when he’s on the cusp of his dreams-”
“I have dreams!” he shouted. “I have a life, I have a dream-”
“And we gave you 8 years to make it happen. You have to grow up now Charles,” she commanded.
“Mother I-”
“Do you seriously think you’re the only one who wants to run away?” she questioned. “The only one who has dreams, and feelings, and a weariness about everything?”
“I’m-”
“This has been the hardest year of my life,” she choked up. “Lorenzo abdicating, you off in god-knows-where racing a car that can’t win, and Arthur trying his damndest to make his dreams come true, while I deal with it all. While I ‘hold down the fort’. You have a duty to your country, but you also have a duty to your family, Charles. I have complete faith in you, and then some. You will be a brave, and compassionate King. But you need to realise that sacrifice is a part of life. One we may have shielded you from, and I am sorry for that. But you need to make a sacrifice here. Royal life isn’t the prison you make it out to be. You can be happy, and you will be. But you need to learn to be happy with what you’ve got, because you have so much Charles. You have your family, you’ll meet someone nice and then you’ll have your own. You don’t need to race cars to feel strong. You need to be yourself. The people of Monaco are looking for someone they know after a year of confusion and shock. You need to be the comforting voice. I know you can be.”
“I’m trying,” he whispered.
“I have faith in you. You need to have faith in yourself. Don’t try to be your father, be Charles. He’s just as wonderful.”
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Arthur wasn’t going to focus, it was 3 days till Christmas, and he was kind of like an over-excited child. You suggested an adventure, and that is how you ended up racing speed boats with Arthur and a few of his friends. You two won, of course, and he may or may not have accidentally shoved you overboard and made you hit your head. But you were probably fine. Probably. You two relaxed on the water for a while, enjoying the Monaco sun asn the sun began to set and all of his friends went home.
Then you felt something hit into the edge of your boat. Another speedboat. Driven by none other than Prince Charles.
“Race you?” he smirked at his brother, his eyes then landing on you. He stopped, almost doing a double take when he saw you in your swimsuit, his mouth opening slightly. You didn’t seem to notice. Arthur did and he rolled his eyes, hoping against hope that Charles and his master-manipulating ways would pass you by and go onto the next person.
“You’re on!” Arthur shouted back, reeving up the engine, and thus the great race of speedboats began. Sadly, once again, Arthur LeClerc is very much not coordinated, so he shoved you off the boat, again. Charles immediately slowed down, turning back to grab you, but he found you laughing. He reached a hand in, and pulled you up onto his boat, grabbing your waist when you almost slipped and fell. You were close, much too close. You could feel his breath on your face, his eyes staring into yours, the look of shock, but neither one of you was asking to stop. It was different, a good difference. He was right there, right in front of you, and you didn’t look at him with annoyance, or anger, or distance. One of those fleeting moments of the both of you truly just being yourselves. Well, you were Marha and he was the Prince of Monaco, soon to be King. He saw every freckle on your face, every small wrinkle line, every flutter of your eyelashes. He loved it. He loved being this close to you. He loved the way you were smiling at him, and once he’d started looking at your lips, he couldn’t stop.
Arthur threw a snorkel at the two of you, making you jump apart, you almost falling off the boat again (actually your fault that time), but you just fell into Arthur’s boat. “No fraternising with the enemy!”
And the race was back on.
Unbeknownst to you, Lady Sophia and Duke Arsehole (aka Cousin Simoin), were riding by on a perfectly sublime boat ride, and saw the three of you enjoying yourselves. You had joined Charles' side, winning against Arthur every time, and then you’d be swapped back, or Arthur would swap.
Lady Sophia didn’t like it one bit.
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When you got back to the palace, Lorenzo was standing at the top step of the stairs, his mother beside him.
“Where have you three been?” he demanded.
“Lorenzo, we were-” Charles began.
“Speedboat racing in the bay?” he finished.
The three of you stood there, silent and still, unsure of what to do next.
“I suggest next time that you ask permission, Ms. Whelan,” he addressed you, and you nodded quickly offering multiple apologies. “And next time, maybe include the other members of the family. It’s not like we've never raced in our lives,” he smiled, before walking off. You had a feeling they hadn’t seen Arthur this happy in a long time. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in you, that you had been the one to help him get himself back.
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Arthur was busy with his duties, so you were given the day off, the day before Christmas Eve. You needed to get to know Charles better, so you could right all the wrongs online about him. He was going for a bike ride, so you followed suit, clearly forgetting about the fact that you knew nothing about Monaco, and the limited cell-service was really helpful. Oh, and when you fell off your bike and cut the shit out of your knee, you really wondered whether it was you or Arthur who was clumsy.
“Are you alright?”a voice called out, a voice you couldn't quite place, until Charles was in front of you and taking a look at your knee. “This looks bad, come with me.”
He helped you up, and while Mont Agel was beautiful, you were in the middle of fucking nowhere, what was he going to do?
Bring you to his secret cabin, of course.
Literally, was this dude James Bond?
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You sat outside on his patio as the sun set. He handed you a glass of water. You thanked him.
“So, now that you’re alright,” he smiled (he’d bandaged up your leg despite the thousands of times you assured him you were fine). “Why were you following me?”
You sighed. “I was curious about Monaco, and I didn’t want to bother you,” lie after lie after lie. You were continuously sick. Maybe that other reporter was right, maybe you did need a new career.
“You couldn’t bother me,” he assured you, an easy smile on his lips.
“So what is… this?” you asked, gesturing to the house. “James Bond hideout or?
He laughed. “No, nothing interesting like that. This is just my house,” he smiled.
“So you’ve lived in Monaco the entire time?” you asked.
“The Palace is a bit too much for me at times,” he explained. “So I come here.”
“That’s nice,” you smiled. “Why do you find the Palace too much?”
He sighed. “Everyone is always looking at me.”
“Everyone is away looking at you in F1 too, you have like, millions of fan-girls,” you giggled.
“That’s different,” he argued. “I’m a driver there, that’s talent and hard work, I was just… handed the throne.”
“You were born into it,” you corrected him. “And just because you came across something easily doesn’t mean you haven’t struggled. I mean yes, it’s a lot of responsibility, but why wouldn’t you want to be King of Monaco?”
“Do we have to talk about this?” he sighed, getting up and pacing the patio.
“It might be good for you to talk it through,” you told him.
“I can’t even go for dinner with my friends without it being an international scandal!” he groaned.
“Like, when you went out with Sophia?” you mused.
“That was different, she sold a story to a tabloid, and the media had a field day,” he sighed, slumping back into his chair.
“The media is what’s holding you back?” you questioned, feeling your stomach twist.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Explain it then,” you smiled gently.
He looked at you for a moment, and for a fraction of a second, you could see that boy from the picture again. The magnetic, messy, smiley boy his parents had adored. The boy who worked so hard to prove himself. Then those walls went right back up and what replaced him was the man; older, wiser, and hurt. “Why bother? You probably think I’m just a spoiled rich kid anyway.”
You scoffed. “I never said that!” you argued, getting up and turning to him. “You know what you need to do, stop worrying so much about what everyone thinks of you, or how they’re going to perceive you. You’re a good person, with good instincts, and despite being actual nobility, you have morals, good ones, the kind that makes you miss a speech because you’re helping children. The kind that makes you worry about your little brother so much that you come home when he asks you to. The kind that makes you kind. Stop trying to be your father Charles, just be, Charles.”
He sighed, standing beside you. “You make that sound so simple,” he scoffed.
“Why isn't it? You’re a smart, talented, caring person-”
“Except when I steal your taxi,” he smirked, making you roll your eyes. He paused for a moment, his eyes shining in the low light of the sun. “I want to show you something.”
You stared at him, grimacing slightly. “What is it?”
“Follow me,” he said, taking your hand. He led you through his house, up to a room filled with books.
“You read?”
“After my father died,” he explained. “We kept some of the overflow of his habit here. He also kept his journals here. I found a poem, it was dated just before he died, I think he was going to give it to my mother.”
Frost a sparkle in the fields,
Twixt the frozen minarets,
Winter’s harvest, wager yields,
Heavy burden’s, the years debts,
P[out from a seed, an acorn’s gift,
Henceforth the truth will flood,
Darkness such a secret bears,
A love far greater than blood.
“It’s beautiful,” you smiled, reading the poem. Charles’s eyes were on you. You were so close, just like on the bat, just like he wished for every single day since you’d come into his life. He leaned in and you didn’t back away. You didn’t run, or lean in either, you were still, your eyes trained on his lips.
Then your phone rang, and off you went to find it. Part of him wanted to grab you back and kiss you, but even he, in his delirious love-filled haze, knew the moment had passed, and he would just have to wait until the next one.
As you two were getting ready to go back to the palace, he left to go grab something from his room. His father’s desk took your attention, and you obliged yourself. Hidden in plain sight was a secret drawer with a stack of documents in it. As much as you hated yourself for it, you took the documents back to the palace with you.
Within those documents you found out a truth, a truth so great, you had no idea what to say. Charles and Arthur were adopted as children.
What the fuck were you going to do now?
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As you were walking through the halls with Arthur the next day, you saw Lady Sophia and Charles… kissing. Great, barf. Anyways. You had to finish your story, get something on the page, make this torment of a trip worth something. If you broke the story today, you could be out of there before Christmas, and their lives would be a lot easier. You thought about coming clean, but the thought of it actually made you vomit in your mouth. You were lost. You had no idea what to do.
So, you called your dad. What else were you supposed to do?
“Y/n!” he smiled, it was only a phone call but you could tell. “How are you?”
“Hey dad, remember how you said I have to take chances to win?” you asked.
“They are my words to live by,” he chuckled, understanding that something was going on. “Is everything alright?”
“What if that chance is going to really hurt people who don’t deserve it?” you questioned.
“I’m going to need more than that sweetheart,” he sighed.
“My story, if I release it, it might hurt someone who’s already been through a lot. I’m just…” you trailed off
“Sweetheart, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I know anything about the world of publishing and reporting, but I do know that you have to trust your gut.”
You smiled. “Thanks dad.”
“I’m better than a fortune cookie, right?” he joked and you both chuckled. “I’ll see you soon sweetheart.”
“Bye dad-” as you hung up the phone, there was a knock on your door. You tentatively got up and opened the door, only to find Charles on the other side, dressed in a Ferrari branded suit, a small smile on his face.
“Hi, is there something I can do for you?” you asked, slightly awkward and unsure. You didn’t really want him to look in your room too much, considering the documents of his adoption were literally on your desk, but alas, what would be, would be.
“I thought we could go for a walk?” he offered. “I can actually show you around Monaco, now that I know you want a tour guide.”
Your smile faltered. “I don’t know,” you sighed. The media had been stirring everything up ever since the boat, you were the ‘mystery girl’ being passed around by the LeClerc’s, and it didn’t feel great.
He looked at you with pleading eyes. “Please, just give me a few minutes of your time. I would like some company.”
“Sure, let me grab my coat,” you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.
As you two walked through the streets of Monaco, he spoke freely about the beautiful buildings and people he knew so well, while you listened. You liked it, but it broke your heart slightly, to know that you had lied to the entire family for weeks now. But another part of you was grateful that you got to meet them, because you knew you had been changed for the better. It was also nice to see Charles be less… upset than when you first came. He smiled more, laughed more, and spent more time with Arthur, it was lovely to see.
He stared at you for a moment, his eyes darting around your face as you looked at the pavement. “Are you alright?”
“Do you often take the help for a walk?” you questioned, your tone soft but the words bit at him anyway.
“What?” he questioned.
“Nothing, it’s stupid. Go back to your story Charles,” you sighed, walking on.
He grabbed your hand, turning you back to him. “Please talk to me. I feel like you know everything about me, and I know nothing about you.”
“What would Lady Sophia say if she saw us walking together?” you scoffed.
“Why would that matter?”
“I saw you two,” you said.
“Whatever you saw, trust me, there is nothing there,” he pleaded.
“It didn’t look like that to me,” you scoffed. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
“She was just… taking her chance again, even after I explicitly told her not to.”
“Sure,” you nodded. “It doesn’t matter anyways. Charles.”
You were both silent for a moment. He took the opportunity to study your face. The way your eyebrows creased, the tightness of your lips, the determined stare forward. He smiled. You were so smart, and headstrong, and right all the time (which kind of drove him crazy), but he loved it all. He loved you.
“I hope you’ll come tomorrow night,” he admitted. You looked at him confused. “The Ball. My coronation.”
You couldn’t do it anymore. You had to tell him. He couldn’t keep living this lie, and neither could you. “Charles, I need to tell you something-”
But he kissed you. Of course, he fucking kissed you, because he’d been wanting to do it since the day you arrived at the palace. He was in love with you, if he hadn't made that obvious enough, and yes, he kissed you, because the fact that he hadn’t yet was driving him mad. He didn’t want Sophia, he didn’t want anyone else, he wanted you.
And it was everything he could’ve dreamed of. His arms circled your waist, pulling you close to him, while his lips explored your soft ones, the taste of cherry on them. You must use some sort of cherry lip balm, and it quickly became one of his favourite tastes. Your arms slowly crept up to wrap around his neck, and when he pulled back you just pulled him back in.
This was the real Charles. The one who loved people unabashedly and didn’t care what people thought. This was that 20 year old boy in the photo. This was the boy you had slowly fallen in love with, without even realising it.
And it was wonderful.
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Much to your chagrin, while you were off tonguing the next King of Monaco, Lady Sophia and Cousin Arsehole were busy looking through your things. Unluckily for you, they found something.
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Charles sat in the driver’s seat of his Ferrari, half willing himself to man-up, and the other half begging himself to turn around. He couldn't though, not when he was this close to finally visiting his father’s resting place for the first time in months.
He got up and out of the car, your voice in his head telling him to get over himself, with that soft, perfect, smile on your lips.
He walked up to the grave, determined to speak to his father once again.
“I’ll take the crown,” he whispered, his eyes flooding with tears. “I’ll never measure up to you, but I will take it. For you and for mom.”
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You stood in your room, wondering what the fuck one wears to a coronation.
Arthur stood in the doorway, smiling brightly. He frowned when he saw your dress.
“It’s this or pyjamas,” you dead-panned. He walked in, taking the dress out of your hands and sitting on your bed.
“How’s the story coming along?” he asked. “Nearly done?”
“Almost,” you huffed, laying beside him.
He sighed. “I’ll miss you when you go,” he admitted, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. You almost forgot how much he’d been through, his sunny demeanour always seemed to make you forget his troubles. “It was nice to have a friend.”
You turned to him. “I’ll always be your friend,” you smiled. “And I’ll be cheering you on in Haas, and in everything else you do. I think you’re brilliant Arthur, seriously.”
He chuckled. “Thank you. I hope everything goes well for you back in New York.”
“I hope so too,” you teased, wiping a tear off his cheek.
“I got you something,” he smiled cheekily, handing over a small box.
“Arthur!” you scolded. “We said no gifts!”
“There was no way I was following that,” he chuckled. “Open it!”
You slowly opened the box, inside there was a beautiful necklace with a beautiful blue topaz on the end. “Oh my god Arthur, this is beautiful,” you whispered.
“To remind you of the boat day” he grinned. “So you will never forget me.”
You smiled, your eyes cloudy with unshed tears. “I could never forget you, Arthur.”
Then in walked Jade, his girlfriend, with an array of gowns on a rack.
“Oh no,” you whispered.
“Oh yes!” Arthur cheered.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
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You stood at the top of the steps, terrified of what anyone would say. Arthur had styled you (aka, Jade let him pick the dress) and while you thought you looked beautiful, you were slightly worried about what the nobility in the room would think. It had been fun though, an afternoon of being pampered and becoming friends with Jade was a lot more enjoyable than it was nerve-wracking. You slowly descended the steps, looking for Arthur, when Charles caught your eye. He looked beautiful, his hair perfectly styled, his suit perfect, his face perfect. He smiled up at you, excusing himself from his mother and brother to take your hand as you left the bottom step.
“You look beautiful,” he smiled, taking in your dress. IN all honesty, there wasn’t a word for how he thought you looked. Regularly, a look from you made his heart stop. This? A different level. He was enamoured. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, even if he wanted to.
You felt your cheeks heat. “Thank you,” you smiled. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I will see you in there, alright? I have to-”
“Do what you need to Charles,” you chuckled. “I’m not running away at midnight.”
He smiled. “I’m glad.”
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Despite the fact that it was a royal ball, it was quite entertaining. Different Duke’s and Duchess’s were dancing, letting loose, and getting pretty drunk, but you just sat with Arthur and Jade and laughed at them. The ballroom was magnificent, the tall ceilings and Christmas lights all around, and in the centre of the hall there was a 36 foot (yes, about the height of a telephone pole) Christmas tree, decorated perfectly. Even though you were miles and miles away from home, it was still nice to be celebrating with people you love.
As you were speaking to Jade, someone started speaking.
“Might I have the first dance, mon amour?” Charles asked, barely above a whisper as he wrapped an arm around your waist.
You turned to him, your face dropping. “Seriously?”
“Well, as long as you promise not to tread on my feet, we should be alright,” he chuckled, leading you to the dance floor. You joined on, doing a simple waltz (you thanked your father mentally for making you take ballroom classes as a child), and it was very sweet. It was nice to be so open about being close to each other, no longer shying away from each other's affections. You liked having Charles so close. He liked having you in his arms.
Win-win.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said as you waltzed around the hall. “I wouldn’t be accepting the crown if it wasn’t for you, so thank you for telling me to grow up.”
You chuckled. “I think you’re giving me too much credit there.”
He shrugged. “I do not think so,” he smiled. “You make me feel comfortable, you’re the most genuine person I have met since… well probably since birth.”
Again, that nauseating feeling in your stomach urged you to run away and hide from him, even though your heart (as mad as it sounds) longed to never let him go. “I have to tell you something.”
He nodded. “You can talk to me about anything.”
As he spoke, the music stopped, and it was time. He would be crowned King.
“Tell me after,” he whispered, as all eyes went to him. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck.”
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“I dispute this claim!” Lady Sophia’s voice shocked the room and you. Charles was so close, so close to taking his rightful seat as the King, and of course, someone had to make it difficult.
“On what grounds?” the Archbishop asked.
“The grounds that he is in fact, not the rightful heir,” she smirked, smug as ever. “Prince Charles, and his brother Arthur, were in fact adopted by the late King Hervé and our Queen Pascale, therefore are not of the blood of the Royal family, as per this document.”
The certificate was taken from her, and shown to the Archbishop. “Where did you obtain this document?”
“I obtained it by uncovering a scheme by an American journalist, Ms. Martha Whelan, or should we call you Y/n Y/l/n?”
All eyes went to you as the room was full of gasps.
You knew you should've turned tail and ran, you knew you shouldn’t have stayed on when Arthur found out, and you knew you shouldn’t have fallen in love with the Prince of fucking Monaco. You were the dumbest person you’d ever met.
You didn’t dare look at Charles, knowing what his expression would be. You just looked down.
“Is that true, you are a journalist?” the Archbishop questioned.
You spoke confidently, though the regret was evident in your voice. “I am.”
The room was in upheaval. Everyone was angry, everyone was confused, and everyone needed an answer.
“And your Majesty, this certificate?”
The room went silent as Pascale began to speak. “It is legitimate.”
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You were running out as quickly as humanly possible, trailing just after Charles.
“Charles, please, just let me explain-!”
“Explain what?” he spat, turning to you.
“I’m sorry. I never meant for anything like this to happen, and I understand that you never want to see me again. I just had to tell you I’m sorry, and the only reason I kept it up was for you and Arthur.”
“And you couldn’t have told me?!”
“Arthur made me promise I wouldn’t tell you,” you sniffled.
His face dropped. “He knew?”
You nodded, wiping away your tears. This wasn’t for you to be upset about. This was your mistake, and you couldn't fix it.
“Why wouldn’t he let you tell me? Did he know he was adopted?”
You shook your head. “He doesn’t know. And I don’t know why he wouldn’t let me tell you. I just… he asked me not to.”
He stared at you for a moment, and it wasn’t those same, shining eyes that made your heart leap. It was the cold, dead, reserved eyes that made you want to run away and never come back, that stared back at you. “I’m glad you have your story. I suggest you stay out of our lives from now on.”
And with that he walked on.
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New York was colder than you remembered. You had decided to just go straight to your apartment, turn off your phone, and binge watch shitty reality tv shows until you could show your face in public again without wanting to sob every time you saw something that remotely reminded you of Charles and Monaco.
But something nagged at you. The acorn, the poem, ‘a love far greater than blood’. You didn’t understand it. So you spent about 12 hours working on deconstructing it, and you thought of something. Maybe it was your delusions after not sleeping for a day (or two), but maybe the acorn ornament could prove something, so you sent your findings over to Arthur, hoping they would make sense, and turned your phone back off, blocking all of their numbers and falling into a very needed sleep.
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The next few weeks were full of clearing out your office (you quit), looking for a new job, and starting off as an actual journalist, not just cleaning up some sleaze work. It was nice, peaceful. Writing articles about things that mattered to you, things that would help people, things that weren’t a certain King of Monaco.
Life was good. Getting over your heartbreak was hard, but you were starting to believe that you might actually be alright.
You sat in your dad’s diner, ready to ring in the New Year, when there was a snowball thrown on the glass, and when you looked outside, there he was.
Quickly, you ran outside. “What are you doing here?” you questioned.
He shrugged, “I never got to say goodbye, or thank you.”
“Please don’t thank me, I honestly should be apologising again and again for what I did, I am so sor-”
“You opened a door that should’ve been opened years ago. Arthur showed me what you’d done. Half because I couldn’t believe he could do it on his own, and half because… I thought it was going to be a message from you. You blocked me…”
“I didn’t want to risk bothering you anymore,” you sighed.
“You’d never bother me,” he smiled, pausing for a moment. “Arthur misses you. So do I.”
“I miss you both too,” you smiled. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Y’know, a palace is a lonely place for a king, when he has no queen,” he admitted.
“It’s a good thing you’re an eligible bachelor then,” you chuckled. “Good night Charles, thank you for coming to see me-”
“I love you,” he confessed. “You made me a better man- you make me a better man. I don’t even want to spend time without you, do you understand that?” he asked, getting down on one knee and revealing an engagement ring.
You frowned, your eyes tearing up. “Charles, I am not nobility-”
“I don’t care,” he smiled.
“My entire life is in New York-”
“We can come back as much as you want.”
“What will the people think?” you sniffled, and he stood up, wrapping his arms around you.
“They’ll think you're a kind, caring, beautiful woman with a very intelligent mind, and brilliant ideas, who is loved very much by their King,” he whispered, then pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.
“We barely know each other Charles-”
“And yet I’ve never been more certain in my life. And I’m known to be indecisive-”
He stopped talking because you’d started kissing him.
Jesus Christ, you were going to be the Queen of Monaco, what a story that was.
‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡
a very f1 christmas! masterlist (2024)
navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
Whoever took these pics of him is my new idol
Neteyam x reader
Masterlist
As a Metkayina, you were fascinated by how different the Sully family looked and acted.
It wasn’t just their five fingers that intrigued you, but their unique way of doing things—their culture was so different from yours
Naturally, you’d bombard the Sully family with endless questions, genuinely curious about their customs.
Little did you know, your curiosity had caught one brother’s attention.
Neteyam couldn’t help but be captivated by you. There was something about your energy, your openness, that drew him in.
He found excuses to talk to you, wanting to understand your world just as you did his.
Teaching them to swim and breathe well became a bonding experience for all of you.
Over time, you and Neteyam developed a deep connection, learning to appreciate each other's differences.
In these past few months, his feelings for you had only grown. And yet, every time you spoke to him, you had no idea about the loving stares he was giving you.
Lo’ak, though, wasn’t oblivious. He felt like throwing up at how lovesick his brother looked around you.
He tried to nudge Neteyam into confessing, but Neteyam hesitated, afraid of ruining the friendship if you didn’t feel the same way.
But in the end, it was you who took the jump. With a racing heart, you confessed, trying to find the right words.
Before you could even finish, Neteyam pulled you into a quick, shy kiss, overwhelmed with happiness.
Behind you, Lo’ak and Tsireya were grinning, giving each other a high-five.
The evening was filled with laughter and the warm buzz of newfound love.
That night, Neteyam went to sleep with the biggest smile on his face
Requests may be made. Only SFW. Surrounding BTS and Avatar: The way of water only at the moment.
Day 10 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist
summary: it's a marriage of convenience that's becoming pretty inconvenient when you start falling for your best friend.
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Lance Stroll was 2 things, powerful, and a mess. His driving was messy, his bedroom was messy, his house was messy, his relationship was messy, but most of all, his entire life was messy. After a very public split with the woman he’d been dating for literal years, he fell deeper and deeper into racing, somehow cleaning up his act and not acting like a paid seat driver. He was good. The car was good. Podiums were a regular thing for both him and Fernando. Wins were becoming a regular thing for Fernando, and Lance had a few more under his belt. Not only that, but they were finally fighting for the championships, and Fernandio had won his third last season, it was Lance’s turn now, and he was making the most of it. Everything was great.
The only issue? Lance was now boring in the media’s eyes. He had no scandals, no girlfriend, no family drama (well…?), nothing. He was a perfectly polite, perfectly fine, all-round good person. That wasn’t enough for the press. Every race, the same questions got asked; “are you dating anyone?” “who’s the special lady in your life?” “are you hiding a wife from us?”
He wanted it to stop. That’s where you came in. His sweet, kind, best friend since childhood. You’d been to races over the years, you’d been seen with him, you were gorgeous, the fans loved you, most importantly, Lance loved you, as a friend anyway.
“So I have to marry you?” You gawked at Lance as he set the contracts out in front of you. “And then we act like a couple until…?” “Until the press gets off my back and I can say we amicably divorced and stayed friends,” he explained.
“And this is a good idea because…?”
“It’s been 4 years since me and ‘she-who-must-not-be-named’ broke up, people wouldn’t just believe me and you got together like 3 years ago and we’re still just ‘together’-”
“And why not?” you questioned.
“I honestly don’t know these were just the points my dad wrote out for me to say,” he shrugged. “Please help me out?”
You sighed, how bad could it be?. “Fine, but you owe me.”
“Excellent!” Lawrence beamed, startling the both of you. “Now, we should talk about certain things- children?”
“No way,” you answered firmly. “No way,” he answered firmly.
You both burst into fits of laughter and Lawerence ended up leaving, knowing there was no stopping you two. Well, you were a wife now, and a WAG.
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lancestroll
liked by pierregasly, logansargeant, and 3,837,231 others
lancestroll happy anniversary baby :)
comments
fernandoalonso: my favourites!
user45: he kept this REAL quiet
user33: what. the. fuck.
alexandriastleux: can't wait to meet her!
user42: MY CHANCE IS GONE? -> user99: girl what chance he's a billionaire.
georgerussell: I WASN'T INVITED? -> lancestroll: no one was lol. just family -> georgerussell: I CAN BE FAMILY
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It could be very bad. Very, very bad.
By age 25, you would’ve thought that you’d gotten over your childhood crush on Lance, but no. It was rampant every time he so much as looked in your direction. He was sweet, kind, funny, and so nice. He made an effort to include you in things, invited you to galas and dinners with the team, he’d lean over and kiss you randomly, take your hand, smile at you, kiss you before he got in the car, wink at you from the podium, kiss you when he got out of the car.
He was fucking perfect, for no fucking reason.
You sat beside Lawrence as he chatted about the race, Canada, Lance’s home race. You listened attentively and didn’t notice Lance coming up behind you, and your brain short-circuited when he kissed you on the head and wrapped his arms around you, making your eyes widen and your skin heat. It was always like this, any time he touched you, you felt it. Everywhere.
Lawrence laughed. “You don’t have to pretend here, there’s no cameras.”
Lance’s hands fell away and you immediately missed them. He sat down beside you on the couch and smiled at you, whispering a ‘hello’.
“Sometimes I think you two aren’t even acting. You’d think you were really in love,” Lawrence chuckled.
“Alright dad,” Lance scoffed. “What were you two talking about before?”
“Just Canada in general, chatting about the house and stuff,” you shrugged. You and Lance had just bought your first house together and were finally moving in after months of it being renovated. Being ‘married’ to Lance was easy, simple, nice even. It was literally living with your best friend, which worked well for the two of you.
“Where are we going tonight if you win?” Lawrenece asked, a sly smirk on his face.
“Out,” Lance shrugged with a grin.
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He’d done it. He’d won his fucking home race. You celebrated with him at the parc fermé and cheered as he stood on the podium, proudly singing along to his national anthem. He’d won.
Once his media duties were done and he was showered and not smelling like champagne, out on the town you went. Clubs, pubs, bars, it didn’t matter, the night flew away from you as the drinks flowed and the energy buzzed.
It was in some random club where Landio had befriended the DJ when Lance bumped into you again.
“Hi!” he shouted over the music, clearly drunk.
“Hi,” you smiled back, a little bit more sober.
“You look beautiful tonight, y-you look beautiful every night,” he smiled.
Your heart swelled. “Oh yeah? Even when I have my snoring tape on?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Even then.”
Suddenly you were very sober, and you had to get out of there. You couldn’t just be fake anymore, it wouldn’t work. You loved him, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you loved him. “I-I’m going to go-”
“Don’t run away from me,” he pleaded. “I want to talk about it- about us.”
“In the middle of the dance floor in a club?” you questioned. “Come with me.”
He nodded and grabbed your hand, leading the way to the exit. Your heart was pounding. Maybe he’d found someone else? Maybe he was done with you? Maybe he hated you? Maybe-
“I love you,” he rushed out. “I love our life together, I love waking up to you, I love eating breakfast, and lunch, and dinner with you. I love cooking with you, I love movie nights with you, I love talking to you, I love being with you. I love kissing you and holding your hand, and being able to touch you whenever I want to. I fucking hate the fact that this all started with something fake, and it makes me feel like shit that our ‘wedding’ was the both of us signing a sheet of paper, but I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
You stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped breathing. This wasn’t real, this was your mind playing tricks on you, this was a joke, this wasn’t-
“Please respond,” he begged.
“I love you too,” you instinctively said. “I love all those things too.”
His worried face broke into a soft smile, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.
Well, so much for fake.
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jeff hardy x fem!mcmahon!reader with “But i love him! I don’t care.” ?
Summary: Your dad is not happy when he catches you and Jeff kissing in the Hardy Boyz's locker room.
The air in the Hardy Boyz' locker room was charged with a blend of emotions. Jeff Hardy, the charismatic enigma, and you, Vince McMahon's daughter, had been harboring a secret love for some time now. Your heart raced whenever you were near him, and today, your connection had reached a pivotal point.
As the door to the locker room closed, Jeff moved closer, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The anticipation was palpable, and with a shared look, you both surrendered to the inevitable.
Your lips met his in a passionate kiss, a connection that had been growing between you two. The world outside seemed to fade as you got lost in each other.
But the tranquility was short-lived.
In a whirl of chaos, the door burst open, and there stood your father, Vince McMahon, a livid expression on his face. His booming voice cut through the room.
"What in the hell is going on here?!"
Startled and disoriented, you and Jeff broke apart, guilt and fear washing over you. Your father's presence was imposing, his temper evident in the rigid lines of his face and the fiery look in his eyes.
He stormed into the room, his voice raised in anger. "You, young lady, should know better. Kissing a wrestler in his locker room! Have you lost your mind?"
You struggled to find words, to justify the intense emotions you felt for Jeff, but your father wasn't in a mood to listen.
"But I love him! I don't care!" you finally protested, your voice cracking with desperation.
Vince's anger didn't waver, but he appeared taken aback by your defiant response. He had expected compliance, not resistance. Still, his concern was clear as he addressed you.
"Love? You don't know what love is," he retorted, exasperated. "This is not about love. It's about you rebelling against me, making rash decisions that could damage your reputation and the company's. This... infatuation with Jeff Hardy is over."
The room hung heavy with tension as your father ordered you to leave with him. He didn't give you a chance to respond, forcefully pulling you away from Jeff and leading you out of the locker room.
As you left, Jeff's voice called after you, filled with desperation and love, "We'll get through this baby, no matter what!"
But for now, you were caught in the whirlwind of your father's disapproval, your heart aching with the knowledge that your love for Jeff Hardy had just taken an unprecedented hit.
I have a request for Lando Norris x Sister!reader where she gets cheated on. Please🫶🏻 I love your writing
Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!
-xoxo babygirl 🧡
The paddock was buzzing with activity, fans cheering and cameras clicking as drivers moved between interviews and meetings. It was a typical race weekend—hectic, thrilling, and intense. But for Yn, none of it seemed to matter.
She walked beside Lando, her older brother, keeping her head down. Normally, she loved being at the Grand Prix. She’d tease Lando about his starts, laugh at his banter with the other drivers, and soak in the high-energy atmosphere. But today, her heart felt heavy.
Lando, always in tune with her moods, glanced down at her and frowned. “You’re too quiet,” he said as they reached the McLaren hospitality area. “This isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”
Yn sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
That was all it took for Lando’s protective instincts to kick in. “Oh, you’re definitely talking about it. Did something happen? Who do I need to fight?”
Yn couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at his immediate leap to violence. “It’s nothing. Just...my boyfriend cheated on me.”
Lando froze mid-step. He turned to her, his expression shifting from shock to anger. “He what?”
“Cheated,” Yn repeated, her voice cracking slightly. “With some girl he met at a party. I found out yesterday.”
Lando clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “That absolute—” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “Okay. First of all, you don’t deserve that. Second, I’m going to make sure you’re okay. And third, if I ever see him, he’s toast.”
Yn smiled faintly at his overprotective tone. “Thanks, Lan. But I don’t think anything can cheer me up right now.”
Lando wasn’t having it. “Challenge accepted.”
---
Throughout the morning, Lando hovered around her like a mother hen. He brought her tea, her favorite snacks, and even a McLaren hoodie to keep her warm. The other drivers began to notice.
“Why is Yn so quiet today?” Carlos asked, walking over to where she sat with her tea. “You’re usually giving Lando a hard time.”
“She’s going through something,” Lando replied, his tone making it clear the topic was off-limits. He wrapped an arm around Yn’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “But don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. He ruffled Yn’s hair affectionately before heading off.
A little while later, Charles and Pierre stopped by. “Yn, you’re not smiling,” Charles said, crouching down to her eye level. “That’s illegal. Lando, what have you done?”
“For once, it’s not my fault,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “She’s just—she’s sad. Leave her alone.”
Pierre, never one to resist a joke, smirked. “Do you need us to scare someone off? We’re good at that.”
“I can scare people off just fine,” Lando said firmly. “Thanks.”
Yn managed a small laugh, which made Charles and Pierre exchange victorious looks.
---
Later, when Ollie came by, he took one look at Yn and immediately tried to lighten the mood. “I’ve got an idea,” he announced, sitting down beside her. “What if I became your new boyfriend? I’d treat you like a queen.”
Yn laughed for the first time all day, the sound catching Lando’s attention from across the room. He walked over, arms crossed.
“Really, Ollie?” Lando said, glaring at his friend. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“What?” Ollie said, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, I’d be an upgrade.”
Yn shook her head, still giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous, but effective,” Ollie said, winking at her.
Lando wasn’t amused. “Stick to racing, mate.”
Ollie shrugged and walked off, leaving Yn smiling. “He’s an idiot,” she said, leaning her head on Lando’s shoulder.
“True,” Lando agreed. “But if it made you laugh, I’ll allow it.”
---
As the day wore on, Lando continued to dote on Yn. He handed her tissues when she teared up, reminded her to drink water, and even skipped a strategy meeting to sit with her in the quiet corner of the hospitality area.
“You know,” Yn said softly, “you’re a really good brother.”
“Obviously,” Lando replied with a smirk. “But thanks. And for real, Yn, don’t let that guy make you feel like you’re not enough. He’s the idiot, not you.”
Yn sniffled and smiled up at him. “You’re the best.”
“Duh,” Lando said, pulling her into a hug. “Now, what do you say we watch the race together? I’ll dedicate my first overtake to you.”
Yn laughed, feeling lighter than she had all day. “Deal.”
By the time the sun set over the paddock, Yn was back to herself, and it was all thanks to Lando—her overprotective, slightly annoying, but always reliable big brother.
I’m cracking up at the thought of Oscar accidentally seeing a nude of his sister in Carlos’s phone
HELP I HAD TO ELABORATE ON THIS
read little bitch here
Hotel rooms are boring. There's nothing else to do other than lay in bed and shower.
You regret telling Carlos — because now he's your boyfriend, and you share hotel rooms with him, how wild — that you wanted to stay in bed all morning and not join him for practice sessions because now is nearly midday and he's not back yet. And you're bored.
Not finding anything else to do, you open your suitcase to put together your outfit for Quali tomorrow, you laugh when the first thing you see is a McLaren cap and a Ferrari one packed together. And to think that next year you'll be adding a Williams one to your suitcase for race weekends.
As you move a pair of jeans, you come into view with something you didn't even remember you packed — a red lacy set of lingerie.
You decide to put it on, after all, you don't have anything better to do.
Meanwhile at the Zandvoort Circuit, Oscar, Carlos, Lando and Max are lounging at a hospitality area. The sessions and meetings for the day were over, so they were just waiting for the call to head out.
"Lando, can I borrow your phone? Mine is dead and I want to check Lily's flight, it's supposed to land soon," Oscar says from his place on the couch.
"I can't mate, I'm sexting right now," Lando replies, making the group laugh and Oscar roll his eyes.
"Take mine, it's in the table," Carlos says, fixing himself a cup of coffee from the small station in the room.
"Thanks," Oscar grabs the device, failing when he tries to unlock it, "What's your pass code?"
"Your sister's birthday," Carlos says casually, stirring his coffee.
The room erupts in a chorus of groans and laughter.
"Oh my god, Carlos," Lando exclaims, barely containing his giggles. "That's so cheesy!"
"Seriously, mate?" Max joins in, "What are you, a teenager with his first crush?"
Oscar looks at Carlos with mock disgust on his face. "My sister's birthday? Really? I don't know whether to be touched or grossed out."
Carlos shrugs, a slight blush creeping up his neck. "What? It's easy to remember."
"Yeah, sure," Lando snorts. "I bet your wallpaper is a picture of you two as well."
Carlos doesn't respond, suddenly very interested in his coffee.
"Oh my god, it is!" Max howls with laughter. "You're such a sap, Sainz!"
Oscar shakes his head, chuckling. "I can't believe this. My sister's turned you into a lovesick puppy."
Just as Oscar is about to search for his girlfriend's flight information, a text notification pops up. Out of habit and muscle memory, he ends up tapping on it, opening the message.
Oscar's eyes widen, and he lets out a yelp, nearly dropping the phone. "Oh god, my eyes!" he exclaims, tossing the phone back to Carlos as if it were on fire.
The others look at him, confused and amused.
"What happened?" Lando asks, trying to peer at Carlos' phone.
Oscar covers his face with his hands, groaning. "I just saw something I really, really didn't need to see. Carlos, mate, you need to put a lock on those messages from my sister."
With a frown, Carlos opens his messages, tapping on your contact and finding what made Oscar scream in disgust.
A picture of you wearing the lacy red set, with the caption "we need to put these to good use before we throw all the ferrari red away"
Carlos glances at his phone, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly locks the screen. He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Ah, I see. Sorry about that, Oscar."
Oscar is still covering his eyes dramatically. "I'm going to need therapy after this. Seriously, Carlos, password protect those messages or something!"
"Come on, what was it?" Lando tries to sneak a peek at Carlos' phone. "It can't be that bad!"
"Trust me, you don't want to know," Oscar groans. "There are some things a brother should never see."
"Look on the bright side, at least you know your sister is happy?" Max pats Oscar on the back.
"Not helping, Verstappen!" Oscar throws a nearby cushion at Max, which only makes everyone laugh harder.
"Sorry, hermano. I'll be more careful next time," Carlos says, putting on an awkward smile.
"There better not be a next time," Oscar mumbles, still looking traumatized. "I'm going to need therapy after this."
Oscar makes a mental note to never, ever touch Carlos' phone again, and Carlos makes a mental note to lock his girlfriend's messages. And put those lacy red sets to good use later, too.
— aviso: dark romance, stalker!enzo, menção à sexo e masturbação, homicídio e violência, menção à autoextermínio. NÃO LEIA SE FOR SENSÍVEL. (+18).
— word count: 5,6k.
— notas: eu não sou estudante de psicologia, então provavelmente pode ter alguns conceitos errados ao longo do texto. é tudo ficção, manas e manos. às psicólogas do site: minhas desculpas caso haja um erro muito grotesco!! não é um smut. uma coisa meio Mavi de Mania de Você.
a cabeça latejava como se as têmporas estivessem sido apertadas pelas mãos de um gigante impiedoso. os olhos lutavam para continuarem abertos, embora a luz branca do consultório parecesse tirar sarro do seu esforço. o som da caneta deslizando pelo papel também não ajudava em nada. você estava considerando parar de anotar o que o paciente lhe dizia, mas seria falta de educação.
"Enzo, eu preciso que você me dê mais detalhes da sua infância. você fica repetindo que as coisas eram muito difíceis, mas você ainda não disse como as coisas eram difíceis." seu tom de voz sereno mascarava a dor profunda em que você se encontrava. "tudo bem por você?"
o homem bonito assentiu timidamente. era a terceira vez que você o via naquele mês e sentia que não obtivera muito sucesso nas consultas anteriores. ele respondia às perguntas e falava muito sobre coisas do dia à dia, mas costumava a ser um pouco vago sobre coisas pessoais. sempre que podia, contornava a pergunta com uma oratória impressionante.
Enzo era muito bonito. tinha cabelos longos, andava sempre com as peças de roupa impecáveis e estava sempre cheiroso. costumava usar colares e anéis e os sapatos estavam sempre limpos. tinha uma voz profunda e envolvente. um sorriso de causar suspiros e um olhar que parecia despir quem quer que fosse.
"eu fui abandonado pelos meus pais quando criança. como não tinha nenhum parente próximo, fui deixado em um orfanato." você anotou tal fato no prontuário do paciente, um pouco perplexa por ele ter escondido aquilo desde a primeira sessão. voltou a mirá-lo depois de feito, mas ele apenas se manteve em silêncio.
"e como era esse orfanato?"
"péssimo." a postura mudou. estava relaxado momentos antes e, de súbito, travara em uma posição de desconforto. os dedos batucavam no braço estofado da poltrona. "as freiras que cuidavam do orfanato não eram muito bondosas. irônico, não?"
"você acha que o abandono dos seus pais é responsável por algum mecanismo de defesa que, hoje, possa te atrapalhar na sua socialização?"
"como assim?" o uruguaio a olhou desconfiado. você conteve a vontade de sorrir. alguns pacientes demonstravam muito mais do que pensavam demonstrar.
"quando algumas pessoas são abandonadas, elas criam mecanismos de defesa para lidar com o abandono." você explicou, massageando a têmpora cuidadosamente. "por exemplo, algumas pessoas podem evitar a socialização e, consequentemente, evitar um possível abandono. outras, irão socializar, mas vão fazer absolutamente tudo que elas pensam que irá garantir a presença da outra pessoa em suas vidas. isso pode ser problemático, pois elas colocam as necessidades de outras pessoas à frente das suas."
"não acho que eu faça parte de nenhum dos casos. eu me socializo muito bem e sei respeitar meus limites."
"mas tem dificuldade para se abrir para outras pessoas." você pontuou enquanto rabiscava um desenho bobo no fim do bloco de notas. Enzo a olhou como se algo extremamente embaraçoso sobre ele houvesse sido revelado para milhões de pessoas. "está tudo bem, Enzo. isso não te faz uma pessoa melhor ou pior. estamos só pontuando algumas características sobre a sua personalidade."
um sorriso nervoso dançou nos lábios bonitos do paciente. ele voltou a relaxar, como se realizasse que não tinha como mentir para você. de uma maneira ou de outra, você descobriria todos os segredos dele.
"acho que você tem razão. eu já tive problemas relacionados à isso." ele confessou, um pouco receoso. "relacionamentos que não funcionaram porque eu me abria muito pouco. amizades, romances..."
"então você vê a necessidade de mudar essa sua característica?"
"seria bom poder confiar mais nas pessoas. acho que melhoraria muitos aspectos da minha capacidade de socializar." você sorriu. Enzo era um homem muito inteligente, afinal. você gostava dos pacientes que se mostravam aptos à mudança.
"isso é muito bom. é exatamente o tipo de pensamento que alguém deve ter ao procurar a terapia." você o encorajou, voltando a olhar para a ficha dele. "você me disse que as freiras do orfanato não eram muito solícitas. você lembra de algum episódio em específico que te faz pensar assim?"
[...]
seu corpo colapsou na cadeira do restaurante quando você finalmente achou a mesa ocupada pelo seu noivo. Esteban retirou os olhos do celular, te dando um sorriso caridoso como forma de apoio.
"você está linda hoje."
"você é um ótimo mentiroso." você sorriu, um pouco exausta até mesmo para contrair os músculos faciais. depois de duas aspirinas, a dor de cabeça tinha até melhorado. agora restavam as dores musculares que tomavam o corpo de assalto. "você já pediu?"
"sim. pedi aquele risoto que você gosta, além desse merlot." ele apontou para a garrafa em cima da mesa. inclinou-se gentilmente para servir tanto o seu copo quanto o dele antes de brindar com você. "eu sei que é dia de semana, mas você merece."
"de acordo." você não se opôs, dando um grande gole na bebida. o corpo contraiu em um espasmo de felicidade. "tudo certo para o seu voo amanhã?"
"uhum. vai ficar bem até lá?" a canhota encontrou a sua sobre a mesa, os olhinhos brilhando de preocupação. você sorriu.
"são só cinco dias, meu amor. acho que eu aguento." Esteban sorriu, deixando um selar no anel de noivado caro.
voaria para o Chile para performar algumas cirurgias cardiotorácicas em diversos hospitais do território. o intercâmbio de saúde tinha sido proposto pelo hospital em que Esteban trabalhava e ele, como o homem empático que era, não conseguiu negar. embarcava na sexta e voltaria somente na quarta.
você sentia um pouco de chateação, mas nada além do comum. estavam noivos há pouco tempo e desde o noivado, as coisas estavam mais românticas do que nunca. era comum transarem mais do que o normal, sair para jantar mais vezes no meio das semanas turbulentas e passarem horas planejando o futuro juntos. você sabia que iria sentir falta dele enquanto ele estivesse em Santiago, mas seria por uma boa causa.
o jantar havia sido agradável, como sempre. depois de algumas taças de vinho você estava relaxada o suficiente para aproveitar o resto da noite, esta que começou no elevador do prédio em que vocês moravam. você se lembrava dos lábios de Esteban correndo pelo seu pescoço e em poucos segundos você estava na cama sendo fodida impiedosamente.
você tinha as sextas livres, então aproveitou para fazer tudo que podia depois de levar o noivo no aeroporto. participou de uma aula de pilates, levou os cachorros para passear e decidiu ir até o supermercado mais próximo para repor a dispensa de casa.
estava carregando um saco pesado de ração quando os seus olhos encontraram os dele. era Enzo, o seu paciente do dia anterior. te olhava como se fosse proibido. alguns pacientes não se sentiam muito confortáveis em ver os seus terapeutas fora do consultório.
você sorriu timidamente antes de voltar a procurar pelo seu carrinho. Enzo, lutando contra o desconforto, se aproximou para ajudá-la.
"isso parece pesado." ele ofereceu os braços fortes e você colocou o saco de ração nas mãos dele, agradecendo pela gentileza.
"e muito." você voltou a procurar pelo carrinho, achando-o um pouco distante de onde você o deixara. alguém provavelmente o tinha empurrado. "você mora por aqui?"
"não... eu vim visitar um amigo que mora no bairro e pensei em comprar alguma bebida para não chegar de mãos vazias." ele colocou as mãos nos bolsos, voltando ao estado de desconforto anteriormente. "você está noiva?"
você olhou para as suas mãos, sentindo-se pega. geralmente, tirava a aliança quando atendia os pacientes. gostava de deixar claro o limite entre razão-emoção quando atendia. não queria que os pacientes ficassem envolvidos demais em detalhes sobre a sua vida pessoal.
"sim, fazem alguns meses." você brincou com a aliança. não tinha muito mais sobre o que falar. "obrigada pela ajuda, Enzo."
"não há de quê." ele sorriu, gentil. você se afastou dele lentamente depois de se despedir.
Vogrincic assistiu enquanto você se afastava. estava tão linda naquele conjunto de academia, com os cabelos presos em um rabo de cavalo desleixado. podia ver a sua nuca muito bem, o que lhe causava arrepios. cada pedaço seu era tão perfeito quanto o outro.
não pôde descrever o sentimento que o tomou quando viu a sua aliança. exibia uma pedra oval solitária, o ouro branco reluzindo contra as luzes fosforescentes do supermercado. ele sabia que você era noiva, claro que sabia. mas ainda doía vê-la exibir o anel com tanta felicidade.
era uma tarde de agosto quando Enzo te viu pela primeira vez sentada em um café com algumas de suas amigas. estava bebendo café e comendo um bolo cheio de cobertura de chocolate. ele se lembrava como seus lábios envolviam a colher tão satisfatoriamente. como seu anel de noivado brilhava na sua mão esquerda. como estava linda na blusa de gola alta.
não conseguiu evitar os instintos que há muito lutava contra. tinha que saber mais sobre você.
a seguiu pelo resto do dia. passeou pelo shopping enquanto via você e as amigas entrarem em lojas e mais lojas. assistiu uma das amigas tirar uma foto do prato quando decidiram almoçar em um restaurante caro demais e não tardou em abrir o Instagram, procurando pela localização do ambiente. nos stories que contavam com a localização, estava o prato da sua amiga. clicou no perfil, avançando entre posts e destaques até que achasse uma foto sua e, claro, seu perfil. você tinha o perfil privado e aquilo o fez gostar mais de você. não era burra como as outras.
quando se certificou de que você estava de volta a sua casa em segurança, pegou um táxi para o próprio apartamento. lá, a obsessão começou. passou horas procurando pelo seu nome. encontrou a clínica que você trabalhava, além dos diversos trabalhos de iniciação científica que você já tinha publicado. encontrou uma notícia em um site de fofoca de socialites que falava sobre o seu noivado. aparentemente, seu noivo vinha de uma linhagem de médicos famosos em Buenos Aires. marcou uma consulta com a sua secretária. não era nada barato, mas valeria cada centavo. poderia te conhecer melhor ou, até mesmo, fazer com que você se interessasse por ele. Enzo sabia que era bonito. não era difícil conquistar nenhuma mulher se ele quisesse bastante.
Vogrincic recordou-se da última vez em que tinha mergulhado em uma obsessão daquele jeito. tinha sido em Montevidéu. a garota era tão linda. uma colega de classe com quem ele tinha o prazer de dividir trabalhos e atividades. era sempre gentil, compartilhando suas anotações com ele e o incluindo nos grupos de seminários. estava sempre cheirosa, sempre bem arrumada. ele tinha se apaixonado tão perdidamente.
começara a segui-la para as festas, jogos universitários, bares e qualquer outro lugar que contasse com a presença dela. passara semanas e semanas enviando flores e poemas para o seu dormitório. às vezes, quando tinha medo de que alguém fosse machucá-la, ficava rondando o prédio de dormitórios femininos para que ficasse ligado em qualquer atividade suspeita. sentia-se como um herói misterioso.
até ela descobrir.
lembrava-se bem do olhar de descrença, do medo, de como ela não queria que ele se aproximasse. implorou para que ele parasse de persegui-la, mas ela não conseguia entender que era, basicamente, impossível. ele estava envolvido demais e não conseguiria parar. não agora.
então, seguiu com a loucura. não conseguia se conter. quando tentava ficar trancado em seu próprio dormitório, era como se uma crise de abstinência o atacasse. o coração batia forte dentro do peito, as mãos suavam e a cabeça doía sem parar. a garganta ficava seca e embora tomasse litros e litros de água, estava sempre com sede. não conseguia dormir sem pensar nela. não conseguia focar nas atividades da faculdade. não conseguia nem mesmo respirar.
a odisseia durou até que a garota fora encontrada no seu dormitório sem vida. tinha tomado diversas cartelas de opioides e escrito uma longa carta culpando Enzo pelo seu suicídio. ela não entendia que aquela era uma forma de carinho. um jeito de dizer que se importava, que queria cuidar dela quando mais ninguém queria.
foi obrigado a se mudar para Buenos Aires logo em seguida. se transferiu para uma nova faculdade para que pudesse terminar o curso e nunca mais teve coragem de pisar em Montevidéu. ainda se lembrava de como as pessoas reagiram quando o encontraram pelos corredores da faculdade.
“monstro”.
monstro? monstruosidade era abandonar as pessoas. deixá-las para trás com nada além de inseguranças e medos. o que ele fazia era amor. cuidado. estava ali para mostrar à ela que sempre estaria ao seu lado, que sempre cuidaria de tudo. que nunca a abandonaria.
durante o seu tempo em Buenos Aires não encontrou ninguém que despertasse aquele interesse. é claro, vez ou outra se apaixonava rapidamente por uma qualquer e era obrigado à descobrir tudo sobre a vida dela. mas, nenhuma o deixava preso o suficiente para que pudesse amar novamente. as mulheres eram tão fúteis e superficiais na capital.
até que ele encontrou você. você era tão bonita, mas, ao mesmo tempo, tão centrada. você era tão inteligente e empática. tão humilde e tão trabalhadora. leal, viajada, sorridente. você tinha uma vida da qual ele queria fazer parte. você voltou a representar o ideal de felicidade na cabeça dele.
e agora ele não podia mais viver sem você.
as primeiras sessões não tinham dado em lugar algum. você era uma profissional muito boa e ele tinha que lutar para não fugir do personagem. conseguia compreender que se dissesse certas coisas, acabaria lhe assustando como tinha assustado as outras pessoas. mesmo que uma vez ou outra ele pensasse que você o aceitaria por ser uma psicóloga, sempre se acovardava no final.
no entanto, estava se tornando impossível ficar longe de você. se deu conta disso quando a viu cruzar as ilhas do supermercado de um lado para o outro exibindo o colo naquele lindo dia de primavera. era fisicamente impossível não te querer.
sabia que o seu noivo estava fora da cidade. lia cada notícia sobre ele, além de acompanhar a rede sociais dos amigos do casal. ele estava no Chile assim como outros médicos do hospital em que ele trabalhava. e você estava ali, abandonada.
isso o encheu de uma raiva crescente. se você fosse noiva dele, jamais te abandonaria. cuidaria de você dia após dia. você sempre voltaria para um lar cheio de amor e cuidado.
Enzo se deliciava com a imaginação de ser o seu noivo. o seu hobby favorito depois do trabalho era pensar em você. apagava as luzes do quarto, acendia velas, escolhia o vinil favorito dos maiores hits de Ray Charles para tocar e mergulhava nos pensamentos que envolviam você. como cozinharia para você todas as manhãs e noites, como te daria massagens diárias quando você chegasse em casa cansada demais, como te foderia com paixão...
os sonhos sujos eram os mais vívidos. conseguia esculpir o seu corpo na argila que era a própria mente quase que perfeitamente. sabia de cor como eram as suas curvas, o formato e tamanho dos seus seios, como suas mãos eram lindas e ficariam mais lindas o envolvendo. sentia-se mal por pensar em você daquele jeito. mas, era inevitável. enquanto não pudesse te ter completamente, só restaria a imaginação. e aqueles momentos a sós com a própria criatividade passaram a ser seus movimentos favoritos.
acordava ereto mais vezes do que o normal. sempre se aliviava debaixo da água gelada do chuveiro, como uma forma de punição por tal ato tão promíscuo. raramente, quando bebia mais do que devia, o fazia na cama, pensando em você.
decidiu que aquele fim de semana seria o melhor momento para tentar uma aproximação. seu noivo estaria fora da cidade e ele sabia que você não resistiria ao charme. podia ser um bom ator quando queria. havia aperfeiçoado a arte ao longo dos anos em que passara em Buenos Aires se relacionando com uma garota ou outra.
precisava escolher cuidadosamente. assumiu que você provavelmente veria as amigas em algum bar ou qualquer lugar onde ele pudesse se aproximar respeitosamente. se apresentaria para suas companhias, que ficariam embasbacadas por sua beleza, seria simpático até que elas o convidassem para sentar. seria encantador. ela veria como você melhor que Estebán.
era esse o plano. estava comprometido a segui-lo e tinha até mesmo se liberado das tarefas do fim de semana para que pudesse te seguir para qualquer lugar que fosse. se você não tivesse estragado tudo.
era sábado, um pouco mais de uma da tarde, quando você deixou a sua casa. estava linda como sempre. de camisa social larga, shorts jeans e um tênis confortável. exibia a aliança ostensivamente com um par de brincos que combinavam. as mãos de Enzo agarraram o volante do carro com certo desconforto. a primeira coisa que faria quando estivesse com você, seria destruir aquele pedaço de aliança insignificante.
a seguiu pela rua, parando o carro em frente à um café metros da sua casa. um homem de cabelos curtos e sobrancelhas grossas esperava na porta por você. sorriu ao vê-la, a beijou no rosto carinhosamente e abriu a porta para que você entrasse. foi quando o sangue do uruguaio começou a ferver.
você estava tão confortável com aquele outro homem. quem era ele? você estava traindo o seu noivo e Enzo não havia descoberto? como você era tão estúpida de encontrá-lo em um café tão próximo da sua casa? e se alguém os visse ali? Vogrincic te amaldiçoou por minutos seguidos de minutos, se arrependendo por um dia ter te achado inteligente. você era desleixada, imperfeita, falha. e ele odiava ainda mais a si mesmo por ainda continuar te amando tão incondicionalmente.
deu partida no SUV para que evitasse mirar aquela cena constrangedora. não seria testemunha dos seus casos ilícitos.
a tarde com Fernando tinha sido agradável, como sempre. quando você e Estebán anunciaram a data do casamento na última semana para amigos mais próximos, Contigiani não tardou em entrar em contato. gostaria de organizar uma despedida de solteiro - com a permissão da noiva, é claro - e comprar um presente especial para Estebán. eram amigos desde crianças e você estava extasiada em fazer parte da surpresa. Fernando e alguns outros amigos tinham escolhido presentear Kuku com uma viagem para sua adega favorita da Itália e vocês tinham passado toda a tarde ajeitando os últimos detalhes da viagem.
depois que alguns outros amigos se juntaram a vocês, a reunião virou um encontro despretensioso que tinha resultado em diversos drinques no bar mais próximo. eram sete horas da noite quando você finalmente se despediu dos amigos com a desculpa de que tinha que alimentar os cachorros.
quase como um mecanismo programado, pegou o celular na bolsa enquanto andava para casa. os passos eram lentos e a necessidade de ouvir o seu noivo a consumia durante todo o dia. discou o número rapidamente, como se o pudesse fazer de olhos fechados.
"doutor Kukuriczka?" você fez a melhor voz manhosa que podia quando atendeu. "estou morrendo de saudades. o que você recomenda?"
"doses homeopáticas do seu noivo." ele brincou do outro lado da linha. você sorriu, sentindo a saudade correr pelas veias. "eu estarei aí em alguns dias, não se preocupe. como foi seu dia?"
encheu os ouvidos do noivo de fofocas e mais fofocas sobre seus amigos enquanto andava pela vizinhança, cumprimentando alguns vizinhos. assim que entrou no prédio, deu falta do porteiro, mas seguiu até o elevador sem maiores preocupações. apertou o botão do seu andar.
"endocartite bacteriana em uma criança? meu Deus, amor. seu dia deve ter sido difícil." você fez um biquinho. sabia como aqueles casos o afetavam, queria abraçá-lo e prometer que tudo ficaria bem.
"o prognóstico é favorável. não se preocupe comigo, ok?" ele riu baixinho do outro lado da linha. "preocupe-se com você. eu sei que, quando não estou em casa, você quase não come direito."
"eu almocei hoje, ok? e teve salada e tudo mais." você brincou, descendo no seu andar assim que o elevador abriu. procurou a chave na bolsa, destrancando a porta com facilidade. era como se já estivesse aberta.
"sei. faça o favor e peça um jantar, também. por via das dúvidas." você gargalhou, adentrando o apartamento. procurou pelos cachorros salsichas que, geralmente, vinham à todo vapor quando você abria a porta, mas não os encontrou. "eu preciso visitar um paciente agora, ainda estou de plantão. prometo te ligar quando estiver livre."
"tudo bem, Kuku." você largou a chave na bacia de mármore onde guardava outras bobagens, correndo os olhos pela sala de estar e a sala de jantar. um cheiro diferente enchia as narinas. "eu te amo."
"também te amo, mi prometida."
quando desligou o telefone, foi como se percebesse o silêncio em que o apartamento estava mergulhado. procurou os cachorros por toda parte, os achando trancados no banheiro, batendo as patinhas na porta desesperadamente. nunca havia acontecido deles se prenderem ao mesmo tempo, o que quase lhe causou um ataque do coração (com toda a ironia que aquilo envolvia). depois que os serviu, foi para o banheiro da suíte para tomar um banho.
ligou o registro, se despindo cuidadosamente enquanto a banheira ia se enchendo com o líquido tépido. pingou alguns óleos essenciais de amêndoas que tanto gostava, aproveitando dos vapores odoríferos que embaçavam o espelho e a envolviam sutilmente. quando mergulhou o corpo na banheira, poderia jurar que ficaria ali a noite inteira.
esfregou os braços, as pernas, as costas. lembrou-se das vezes em que dividira aquele espaço ínfimo com o noivo, sentada entre as pernas dele. Estebán era tão cuidadoso em lavar os seus cabelos e acarinhar a sua pele. quase o podia senti-lo ali. fechou os olhos, imaginando-o tocando o seu corpo com tanto clamor. jurando ao pé do seu ouvido que te amava.
o cheiro estranho que sentira na sala de estar voltou a correr, desta vez, no banheiro. era um cheiro herbal, de frescor. um cheiro que você jurava conhecer, mas não se recordava de onde. cheirou o próprio corpo, procurando por resquícios de perfume dos amigos, mas não era você.
quando saiu da banheira e se enrolou no roupão felpudo, escovou os dentes e seguiu para o closet. decidiu vestir uma das camisas de Estebán e uma calcinha confortável. ninguém a veria, então não tinha nada à esconder. perfumou o corpo com um hidratante corporal e pegou o celular para pedir o jantar. quando abandonava o closet para ir em direção à cama, o ouviu.
"quem era aquele cara com quem você se encontrou hoje?"
Enzo. seu paciente Enzo, sentado na poltrona que ficava ao lado da janela. a poltrona em que Estebán lia as notícias todas as manhãs, a poltrona em que você pintava as unhas por causa da boa iluminação. seu paciente Enzo estava na sua casa.
o calor com o que o seu corpo estivera envolvido desde o banho parecia ter esvanecido. seu coração pareceu parar antes de voltar a vida com arritmias. suas mãos tremeram e o celular caiu no chão acarpetado. o que ele estava fazendo ali?
"o que você 'tá fazendo aqui?" a voz saiu trêmula, frágil, desacreditada. a silhueta tremia de medo. as mãos queriam se cobrir e as pernas, queriam correr. mas, você não conseguia fazer nada. "como você entrou?"
"eu te fiz uma pergunta primeiro. é assim que nós conversamos, não é? através de perguntas." ele a encarou como se buscasse por sua afirmação. Enzo, que era, geralmente, muito tranquilo, estava uma bagunça. os olhos injetados corriam por todo o ambiente, em perplexidade por estar na sua casa. "quem era o cara?"
os olhos dele focaram um porta-retrato que estava na mesinha ao lado da poltrona. exibia uma foto sua e de Estebán quando ele tinha se formado na residência. Enzo o pegou com delicadeza, o virando para baixo.
você decidiu que a melhor alternativa era respondê-lo. até que pudesse correr até a porta de casa ou pegar o seu telefone, responderia tudo que ele perguntasse.
"u-um amigo." você abraçou o próprio corpo com temor. "pode responder a minha pergunta agora?"
"qual das duas?" Enzo voltou a mirá-la. agora, algumas lágrimas se formavam em bolsar na linha d'água dos seus olhos.
"o que você está fazendo aqui, Enzo?"
"eu... eu tinha um plano, sabe? nesse fim de semana eu iria te mostrar que eu sou um cara legal. eu ia te conhecer melhor, ia te mostrar quem eu sou de verdade. já tinha feito diversos planos para nós." algumas lágrimas escorreram pelas bochechas avermelhadas. "até que eu te vi com outro cara. eu consigo aceitar o seu noivo, infelizmente você não me conhecia antes de se comprometer com ele. mas, um amante? não dá, não dá..."
"Enzo... eu não tenho um amante. ele era só o meu amigo." seu corpo estava retesado, tenso. não conseguia se mover nem mesmo que forçasse as suas sinapses ao máximo. estava amedrontada. "mas, você entende que isso aqui passa de todos os limites, certo? eu sou a sua psicóloga."
"não... você é o amor da minha vida." Enzo se levantou da poltrona, fazendo você estremecer. "eu sei que você é. eu já tive alguém assim na minha vida, eu me lembro da sensação. lembro de como era estar apaixonado. eu só preciso que você me conheça melhor para que você veja que eu também posso ser o amor da sua vida..."
"Enzo, eu estou noiva." você o olhou nos olhos. era como um acidente: medonho, mas que você não conseguia parar de olhar. "eu já tenho alguém que eu amo. e você com certeza vai encontrar outra pessoa... se você deixar eu me trocar nós podemos ir até o consultório e conversar lá."
"não, eu não quero ir pro consultório. eu não tenho nada para falar na terapia. você nunca reparou? eu só ia lá para te ver." ele sorriu, como se explicasse o óbvio. seu sangue tinha se tornado gelo líquido, correndo pelas suas veias. "é por isso que eu falava tão pouco... eu não tenho nenhum problema, só interesse em ver você."
Enzo se aproximou ainda mais. você não conseguia recuar. estava com medo de que, se fizesse algum movimento brusco, ele faria algo terrível com você. ele envolveu o seu rosto entre as suas mãos de maneira terna.
"eu vi o seu apartamento hoje e fiquei pensando em como seríamos felizes aqui." ele sorriu, ainda choroso. "aquilo que eu te falei sobre o abandono, isso era real. e eu estou aqui para te mostrar que eu não vou te abandonar igual o seu noivo fez. eu vou estar aqui para você, sempre."
"Enzo, você está me assustando." uma lágrima solitária escorreu pela sua bochecha.
"mas... eu te amo. eu te vi com aquele outro cara e vim pra cá imediatamente porque eu queria resolver as coisas com você. não queria te perder para outro, de novo..." ele limpou a sua lágrima com o polegar. "eu estou aqui desde uma e meia. te assisti chegar, te assisti tomar banho e tudo que eu conseguia pensar era em como eu te amo."
não sabia mais o que fazer. ele estava tão próximo. conseguia sentir o cheiro herbal invadindo suas narinas. era ele aquele tempo todo. te observando, seguindo seus passos.
"por que eu não pego um copo de água para você e a gente conversa com mais calma?" você colocou as mãos sobre as deles, as segurando antes de guiá-lo de volta até a sua poltrona. Enzo assentiu, embora parecesse relutante.
foi necessária uma força tremenda para que você controlasse os seus passos e não saísse correndo de imediato. ao chegar no corredor, pisou nas pontas do pé até a porta da entrada, procurando pela chave na bacia de mármore na mesinha ao lado. é claro que Enzo havia a escondido. você pensou se seria uma sentença de morte gritar na varanda de casa para quem quer que estivesse passando. com certeza, seria.
seguiu até a cozinha, pegando dois copos e os enchendo de água. não encheu até a borda porque, na tremedeira em que se encontrava, acabaria derramando o líquido por toda a casa. enquanto voltava para o quarto, decidiu que teria que pegar o seu celular.
Enzo estava sentado, com as mãos entre as coxas. você entregou um dos copos à ele e sentou-se na beira da cama. vislumbrou o local onde havia deixado o celular cair, mas ele também havia sido confiscado. sentiu uma súbita vontade de chorar.
"Enzo, eu entendi que você tem sentimentos por mim. e eu estou fazendo o melhor que posso para compreendê-los." você começou, dando um grande gole na água. "mas não consigo entender porque você está me fazendo de refém."
"eu já disse. eu perdi a pessoa com quem eu era apaixonado antes... não quero que o mesmo aconteça com você."
"você não vai me perder." você encarou os olhos do uruguaio. buscou pelo seu celular na mesinha ao lado da poltrona, mas não o encontrou. "mas, você compreende que não é normal aparecer na minha casa sem permissão, não é? isso me assustou."
"eu sei. mas tempos desesperados requerem medidas desesperadas."
"Enzo..." você se levantou, não acreditando no que iria fazer. talvez estivesse jogando toda a dignidade no lixo, mas era melhor do que ser morta por um filho da puta maluco. andou em direção à ele, colocando o copo d'água na mesinha antes de se sentar em um dos joelhos do homem. "eu só acho que há situações melhores para que eu te conheça bem... nós devíamos marcar um café amanhã, o que você acha?"
"e se eu te perder nesse meio tempo?" Vogrincic respirava fundo. não tinha te tocado, o que você agradeceu mentalmente. estava nervoso, um pouco embaraçado pela situação. não pensava em tirar proveito de você.
"não vai." você negou com a cabeça, o tranquilizando. deu o seu melhor sorriso diplomata para acalmá-lo. "eu só quero dormir depois de um dia longo. e te conhecer melhor amanhã. eu não quero que você sinta que precisa invadir a minha casa para falar comigo... entendeu?"
Enzo assentiu. os olhos amendoados se tornavam menos maníacos, mais compreensivos. o olhavam com tanta admiração que parecia ser palpável. poderia jurar que, se pedisse à ele pelo seu coração, ele arrancaria do peito naquele momento. também jurou que ele não a machucaria.
segurando o rosto dele com ternura, você depositou um beijo casto nos lábios dele. apesar de não sentir nada além de medo embebido em adrenalina, pôde sentir os lábios macios de Enzo contra os seus. eram quentes, incertos, um pouco tímidos. ele segurou o seu corpo com ternura antes de corresponder.
"isso te faz crente de que você não vai me perder?" você se sentia uma péssima profissional. estava usando justamente da mente para que pudesse sair daquela situação. sentia-se como se estivesse o traindo.
ele assentiu com ternura, grato pela reafirmação. era a primeira vez que Enzo se sentia correspondido e o seu coração se enchia de amor. sabia que, amanhã, faria você se apaixonar por ele. você o tinha visto hoje da maneira que ele sempre quisera ser visto. tinha te compreendido como ninguém.
"por que você não vai lavar o seu rosto antes de ir? você está um pouco nervoso, não é?" você limpou as gotículas de suor que brotavam da testa dele. Enzo riu timidamente, assentindo.
você se ergueu do colo dele, indicando o banheiro com as mãos. o seu plano era interfonar para o porteiro ou qualquer outro apartamento para pedir ajuda, mas o que você ganhou foi muito melhor.
o uruguaio puxou o celular do bolso traseiro da calça e entregou para você. com um sorriso carinhoso, você aceitou o aparelho enquanto ele se direcionava até o banheiro.
com os dedos trêmulos, o desbloqueou e enviou mensagens de socorro para Estebán, além do grupo do condomínio. lá, alguns moradores já noticiavam que o sumiço do porteiro fora suficiente para chamar a polícia. você suspirou em alívio. pediu por socorro no grupo e descreveu Enzo o melhor que pode com o pouco tempo que tinha. quando ouviu a água da torneira parar de correr, desligou o telefone e o colocou sobre a mesa.
Enzo voltou, parecendo melhor. tinha retomado a compostura e os cabelos estavam elegantemente penteados para trás. você sorriu para ele.
"está melhor assim." com cuidado, Enzo retirou a chave da sua casa do bolso da frente. "não faça mais isso, ok? sempre que quiser conversar, você pode me ligar."
"eu não tenho seu número pessoal."
"ah..." você pegou um papelzinho na mesinha ao lado da poltrona, além de uma caneta largada por ali. rabiscou alguns números aleatórios no papel e o entregou, com um sorriso. "agora você tem."
"desculpa por ter te assustado." ele confessou. "não era a minha intenção. mas, eu sei que você compreendeu. você sabe que eu queria somente o seu bem.
"eu sei..."
Enzo te entregou a chave. você o guiou pelo corredor e os seus cachorros latiram ao vê-lo. era uma presença desconhecida, e eles não gostavam disso.
"desculpa por ter trancado os seus cachorrinhos... eu fiquei com medo deles me morderem." o uruguaio sorriu envergonhado.
você teve dificuldades para enfiar a chave na fechadura, mas quando o fez, girou com força para que pudesse se libertar da prisão que virara a própria casa. deu de cara com policiais no corredor, que a miraram em surpresa e a puxaram para fora de imediato.
Enzo foi detido, ali mesmo, no chão da sala de estar. suas mãos foram algemadas e os seus direitos foram lidos. enquanto era culpado pelo assassinato do porteiro, ele pedia desculpas em um tom choroso. "eu não bati forte o suficiente para matar, só para desmaiá-lo..."
seu corpo tremia e os olhos se tornaram torneiras descontroladas que derramavam litros e litros de lágrimas enquanto Enzo se debatia violentamente para se soltar. os olhos dele encontraram os seus e você sentia a decepção correr pela feição dele.
estava tão perto do amor e aquilo fora tirado dele mais uma vez.
um policial se manteve na sua frente como medida de proteção quando o seu paciente foi levantado grosseiramente. os olhos estavam repletos de lágrimas, como os seus. ele ainda não parecia compreender que você tinha guiado os passos da polícia para o seu apartamento.
"está tudo bem, mi amor. eu vou voltar." ele assegurou com um sorriso triste. o policial o forçava para as escadarias do prédio, mas ele apresentava uma força descomunal enquanto resistia. seus olhos eram escuros, quebrados, cheios de uma força vil. "eu vou lutar pelo nosso amor."
🔴 with Webber!reader x Jenson x Sebastian.
Living with your brother had it's perks, him living in a penthouse and all.
But it had it's downsides too. Like when you had to sneak your hookups out without him knowing. It didn't help that they were his friends and colleagues.
To be honest it was only a matter of time before he caught you.
Warnings: disgusting smut, crying, dacryphilia, sub reader, sub sebastian, dom jenson (hear me out), overstimulation, forced sex?, use of the colour system, PinV sex, Oral, cum, facials you know the drill, Jenson being mean af
requested from my prompt list
He finally caught you the day after his win in Monaco 2012.
He'd gone out partying all night so you had the place to yourself and you decided to invite a couple of friends over.
Those friends happened to be Sebastian Vettel and Jenson Button. No biggie.
They both knew about your situationship with the other, and you didn't get to see them that often, so you had planned that while they were both in Monaco you'd have a bit of fun with them both.
And it's not like they didn't mess around on their own either.
Sebastian arrived first, having rushed through his duties in his impatience to join you.
Before you'd even shut the door he had you up against the wall, whispering about all the things he wanted to do to you, feeling frustrated after your brother ‘stole his win’ (his words not mine).
Fucking his biggest rival's little sister was certainly a great way to let out his frustration, and you were happy to take everything he had to give.
He undressed you slowly, making sure to tease you as much as possible while he peeled your clothes off your body.
He was halfway through getting you to your second orgasm using his fingers, when Jenson barged in.
The bastard didn't even knock, he just opened the door, gasped in fake surprise at the sight of you getting ravaged on the couch and closed the door behind him.
“God, look at the state of you two, couldn't even wait for me” he tutted as he prowled towards you like a predator.
Seb hadn't stopped his ministrations and you were currently hurtling towards your peak. Jenson chuckled at you barely being able to keep your eyes open with the pleasure.
“Aw babygirl are you going to come on Seb's fingers?”
You nodded as the pleasure overcame you and you clamped down on Seb's fingers as you rode your high.
Once you had finished, Jenson dragged him away from your weeping cunt and sat him on the couch next to you.
“Let's give her a break and take care of this mess, hmm?”
Seb gasped as Jenson lowered his head and licked up the underside of his leaking cock.
He wasted no time sinking down completely, making Seb choke on his spit.
You had no idea Jenson was so proficient at blowjobs, but the sight of him swallowing around Seb's cock really did something to you.
“Fuck Jenson-” Seb moaned “don't stop”
Jenson pulled off for a second to answer “Don't worry baby, I'm not going to stop until you're crying”
Seb whimpered and Jenson sank back down to the base, deepthroating him expertly.
It took Seb an embarrasingly short amount of time to come after that, and he pulled Jenson off him by the hair.
Jenson himself was flushed but he sat up and looked at the two of you mischievously.
“Now then, given that you two brats decided to be greedy and start without me, you're going to fuck, and I'm going to watch. And if you stop before I say so, I will tie you both up and tease you all night and leave you here for Mark to find, understood?”
You and Seb looked at each other with a twinkle in your eyes.
“Yes Daddy”
You were just goading him at this point, you knew it would drive Jenson mad, and it did. He groaned and rubbed his face.
“Right, come on then.” He sighed, slapping your thigh “Any position you want, get to it.”
You decided to ride Seb, and it was wonderful. He was so thick, grazing all the right places inside you, that this didn't feel like much of a punishment at all.
You came for the third time just as you thighs were starting to burn from the effort, so as you came down, Seb pulled out and you changed position, now laying on the couch with Seb above you as Jenson watched on.
Seb fucked you hard immediately, slightly overstimulating you, and his hands wandered over your flesh, squeezing and pinching as they went.
The real punishment started when Seb came inside you and stopped his thrusts to pull out gently.
“Ah ah! What do you think you're doing?” Jenson said, looking up from his phone “keep fucking her Seb”
You both froze.
“But-“ Seb started but Jenson interrupted him
“This is your punishment for being impatient little fuckers, so get back inside her while you're still hard and take it like a man”
Seb blushed and reluctantly pushed back into you.
You were both so sensitive it sent shocks through your systems.
“Fuck” Seb muttered as he put some of his weight on you in favour of grinding his hips into yours.
“Feel so fucking good around me schatz”
You whined “It's too much Jense, m'gonna come”
Jenson just laughed.
“Is it too much or are you going to come baby? It can't be both”
Jenson talking down at you shouldn't have been as hot as it was, but you were clenching around Seb as you got closer to another orgasm.
“Gonna come” you gasped out.
“Then come baby, I'm not stopping you”
And you did, your fourth orgasm washed over you but Seb kept going as per Jenson's instructions and he himself came again not long after that.
Jenson sensed he was going to pull out so he grabbed Seb's hips and pushed him flush with you.
“Don't you dare pull out, Sebby. Keep going. It's what you get for being greedy little sluts”
He guided Sebs hips back and forth, using Seb to fuck you, not giving his dick time to get soft again as you both felt tears of overstimulation cloud your vision.
“Can't Jenson” Seb gasped, he was shaking like a leaf “It's too much, I can't keep going”
You shared the sentiment, you weren't sure you'd be able to come again, the pleasure bordering on pain.
Jenson pushed on Seb's hips particularly hard and he let out a sob into the crook of your neck.
“Yes you can” Jenson said tenderly “I know you can, Sebby”
Seb let out a wanton moan and Jenson asked “Colour?”
Seb's shaky voice replied, muffled by your skin “green”.
Jenson looked at your tear stained cheeks and you also gasped out ‘green’.
“There you go, you can both give me one more then”
Seb's hips slapped into yours with renewed vigour, he was determined to see this to the end, his impressive stamina coming in handy in this situation.
Jenson decided to help you along and give you a hand, literally.
One of his hands went to Seb's hair, yanking his head back and licking into his mouth as he panted like an animal, and the other slithered down you body and started rubbing circles onto your clit.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you and you found yourself right on the edge again, and the pleasure was too much for you as you sobbed your way through your orgasm.
Seb’s hyper sensitive cock didn't survive you clamping down on him and he also came with a wretched sound, muffled by Jenson's mouth on his.
Jenson helped Seb to pull out carefully, and he slumped down to a kneeling position on the floor.
He instructed you to do the same and got his painfully hard cock out of his pants to finally get the relief he'd been denying himself.
The sight of you and Seb on your knees for him, his two favourite brats, tears staining your cheeks, eyes wet and lips puffy, was enough to get him off in record time as he groaned out a curse and spurted streaks of white over both of your faces.
“My perfect whores, fuck- so good for me, you did so well”
He stroked your heads as he waited for his head to stop spinning.
You all got washed up and went to bed very late, after a nice (takeaway) meal and a couple of drinks to wind down.
The next morning you woke up with Seb, Jenson being a heavy (and late!!) sleeper, and decided to get up and get some breakfast.
What you didn't expect was for Mark to be in the living room, holding your discarded clothes and a Redbull shirt.
You froze in the doorway and you stared at each other, your eyes full of fear and his full of anger.
“So you're sleeping with a Redbull driver, huh?” he cocked his head “Last I heard, there's only two of those. And it's definitely not me. So tell me, who is in your room right now?”
“Well I should hope you're not sleeping with your own sister” Seb's voice resounded from behind you, and you cursed the man internally.
“Ah! Nice of you to join us, Seb! What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” Mark's eyes flashed with anger.
Seb just chuckled and wrapped an arm around you “I was invited by your lovely sister, do you want a play by play of everything we did on your couch?”
Mark's eyes widened and he looked at the couch with disgust.
“Also that is my shirt you're holding, so I will let you make your own conclusions”
He walked towards a livid looking Mark and ripped his own shirt from his grasp, before going to sit down in the kitchen.
“You coming schatz? I thought you wanted to make breakfast?” he called from the other room.
You gave an apologetic look to your brother before following Seb's path.
Mark took a second to regain his composure before doing the same.
“How long has this been going on?”
You sighed, of course now he was going to be nosy.
“A few months… maybe a year”
Mark would have been outraged except… he just frowned, he definitely heard you with someone a few weeks ago, and it definitely wasn't Seb.
In fact he was pretty sure he recognised the accent he’d heard through the wall.
“But what about…” he looked at Seb quickly before deciding he actually didn't care about possibly hurting his feelings and blurted out “Jenson!”
You stared at him blankly. “What about Jenson?”
He narrowed his eyes at you “Well I know you fucked him… recently”
“And why would you think I'm fucking Jenson?”
And because your luck always ran out at the very worst of times, Jenson himself strutted through the door, shirtless, and sporting a smug grin.
“Someone mention my name?”
He walked towards you, pecked you on the cheek and sat down on the other side of Sebastian.
Marks eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his skull, and you could see the cogs turning in his mind.
“You… you're fucking BOTH OF THEM?!”
You could barely contain your smirk as you answered.
“Yeah? This is what the young people are doing these days, Mark. You should give it a go, it might help you unwind!”
He didn't even dignify that with a response, turning on his heel and stomping out of the room.
You, Seb and Jenson looked at each other and burst out laughing.
You were definitely inviting them over more often.
Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, age gap, taking of virginity, virgin!reader, yearning, corruption kink , fingering, orgasm denial, talk of overstimulation Wordcount: 1.2k
She was so pretty, but so young
Fernando loved it when Lance's sister came with him to the Grand Prix. She was just so lovely and innocent, but she was way too young for him, besides, he wouldn’t sit right with Lawrence if he found out he was screwing his daughter
He just couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She was so pretty to look at it almost hurt
It also didn't feel right that he knew she was a virgin, but he also kinda loved it, knowing that if he ever did get into her pants that he would have been the only one doing so
I had been a good weekend for them both. They had both finished above p10, both getting points for the team and themselves
The whole team had a little after party for themselves, celebrating their drivers finishes
They were all gathered in a nearby club where there weren't a lot of people so it could be just them
She looked so fucking beautiful. She had put on a new dress that cupped her curves just right, showing her body under her clothes, yet her eyes were incredibly innocent
He just wanted to fuck the innocence out of her. Wanting to hear her scream his name as she comes around him, wanting to she her squirm from overstimulation as he continues to fuck her after she comes
He was pulled out of his thoughts when she sits down beside him in the small booth
"Congratulations. You did good today" She smiled, highlighting the colour of her eyes
"Thank you, couldn't have done it without the pretty girl in the garage" This was normal, their flirting, and neither her dad or Lance minded it, as long as it didn't get to heated
"A pretty girl for a pretty man" She said, chuckling slightly, feeling the alcohol in her body
He blushed slightly at the hidden compliment, as well feeling the alcohol in his blood, it was giving him a confident boost
"You would be even more pretty with my hands on your body, hermosa" He leaned in, lips close to her ear, his words making her whole body freeze, wondering if she misheard him
"Well, as previously stated; I'm a virgin, but I'm also a visual learner" She said, turning her head towards him, lips almost touching as she did so
Her sudden confident startled him slightly, but it made her 10 times more hot in his eyes. His hands were suddenly clammy from sweat, wanting his hands on her body so fast
His hands were roaming her body as she was pressed up against the hotel door, lips against his in a wet and sloppy kiss
His lips trailed down to her neck, hands on her thighs, pushing her dress up above her waist, revealing her panties
"Nando… Please" Her hands were tangled in his hair as her hips bucked, searching for any kind of affection to her core
"Hermosa, are you sure? You can back out if you want" He pulled away from her neck, looking her deeply into her eyes, searching for any kind of regret
"Please, i want this" Instead, he saw the desperation in her eyes as well as her voice
He crashed his lips back into hers, guiding her towards the bed. He pulled her dress over her head, throwing it on the ground before laying her gently down on the bed
She shivered at the feeling of his fingers ghosted her skin as he pulled down her panties, throwing them on the floor as well. She whimpered as he admired her now naked body
"You're so fucking beautiful" He whispered just loud enough for her to hear as his lips attached to her neck again
Her whimpers were like music to his ears. They were so much prettier then he had expected
She arched into his touch as his fingers trailed down her body. His fingers drew between her folds, lapping her wetness unto him, drawing out a moan when he placed his fingers on her clit, applying minimal pressure
"So sensitive" He chuckled, lips going back to hers
She moaned as he started moving his fingers, giving him to opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth, exploring every corner of it
She whined when he pulled away, but it was quickly replaced with a moan as his fingers entered her slowly, stretching her out, getting her adjusted to his fingers
He managed to get a third finger in before he started curling them, hitting just the right spot inside her that made her grip his biceps harshly, closing her eyes, throwing her head back, arch her back, and her whole body shake
She let out high-pitched moans as he kept curling them, feeling the way her hips grinded down on him
"Fuck, just right there- feels so good" He felt her rapidly clench around him. He pulled his finger out of her before she came "N-no, please"
"Shh, it's alright, hermosa. It'll feel better soon" He wiped his fingers on her thigh before discarding of all his clothes, leaving him exposed at he hovered above her
His left arm was placed beside her head, holding his weight as the other placed her leg around his hip, lining himself up with her entrance
"It's gonna sting at first, hurt even, but pleasure will take over, okay?" He kissed her cheek bone as she nodded, understanding his words "You ready?" His voice was soft as he spoke
"Mhm" She whined, arms clung around his back as he ever so slowly pushed into her, stopping now and then, letting her get adjusted to him before continuing to push
"Tell me when you're ready" He said, prepping kisses along her jaw as he had pushed all the way in, waiting for the pleasure in her body to take over the hurting sensation
A few seconds went by before she spoke up "Move, please" She said, arms loosing around him, allowing him to slowly start moving inside her
He pulled away from her neck, looking directly into her blown eyes, making sure she was okay "You're so fucking beautiful" He placed a soft kiss on her lips
She let out a loud moan when he hit the part inside her that made her see stars "Fuck, right there, Nando. Don't stop" He sped up, hutting the spot over and over again
Her nails dug into his skin, her moans filling the whole hotel room, and probably a few other
A low moan escaped his lips as she clenched around him, her orgasm nearing, still sensitive from her previous ruined orgasm
"Fuck- Nanda, please. Feels so good. I'm gonna-" She didn't finish her sentence before his name was rolling off her tongue as she came
She clenched rapidly around him, pulling him over the edge as well, holding his hips still as he came inside her, filling her up
He helped her into the shower, standing behind her, arms around her waist "Lawrence is gonna kill me" He said, kissing the wet skin on her shoulder
"Only if he finds out" She said, earning her a chuckle from the older man
Hello I would like to request some smut for dark max . For example she is trying to leave him but he does not let her also some breeding kink .
Dark max Verstappen x reader
Warnings— dark max, smut, breeding, forced pregnancy, impact play , toxic relationship, max is paranoid, dom/sub, unprotected sex
Summary: max is very paranoid that your gonna leave him, but much to his horror he’s not being paranoid cause you do try to leave him and he can’t have that, so he traps you.
Max worse fear is you leaving him, but his worse, worse fear is him being right that you were going to leave him.
That’s why he has you here now, laying naked face down on the bed with your ass tinted red and painted with Max’s handprint.
He’s gonna make sure you never leave him or have thoughts of leaving him ever again.
He’s glad he got out of his jeans cause his boxers are straining down from his bulge wanting to break out, he can’t imagine how uncomfortable it would feel with his jeans still on.
His member only grows more hearing you whimper as his hard collides with your ass harshly again, leaving it a sting that you wish didn’t make you wet.
“ oh look at this gushing needy little pussy” he chuckles deeply as one of his hands swipe over the area that wants to be touched instead of your ass. You squirm as his finger grazes your little bud as max pulls his hand back and looks at his hand glistening with your arouse, “ well look at that, I wonder…” he trails off before he firmly slaps your pussy making you shriek suprisingly at the pleasure surching through your body.
“ oh you like that, little filthy slut?” He mockingly cooes as he does it again watching with amusement as you jump and moan. He does it a couple more times before the need to feel you becomes to much.
He strips from his boxers and gets in between your legs before pulling you so your back is firmly pressed against his chest. Your legs shake from the stimulation you just had that almost made you came but feeling Max’s large member against your socking pussy made you clench.
“ I’m gonna make you regret at all the negative thoughts you have had about our relationship” he growls in your ear as his hand grips your neck to pin you against him.
Before you could blink he slams into you, groaning as you got to time to get use to it as he repeatedly thrusts into you deeply that you could feel it in your womb.
“ gonna f-fill you with my babies so you can-can fuck, never leave” he grunts, if the pleasure wasn’t making you dizzy you would of tried to pull away, not that he would let you.
“ ohhh max! Please, please” you mindlessly beg as your release creeps up, max smirks breathlessly as his nears as well. He sinks his mouth on your neck, marking the skin messily making you moan louder.
He groans as you clench on him, “ imma cum, cum in you and fill you til the brim”.
He bottoms out and cums deep in you as you pant, “ oh fuck” he growls animalistically.
He buries his head in your neck kissing it softly as he regains his senses, you whimper not having cum yet. He drops you softly and turns you around, your glassy eyes met his now soft blue eyes, “ oh schatz, you don’t deserve to cum but I can’t leave my princess suffering” he pouts.
He softly rubs your puffy red pussy making you whine as he does it softly but firm, you feel your orgasm building up again as the need to cum grows stronger.
“ you gonna cum? Yeah? Cum for me baby” he cooes as he rubs faster making you release with a whiny moan, chest rising uneven.
As you close your eyes, focusing on calming down from your high he eyes your stomach with hope. Hoping that you get pregnant and knows it’s high that you will as he has been switching your pregnancy pills with sugar fake pills.
~~~~~
“ daddy can’t wait to meet you, so can’t your mommy” Max whispers lovingly against your round stomach as you gulp nervously.
Max obsessed with your round stomach and full tits almost as obsessed with you he is, he got all that he wanted. You, and you pregnant with his child but now seeing how breath taking you look pregnant, he can’t help but want to get you pregnant with his child as soon as his first born is born.