ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

Palestinians don’t have basic humanitarian supplies. No food or clean water and the Israeli army is given luxuries. 

Never buy Garnier. Filth.

[@selintifada]

As he should he literally gagged toto

That's my goat yall

OP: i can’t complain but i will

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader; oscar piastri & driver!reader & lando norris; lando norris x oscar piastri

word count: 2.4k+

an: here’s a little bit of angst a little bit of fluff and me holding myself back from making osc x reader x lan a poly ship😭 disclaimer: this isn’t an accurate reflection of the events of the Hungary GP. i take creative liberties as usual! and sorry to lewis. it’s still a mercedes P3 i guess😭 also here are my thoughts on the race so nothing is misconstrued here. AND gif credit because it keeps disappearing!

I. I choked on such longing I couldn’t spit out

Oscar crosses the finish line in Hungary and it’s fine.

It’s fine.

Y’know, fine in the way where there’s this feeling in his chest. This thing gnawing at his insides. At his gut. And maybe it’s his helmet, maybe it’s the temperature, but there’s something on his cheeks. Heat. Something burning. Maybe.

His mind goes immediately to those clips he’d seen of Lando’s onboard in Miami. The shrill little giggles, the high-pitch of his teammates voice, the cheer of the crowd faintly in the background. Crackle hiss—

No one’s cheering for Oscar—

Tom is on the radio.

Oscar’s not stupid, not by a long shot. He can hear the strained quality of it, the forced cheerfulness.

Yeah. Oscar apologises before he can think twice about it. It just slips out of him. He thinks of you telling him— on a Tuesday night two weeks ago— that he needed to “stop saying sorry so fucking much, Oscar”. The way he’d been distracted by his name in your mouth. Oscar. Not Osc like he’s used to, or the occasional Oscie you’re prone to throw out. Oscar. Like you were serious.

Whatever. He says something to Tom that his publicist would be proud of. Waves at the grandstands. Tries not to think, not like this. I didn’t want it like this.

A sigh leeches out of him. Lando’s car is in his periphery and you’re trailing behind him as the three of you turn. The three of you on a podium… it’s a dream come true for him. But— yeah— not like this.

He’s in the car for too long. Helmet on his head, where no one can see his face. He’s okay, he thinks. He’s fine.

He thinks of being a little kid at Albert Park. Watching F1 in the living room late at night. Getting in a kart for the first time and feeling alive. And okay—

Yes, there’s a sour taste in his mouth. Words unsaid sitting on his tongue. But he’s starting to feel the smile tugging at his lips. The feeling is his chest starts to ease, just a little. Just a bit.

He’s looking up and there’s you and there’s Lando. You’re on opposite sides of the car, Lando’s reaching for him, for his hand. Clutching it tightly. Lando squeezes once, his helmet covered face bobs in a nod that says something… part of Oscar hopes it’s I’m sorry. Another part of him is mad that it may not be.

And you, well you have no idea the half hour he’s just had. But your hand is on his shoulder and then on the top of his helmet and you’re whacking it with a gusto he hadn’t expected. He thinks you might be crying. You keep reaching in through your visor to wipe at your eyes and it’s making Oscar feel sick. You’re crying and he’s sitting here feeling sorry for himself because the win wasn’t perfect.

Fuck.

So Oscar grins and he bears it.

He gets out of the car and he smooths it over until everything is okay again. Because that’s what he’s good at. Because that’s how he’s made it here. Oscar Piastri is a team player, sometimes more than he is anything else. And that’s okay, that’s fine for now, because one day, eventually, Oscar is going to be the reason they need to hire a team player. One day he’ll be the beating heart of some Formula One team and he won’t have to win a race because his teammate had to let him by—

That’s not Lando’s fault either. Lando is…

He’s Lando. Oscar gets it.

Oscar gets it more than anyone.

II. I am obsessive. I contain nothing but the replay

Lando is trying so fucking hard not to have a tantrum.

It’s this infuriating feedback loop where he thinks I had it and then something cuts in to say but Oscar deserved it and then it starts over again. It’s making Lando feel like shit, for losing, for being a bad friend, for jeopardising the relative peace of the team. He’s trying to temper the angry, selfish little spoiled brat voice in his head but it’s so fucking hard to keep that dog on a leash.

He’s trying to be okay.

He’s in the post-race room with you and he’s trying to be fine.

And okay, so he knocks the stupid second place cap to the ground in front of the camera that’s broadcasting you guys to the world. Always second. God. He’d tasted a win in Miami and it’s almost like he’s worse off for it. It’s a win or it’s nothing and it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. There’s a voice in his head that’s saying, you’re just a one trick pony, Lando. Do it again and you might be worth something.

It’s making him crazy.

He bites his tongue. Turns to look at you, lounging in the third place chair like it doesn’t matter, like you’re happy to just be on the podium.

You raise an eyebrow at him, face blank but he knows what it says anyway. Be happy for him. He would be happy for you.

Fuck, and he would—

He would. Selfless and kind above all, Oscar.

Lando frowns, his back to the lens.

Your gaze flicks from him, to the hat on the floor. Pick it up, it says. Pick it up and pretend.

Lando picks it up. He’s the one who gave Oscar the position back after all. He’s his own worst enemy right now. Not you, certainly not Oscar—

Speaking of Oscar.

He’s here. He’s holding the first place cap that Lando wants to be his, he’s putting it on his head and Lando’s okay. Lando’s fine. He’s watching the race replay and seeing Max turn into your car and he’s trying desperately to look at that, pay attention to that, and not Oscar.

Because it hurts.

Not in a good way, not the way Lando looks at him sometimes and feels some yawning sun in his chest.

Instead there’s something bitter and snarling.

Some chained, angry dog on a leash.

Lando turns, goes to sit in the chair he doesn’t want to sit in, and catches Oscar’s eye. He feels the snarling thing strain, it goes to bark, to bite. Then Oscar smiles. It’s not much— it doesn’t reach his eyes exactly. But it’s effort. It’s thank you. It’s I know what that meant.

It’s enough.

III. He forgives you, dogs are like that, so loyal

You know something is off the second that you get out of the car. This isn’t what Oscar’s maiden win is supposed to look like— or it almost is, but the picture is wrong.

It’s not ecstatic, it’s not crowds chanting his name, it’s not Oscar getting out of the car like a shot and jumping into the arms of his team.

Instead, you see grim faces plastered over with smiles, McLaren engineers huddled into groups and talking in hushed tones. Lando’s sulking, you can tell by the set of his shoulders, the way people hover around him, keeping their distance a bit. You blink— there’s something in your eyes, your nose tingling with some emotion—

Whatever. You push it aside, go to Oscar’s car before anything else, before even taking your helmet off. It's you and Lando on opposite sides and whatever the case, whatever happened out there that you're not aware of, Lando's here. Lando's sucking it up.

You find out bits and pieces over the next hour, from your race engineer, from the post-race interviews, from Lando's attitude in the cool down room. The tension between them is bleeding into everything and they orbit around each other all afternoon. They can't quite look at each other, they keep making eye contact for a split second and then letting it slide away. They keep smiling these strained things at each other. Lando keeps reaching out to touch Oscar, but always at arms length. Like an apology neither of them can quite commit to.

You know it's the team that are the issue and it's also this hurt that Lando can't quite get over, and an Oscar who is trying to just be happy but needs more time to get there.

It's making your heart ache.

You've dreamt of this, stupidly enough. Oscar on the top step of the podium, that bunny-tooth grin of his spreading and spreading. Champagne and confetti. You're there, of course you're there. Lando is too. So it's painful to have that dream actualised and to realise it's not perfect— because, well, nothing ever is.

And it's fucking unfortunate.

But it's them. So it's fine.

You're baffled by that sometimes. You still hold grudges against old teammates. There are things you'll never forgive them for, wounds that will never heal. But you come back from your frustratingly long debrief and find them doubled over outside their driver's room, giggling their heads off at something. It's not perfect, there's still something between them, something in the air.

But they're trying.

And Oscar is smiling wider than you've seen in a long while.

So for Oscar's sake you push it aside—

It's always a little different away from prying eyes, away from rolling cameras, in front of which you feel pressure to act like Oscar and Lando are first and foremost your rivals. When they're gone they can just be your friends. Your boys.

Naturally, you're thudding into Oscar before he really notices you're there. Too busy throwing his head back at something Lando had said. He's still in champagne wet fireproofs as you reach your arms around his shoulders, but so are you. He smells vaguely like a wet dog and lets out a soft oft noise as you charge into him.

"Hey, race winner," you say as he threads his arms around your waist.

You put your forehead on his collarbone, close your eyes as a laugh flutters out of him. You hear it rumble in his chest as he rocks the two of you gently from side to side. It's giggly, light and joyful like the one he does when he's tipsy. But he's not tipsy, just happy you think.

"Race winner," he mumbles, low, quiet, to himself more than anything, "Yeah."

"Yeah," you whisper back.

You're like that maybe for too long. Longer than people who are just friends should be. You can hear Lando moving around behind you, asphalt grinding under his feet. His gaze prickling the back of your neck. Eventually, you pull away. You slide your hands to grip Oscar's shoulders, fingertips pressing into warm skin, lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. Accidentally, your lips land too close to the corner of his mouth, brushing against stubble and sweat. You hear something soft escape his lips, barely audible as his brown eyes bore into yours. Pupils blown large, gaze drifting momentarily down to your lips.

"Good job today, Osc," you say, trying not to let your breath hitch.

You pull away a little before he does something in the heat of the moment— and right in front of Lando, of all people. He's high on adrenaline, that's all. That's all.

"Thank you," he smiles, all teeth.

You feel hot all the way down your neck, into your chest. Hm, premature menopause, you think, rather than the obvious— which is that it makes you mega nervous to be that close to Oscar Piastri.

Lando clears his throat.

In a jerky, surprised movement you step away from Oscar, while Oscar fumbles awkwardly for his phone in his pocket. He holds it up, says something stumbling about calling his family and then takes only maybe five steps away before you or Lando can say a thing.

You laugh, just a little.

Then do a pleased little spin to face Lando.

Who seems better, lighter. At least in comparison to how he was immediately post-race. Which you’re glad to see. Especially after catching bits of his team radio from a brief conversation with George. You’re not particularly happy about it, but it’s not really your place to be upset.

“Hey,” you smile warmly.

He smiles back, tighter than you’d hoped.

You move a bit closer into his personal space, watching him carefully. It’s okay you think. He’s more subdued than usual, but you can’t see the seething thing that was under his skin earlier. That would be fine of course, he’s entitled to that, but his sake you’re glad it’s gone.

“You okay?”, you ask.

Lando nods, eyes falling closed momentarily as he hums contemplatively, “‘M okay. Happy for him.”

You nod, stepping closer to pull him into a one armed hug that’s not quite as energetic as the one you’d given Oscar before.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, pressing the side of your face into his cheek, “Upset too?”

He hums again, sighs, “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Yeah,” because you get it,

Maybe not in these exact circumstances. But you know what it’s like. To chase a win with everything you have, to fall short after it’s been in your grasp. You understand that. So does Oscar—

Speaking of.

Oscar’s back, footsteps crunching asphalt behind you.

“They’re asleep,” he explains, “I’ll talk to them later.”

You half let Lando go, moving to accommodate the race winner into your little circle. They’re a bit weird about it, shuffling into place awkwardly, you’re not surprised after a day like today, but you persevere— wrapping arms around both of them and pulling them simultaneously down into a haphazard hug that you’re in the middle of.

Lando’s face is in your neck somehow, mumbling something about you being overbearing while his hand clutches at your waist to keep himself upright. Oscar’s arm is tight around your shoulders and your face is squished up against his chest. You squeeze tightly— let them go when it’s been a minute too long—

You can feel yourself almost getting caught up in the tangle of limbs. The warmth of your friends. The emotion of it. You think there’s something stuck in your eye again, something wet in your tear ducts.

You sniff, try to ignore it, hope they don’t see.

Then, stupid observant Oscar, “Are you crying?”

You let out an offended noise and shake your head to deny it, but instead something that’s almost a sob, but not quite, slips out—

“No,” you declare, but it’s unconvincing—

and then you’re back in the hug. All sweat and sticky champagne residue, Lando’s too-strong cologne and Oscar who smells like burnt rubber. And it’s not perfect, because nothing ever is, but it’s enough for you.

this was really cathartic for me to be honest. just needed my little driver!reader to hug landoscar after that race. needed to get some big feelings out and then needed a sweet little fluff section to make me feel better.

ALSO DISCLAIMER: this was a work of FICTION it does not reflect the entirety of what i feel about the events of the hungary gp. i am simply playing with dolls! thank you and goodbye!

elijah hewson bf headcanons

a/n: im obsessed with this man and this band.

loves to lay his head in your lap while he plays his guitar, figuring out chord patterns for a new song hes writing

all the songs he writes are about you (duh), you're his muse. the boys constantly tease him for it but he loves it

has the cutest face when he's concentrated and you love it

loves to hold your hand, have his hands wrapped around your waist, hands on your lower back. any sort of touch

immediately finds you in the crowd and sings directly to you. he loves seeing you dance around in the back of the pit

rockstar bf x rockstar gf like its a must

wears on of your rings on a chain when you can't be at a show ( which is rare). loves to have a reminder of you

him and the boys are always asking for your feedback on new songs. you're always the one to hear it first

brings you on stage to sing a verse of a song with him. its giving "about you" vibes

going out to pubs just to show you off

still gets super nervous and flustered around you. even tho he is a major major flirt

going on tour with the band is your favorite thing ever, from joking with them on the tour bus to dancing at the venue

forever takes photobooth pictures with you. they always end up with him kissing all over your face. he keeps them everywhere, in his wallet, in his phone case, wherever he can

def friends to lovers, took him wayyy to long to make a move, but when he finally did he couldnt keep away from you

loves when you play with his curls. he knows how much you adore them and he loves you raking your fingers through it

TRADITIONS AND VALUES | THEODORE NOTT

SUMMARY: You spend Christmas Eve with your boyfriend and his family. WORD COUNT: 8715 NOTES: Just warning you all, this really is a sickeningly self-indulgent romanticised softy Theo and I make no apologies.

The Internazionale di Roma Floo Station was busier than you’d expected, even if it was the crack of dawn on Christmas Eve. People were rushing from one place to another, some with suitcases, others with stacks of presents so tall they couldn't see around them, some dragging wailing children, and others holding signs. You’d yet to even take a step off the platform itself before someone was shouldering past you, mumbling as they rushed by you in a hurry, and you sighed.

Lifting your bag back onto your shoulder, you made your way down the platform towards the collections point, nerves ricocheting higher and higher with every step you took. The floo station in Italy was warmer than London had been, and you loosened the scarf around your neck to let it hang open. The moment you cleared border checks and registration, gathering your wand on the other side and smiling at a not-so-smiley security officer, you searched for Theo. 

It didn’t take long to find him, not as you searched through the crowds of people gathered with signs, leaning against a pillar, bundled in a thick coat and looking adorably sleepy. At your call of his name, his head snapped up, peering around with juxtaposing alertness and locking his gaze on you as you hurried towards him. 

Perhaps it had only been a week or so since you’d last seen him, but it felt like months, as you crashed into your boyfriend’s arms and buried yourself in his embrace once again. 

“Oh, bella, mi sei mancato così tanto.” He murmured, his face pressed into your hair as he kissed across to your temple. 

“I missed you, Teddy.” Your words were muffled as you were crushed to his chest, holding him just as tightly as he was holding you. Blocking out the hustle and bustle of the International Floo Station around you, you took a deep breath, drawing in the smell of him and sighing happily. Letting him go after another breath, he tucked hair out of your eyes, cupping your cheeks when they were unobstructed, and leaning down to kiss you. 

His mouth was warm, and he tasted like coffee and sugary pastries, a flavour you licked from his lower lip as he smiled into the kiss. You were practically melting against him, the racing of your heart calming as his lips soothed away any anxieties you’d previously been harbouring. Running your hands up his forearms slowly, you took his hands in your own, and stepped back.

“You got coffee?”

“In the car.” He smiled, eyes still closed as his head rested on your own. “Proper, Italian coffee. The best kind.”

“Tastes good already.” You teased, and he pulled back, a smirk on his face as his arm slung over your shoulders, tucking you securely into his side. 

“Feel free to have another sample.” He whispered, stealing another kiss from your lips as he reached across your body with his other hand. Taking your bag from your shoulder, his eyes widened as the weight of it almost dragged him down to the ground, rattling and clinking as it went. “Merda, what do you have in here?”

“Gifts for your family! I wasn’t going to show up empty-handed!” 

He peered inside, shaking his head as he stared into the darkness within. “Another extension charm? No wonder it took you so long to clear security.”

“It’s a legal one!”

“Mhm.”

“It is!” You insisted, reaching to snatch for your bag again but he only rolled his eyes, hauling it up onto his shoulder and guiding you out of the busy station. Theo gave a tired hum as he directed you towards the car, a large SUV with plush leather seats, charmed to stay warm, as you settled inside. Plucking up one of the coffees, you spun it around, noting your order on the front, and taking a sip as Theo packed your bag into the back. 

The caffeine rush it gave you was the boost you needed, sending a jolt of warm energy through your body, and as Theo climbed into the driver’s seat, you twisted your head to look at him. “You got my coffee order right.”

“Of course I did.” He scoffed, like it was the simplest thing in the world, and as he started the car, you reached over and placed your hand atop his. He flipped his palm, bringing your wind-chilled fingers up to his lips to place a kiss against your knuckles. As he returned your hand to the gearstick, he settled his own over the top, and began the drive. 

“So, why is it that we’re driving?” You asked, breaking the comfortable silence you’d been in for the last half an hour or so, watching the cityscape melt into frost-covered countryside. 

“My family is excited to meet you, some of them are already up and crowded in the family room by the floo waiting for you. So I snuck out to the garage and thought I’d drive to come and get you so we could spend a little time together first.”

“Oh, Teddy. You’re getting soft on me.” You smiled, and he reached over, squeezing one of your thighs and smirking. 

“Or, maybe, I just intend to pull over to the side of the road and fuck you stupid before we even have breakfast.”

“Don’t be so crude.” You pinched the back of his hand, which only earned you a harder squeeze to your thigh, and a cheeky laugh. “I intend to make a good first impression on your family, and showing up thoroughly-fucked would not help with that.”

“Well, at least you admit it would’ve been fantastic.” He sighed a laboured exhale, like he was pained to concede the hypothetical sex, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t think they’d care even if you did, for the record. When I say they’re very excited to meet you, I mean it.”

“That doesn’t make me any less nervous.” Came your muttered response, and this time, he turned to look at you for a little longer. 

“I don’t think you understand, bella. They already love you, because they know how much I love you. They’ve been bugging me to bring you home since last year, and I’ve already told them all about you. They don’t have any expectations of you, they just want to know the girl who makes me so happy.”

Your lips pressed together, hiding a soft sound from escaping and watching the roads disappear under the signs as you tried to process what to say, “Theo…” Was all you managed to muster in five whole minutes, and he laughed again gently. 

“Amore mio, I just want you to enjoy today. I only get one day with you, so I want us to make the most of it.” Your stomach twisted at his words, keeping your response to yourself, and choosing instead to pick his hand up. You kissed his knuckles, rubbing your cheek on his hand as he smiled. “Just… do your best to enjoy it, yeah? I want to show you what Christmas in Italy is all about.”

“Okay, Teddy. I can do that.”

“That’s my girl.”

“I think you may actually have more Christmas trees than Hogwarts.” You teased as the car slowly pulled up in front of a large stately home. The driveway you’d just finished travelling up had been lined with sparkling Christmas trees, the snow decorating them and glistening in the rising sun. 

Theo sighed, parking the car and shutting off the engine, staring at the largest Christmas tree yet, sitting in the centre of the forecourt. “I know. Nonna goes big on Christmas, there’s even more inside.”

“How many are there?”

“Thirty-six,” Theo rubbed a hand over his jaw, “Counted them myself.”

“Thirty-six Christmas trees?” Your jaw dropped, and he shook his head in matching disbelief. “Which one do you put your presents under?”

“Funny you should ask that.” His grimace turned to a smile, eyes going a little cloudy as he stared off across the driveway. “When I was younger, my mother used to hide one of my Christmas presents under every single one, and I got to spend all day going around to find them.”

You reached across the car, taking his hand and lacing your fingers through his. He squeezed, coming back to the present a moment later, as his mind returned from his memories. “I bet you were so cute, running around in your little festive pyjamas hunting for presents.”

“I was the cutest. My Aunt Allessandra already got the baby albums out for you.”

“Most people don’t boast about baby photos, you know that, right?” 

His grin was arrogant, “Most people weren’t as adorable as I was. You know some babies are really ugly? Not me, I was—”

“Theo, you can’t call babies ugly!” You smacked his arm, shaking your head at his cackled laughter as you climbed out of the car. He followed suit, closing his door loudly and racing to the back to nudge you out of the way before you could take your bag. 

“C’mon, you know it’s true. Anyways, it’s not like you have to worry about that. Your babies will be adorable, because—” You cupped a hand over his mouth, giving him a warning glare, and he only winked through smothered laughter. Slipping your hand away, he pressed a fleeting kiss to your palm as it left, and scooped up your bag from the car. “Fine. No baby talk from me. Can’t promise about the rest of the family. Nonna wants us to get married by the—”

“Ah! Meraviglioso, they’re here!” A feminine voice called from the large front doors, ones you hadn't even noticed had opened, and you stiffened as Theo’s eyes widened. Several other voices joined the other, footsteps getting closer, and his shock morphed into a small smile.

“Here we go, amore.”

Stepping aside, Theo hardly even had a chance to greet his family before hands were cupping your cheeks, warmed by the indoors and soft as they held you. “Oh, you are so beautiful! Bellisima!”  

“Auntie Allie…” He scoffed, nudging her back, but it wasn’t long before other relatives of his were gathering around too. Two of his aunts and three of his cousins, all chattering between English and Italian, admiring and complimenting, you could guess, based on how pink Theo’s cheeks were going. 

One of his male cousins said something that made him scowl and elbow him in the ribs, before he was reaching through the others and taking your hand. Tugging you closer to his side; an action which settled your nerves but only increased the volume of adoring coos the two of you were afforded. 

“We made big plans for today.” One of his aunts —Giulia, you were sure— informed you, touching your arm lightly as Theo steered you towards the house. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that…”

“Sì, Auntie Gi, I told you not to go overboard with this!” Theo groaned, and she shushed him with a wave of her hand. 

“Yes, yes, you did. But we decided otherwise. Your girl deserves a full Italian Christmas and she’s going to get one!” A blush covered your cheeks, you could feel it rage even hotter the moment you stepped over the threshold and into the warmed house. As you did, an elderly elf wearing a pink knitted hat, a floral apron and one sock appeared, holding out her hands. 

“Cappotto!” She demanded, snapping her fingers, and Theo shrugged off his coat quickly and handed it to her. You followed suit, and she left with a soft huff and a pop. 

“That is Miffy. She runs the rest of the elves here with an iron rod. She put on her special occasion sock for you.”

“One sock?”

“Yes, she’s very particular about it. Says wearing two socks makes her too warm.” He rolled his eyes, hefting your bag higher up on his shoulder. 

“Sounds like you with your leg sticking out of the covers every night.”

“Did you just compare me to a house elf?” He gaped, and you shrugged, grinning at him over your shoulder as you followed the rest of his family further into the house. You were guided past several open rooms, before arriving in a large, open-plan sitting room. 

Some of his family were already gathered around, sipping from mugs of tea and coffee, a table laid out with breakfast pastries and food piled high. A group of young children were sitting around the tree and poking at the piles of gifts stacked there. Beside them, sat an older lady, enchanted knitting needles surrounding her as she used the set in her hands to knit far slower into a more interesting design. As one little finger tugged on a bow, she raised her brow and poked the giggling toddler lightly with one of her needles. 

“That’s Nonna?” You whispered as Theo came to your side, and he placed your bag down beside the closest table, nodding his head. 

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone else, but I want you to officially meet her first.”

His hand pressed on your lower back, guiding you across the room, and as you got close, the knitting needles, floating on command, all slowed to a stop. She lowered the ones in her hands to her lap, her gaze running over you as appraised you, and your hands locked nervously in front of your body, fiddling with your fingers. 

“Nonna, this is my girlfriend.”

“Well, obviously, Theodore.” She drawled, shaking her head at him, and he bit back a smile. Her attention shifted back to you, and she smiled at you. Holding up her knitting, she proffered the half-finished square pattern. “This colour, do you like it? And no flattery, I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”

A laugh escaped you, and you nodded, pinching the soft fabric between two fingers. “It’s a nice shade of purple. My second favourite, even.”

“Second favourite?”

“I like a lighter purple too.” She hummed, snapping her fingers and a basket of other wools floated over to you both from the corner. She rooted through it, before producing a lavender shade, “Like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

“Good choice. I like it too.” She added it to her current pile of wool to use. “My Theodore tells me you are a smart and kind girl. He speaks very highly of you.”

She patted the chair beside her, and you sat down in it, turning to face her, “I hope he’s not set the bar too high about me.” 

“No, he set it just right. He deserves someone good, my grandson. He deserves the best.”

“I know.” You whispered, and Theo scuffed his feet against the floor. 

“Nonna…”

“Go, Theodore. Get breakfast, you must eat.” She waved him away, and after lingering for only a moment longer, he did as told, leaving the two of you alone. “He loves you very much.”

“I love him too.” Your words rushed from you, assuring her of as much, and she patted your hand with a fond expression.

“You’ll make sure he’s happy.”

“I promise, I’ll—”

“It was not a question. You will make him happy. You already do.” She confirmed, and your lips pressed together, chin wobbling a little as you nodded. It was a promise, all you needed to say, and she squeezed your hand reassuringly as she understood it. “He was sad for a long time, but you make him smile.”

With that, Theo was returning, perching himself on the arm of the chair you were sitting on and passing you a plate that was stacked high. On it were all of your breakfast favourites from the spread, everything you would’ve picked for yourself as well as his preferences, and he dropped a kiss on the top of your head. 

“So,” He directed his raised voice to the rest of the room, glancing out across his family, “What busy schedule have you all conjured up for us, then?”

As you ate the breakfast provided, his family excitedly told you all of the plans they had for the day. You also made it through introductions, doing your best to commit the names and faces of every enthusiastic family member to your memory. You were just finishing up a conversation with his youngest uncle when Miffy appeared once again, informing you all with a bossy kind of voice that in order to stay on schedule, it was time to leave. 

Several elves appeared, laden down with coats, hats and scarves as they handed them out, and the room jumped into action. Tugging you up from the chair, Theo helped you into your coat, before wrapping a spare scarf around your neck, and leaving a kiss on your cheek before bundling himself up too. The movement of the family was dizzying, and you simply opted to follow along, until you were being ushered through the large floo in the family room fireplace, hand clasped in Theo’s as his voice wrapped in perfect Italian around your first location. 

A tug behind your navel, a flash of blinding green fire, and you were stepping out into the cold of a busy and bustling street. 

The first stop of the day was the Italian street markets. You’d encountered similar, and at first glance, it all felt so very much like home. You’d spent many a Christmas wandering the wooden huts of the Trafalgar Square Christmas Markets back in London, and a grin crawled onto your face at the comfort of it.  

Then, a loud screeching sounded just to your right, melting away into coordinated music as a walking band of bagpipe players passed you by, and Theo laughed in your ear by your side as you clutched a hand to your chest. 

“It’s not funny, Nott! That scared the lights out of me!”

“It was kinda’ funny. You should’ve seen your face. You were all awestruck and starry-eyed and then you looked like that time Draco jumped out at you with those plastic Muggle fangs in his mouth on Hallows Eve.” He clutched his stomach in contrast, head tipping back with laughter, and you nudged him in the ribs, even as his amusement brought a smile to your own lips. 

“I’ll implore you to remember what happened to Draco when he laughed at me.” Your threat was only met with a smirk and hooded eyes as he tipped his head back down, tempering his laughter.

“Oh, but you wouldn't hex your boyfriend at Christmas, would you?” His lips brushed yours as he tipped your chin up. “You don’t want this lovely face disfigured, do you? You’re the one who has to kiss it.”

“Cut it out.” You whispered, blushing, as he pecked the edge of your mouth, “This is a family event.”

“I’m aware.” He murmured, sealing it with a chaste kiss to your lips and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Alright, there’s lots I want to show you and definitely not enough time for it all. Where do you want to start?”

“You tell me.”

“Let’s go.” He beamed, guiding you after his family as the group began to move, idling to the left and in trail of the procession of bagpipe players that had gone on ahead.

You wandered from stall to stall, looking at crafts and ornaments ad freshly made goods. There was a certain kind of cheerful energy in the air that only came around at Christmastime, and you soaked up very second of festive cheer that you could. 

Theo plied you with treats at every opportunity, and his pockets started to become laden down with purchases neither of you needed, until he bought a hand-stitched bag at one stall and slung it over his shoulder just to carry everything the pair of you had been purchasing. 

Slowly, the group split off, members of the family forming smaller groups to go off to each of their own activities and interests. As you continued exploring, you passed by what appeared to be a nativity scene, set up full-size, behind fences with small sheep and animals wandering around inside. 

“This is lovely.” You turned to Theo, and he smiled at your words. 

“This is the village Presepe.”

“Presepe?” You echoed, “I thought it was a Nativity scene.”

“A Presepe is a nativity scene, really. It’s the tradition to build one in the home, it’s important, it reminds us of the Christmas story. In my family, we dedicate a whole evening to building one. Ours is in the library, we like it to be somewhere quiet where we can reflect on and admire it.” You wrapped your arms around on of his, leaning your cheek on his shoulder, and his head rested on top of yours. “But, I also used to have a small one in my dorm at Hogwarts. You’ve seen it.”

“I never knew what it was, though. I mean, I didn’t know it meant so much, I thought it was just your general Christmas decorations.”

“It is, technically—”’

“No,” You cut him off, “It’s more important than that. I’ll remember for next year.”

He smiled at that, and the pair of you took a few more minutes to admire the scene, before moving on. Hours seemed to pass by as the two of you slipped into your own little world, soaking up all of the time you had together and huddling close in the cold, wintery air. 

You wouldn't trade these times for the world. As doting as Theo was, as loving and devoted, these times when the two of you were alone and you were reminded. Reminded, that he wasn’t just someone you were attracted to or loved, but that he was also your best friend in every way, someone you could confide in and trust and rely on. 

He was your whole world, and spending time with him, in a place that was his whole world, meant all the more to you. Something you were sure you wouldn't be able to express with words, so you indulged his every whim instead, and committed it all to memory. 

You were still stuffed up from the fresh struffoli Theo had offered to you not long ago, feeding you bites from the shared tray before he’d ordered you another one. Unlike him, who seemed to eat endlessly and always still be hungry, you didn’t possess such a talent, and you were ready for a drink to wash it down, when he turned to you with a handful of more sweet treats. 

“Try this, bella.”

“Just a bite.” You sighed, unable to say no to the adorable look on his face as he brought over what looked like a piece of fruitcake. 

“Just a bite? Don’t be silly. You need more than one bite to appreciate this panettone.” He lifted it to your lips, and you parted them, his eyes sparkling as he watched you take a bite. He followed soon after, crumbs dropping to the floor between you both as he finished off the slice in a single mouthful. His cheeks puffed up like a hamster, and you raised your eyebrows as you chewed slowly, savouring the delicious treat. “What? You said you just wanted a bite!”

Your lips pressed further together and your hand covered your mouth to muffle a laugh as he spat crumbs everywhere while speaking. His cheeks turned red, and he shook his head fondly as he attempted to finished the excessive amount of food in his mouth. 

“Careful, you two.” His cousin Maria grinned as she passed by, clapping Theo on the back as he choked down the treat. “Don’t eat too much, or you’ll ruin your appetite for the Feast later.”

“We’ll be fine, we’re indulging.” Theo scoffed, patting his stomach. “Tanto spazio, non preoccuparti.” 

Your brows furrowed as Maria tipped her head back and laughter, Theo preening with pride at amusing his cousin as he joined her. As she ambled on ahead, still chatting to Theo in Italian, you took the time to admire one of the intricate craft stalls opposite the bakery stand. 

Picking up a small glass trinket, you hung the bauble from your finger, watching the glittery item twirl before you and reflect the stark winter daylight in beautiful colours. “How much?” You asked, smiling at the vendor, who rubbed his chin. 

“Ti piace?”

Your lips parted but no words came out, as you realised for the first time that without Theo, you were a little lost. Tapping it with your finger, you floundered for words, feeling more than ignorant and beyond embarrassed at your inability for simple communication for the first time today. It struck you, with a startling shock, that his family had been making the effort to speak to you in English, and you’d taken it for granted. 

Swallowing back the clog of emotion in your throat, you coughed lightly, putting it down and pulling out your purse. Opening it up to the Muggle notes of Italian cash that you’d converted before leaving London, you offered him a handful. The vendor chuckled, taking the money from you and counting out just two of the notes, before passing the rest back. “Inglese? English?” He prompted, and you nodded, feeling the odd urge to apologise as he counted out coins and gave you a handful of those as change too. 

“Yes. Uhm, sí.” You fumbled, cursing internally for how clumsy you sounded, but the older man merely smiled at you. 

“Have a good day.” He spoke slowly, and it pained you not to be able to even return the simple kindness. Instead, you pointed at him. 

“E tu.” There were a few small words here and there that you’d picked up from Theo over the years, and you could only hope you’d said something that made sense. By the look on his face, you’d at least managed to do that correctly. Pocketing your purse and your change, the man handed you your carefully wrapped ornament, and cheerfully gave you a goodbye as you stepped away, searching for Theo in the crowds. 

He wasn’t far ahead, talking to his Nonna but his eyes were on you, and his face broke into a smile as your eyes met. Your mood seemed to thaw again at the sight of him, your heart warming the inside of your chest and spreading the feeling out through your body as you walked back to his side. 

He held out his hand, and you took it, lacing your gloved fingers through his as he tugged you closer. “Nonna was just suggesting we go to the Tombola. It’s cold out here, and we can go inside and warm up. What do you think?”

“I think that sounds fun… what is it?”

Nonna chuckled, patting your arm. “You have heard of bingo, sí?”

“Oh, yes!” You cheered, and she clicked her fingers. 

“Ah, it is like bingo. You will enjoy, my dear. Come, come.” She offered you her arm, and you accepted it eagerly, letting her slowly guide the three of you through the town centre you’d been circling for the last couple of hours, to the Town Hall sitting squarely in the middle. 

She was right, it was much warmer inside, and you queued up with the few members of the Nott family that had come to join to check your coats. You tucked your scarf and gloves into your pockets hastily, handing the bundle over to the woman and letting Theo do the talking as he gave his name and took his tag. 

You were rubbing your cooled hands together when he took one in his own, threading your hands together and squeezing happily as you joined the crowded hall filled with people. Finding a place to sit, you all hemmed yourselves in around the table, swiping up sheets and markers before the next round began. Theo leaned over to get a peek at your card, and you pressed it to your chest, causing him to pull back, surprised.

“Let me see.”

“No! Get your own, this is my card!” You held it tighter to your chest as he tried to steal it from you, his jaw dropping. 

“You want to be on separate teams? I can’t believe this.” He feigned heartbreak, head hanging, and you giggled at his dramatics. Dipping down and into his eye-line, he stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated put. “I can’t believe you’re abandoning me like this, and here I thought you loved me! Oh, il dolore…”

“Oh, hush your whinging. Two teams means double the chance to win prizes.”

His lip slipped back into place, his eyebrows crawling up his forehead, and then his face broke with amusement. “My cunning little snake, I’m rubbing off on you. I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

“What, just the one reason?”

“Well, I could start to list them all,” He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear, “But I’m afraid we would run out of time.”

Taking his jaw in your hand, you smacked a kiss onto his cheek, his face scrunching up happily. “Ti amo, Theo.”

“I love you too, bella.” He reached across the table, swiping up a card and his own marker. Pulling your chair closer to his, he stretched his arm along the back of your seat and pressed you into his side. 

“Hey, Theo?” You felt his responding hum against the top of your head as his fingers wove into your hair, rubbing lightly. “What’s ‘the Feast’ later?”

He pulled back enough to be able to see you, twisting strands of hair around his fingers. “Oh, the Feast of Seven Fishes. It’s a special meal at Christmas.”

“Oh, like Christmas dinner!” He dipped his chin in a nod, and you took the information on board, “You don’t do Christmas dinner, then?”

“‘Course we do.” He chuckled at you, “But, on Christmas Day. It’s Christmas Eve, so this is a Christmas Eve tradition.”

You knew inside Theo didn’t intend to make you feel at a disadvantage with the way he said it, but that didn’t stop you feeling that way. Once again, another small thing made you feel like you were inexperienced and behind the rest. At your lack of response, Theo tilted his head, his eyes searching your own. You distracted him with a kiss to his cheek, facing yourself back to the front of the room as a little old lady took the stage, bringing attention to the game that was just beginning.

Taking back your coat, Theo untangled himself from you to begin fastening one of his baby cousins into her coat. Yours was handed back to you, and you smiled appreciatively at the woman behind the desk. Taking your scarf out and wrapping it around your neck, you shrugged on your coat. Buttoning it up for warmth, at last, you patted your pockets down for your gloves as you made your way over to Theo and the group. 

Both pockets came up empty, and you shoved your hands inside, rooting into the empty spaces to confirm. At some point, your gloves must’ve fallen out, but between the crowds gathering around the coatcheck desk and your lack of ability to communicate, you decided against making a bumbling effort to retrieve them. Writing them off, you left your hands curled up in your pockets as your boyfriend’s hand found your lower back, guiding you outside. 

As you listened, he promised his family that the pair of you would reunite with them soon, you’d meet them at the pub floo you’d all entered through, but apparently, you had one more thing to do. At your raised brow, Theo quickly guided you towards the edges of the markets, where a small group was beginning to form, gathered around… nothing, you could see, as you got closer.

“It’s almost time to go home.” Theo offered, and you nodded, silently relieved as your freezing hands clenched inside your pockets, joints aching from the cold exposure. “Just one more thing I want us to do. Do you have your wand on you?”

Your head snapped up, noticing the smaller group you’d been assembled into on the edges of the town, and realising they all had their wands out too. “I-I don’t. I left it in my bag at yours, I didn’t know I would need it—”

“It’s okay, you can share mine.” He soothed, and he placed the smooth Hawthorn wand into your palm, his hand wrapping around your own and his back pressing to your chest. His other arm snaked around your middle, his chin propped on your shoulder. Only moments later, you were once again left steeped in confusion as he began to swirl your joined hands in the execution of a spell you didn’t know, reciting the charmed Italian with words you did not know, to cast an enchantment that you did not know. 

The scene before you was breathtaking, swirls of coloured mist and sparks from all the group gathered around, bundling into a soft ball of light in the centre of the group, growing from a mere sparkling pinprick to something the size of a golfball, spinning with every addition of magic and power. When the group chanting ended, the small ball pressed itself smaller and smaller, before zooming off into the sky and disappearing into the grey clouds in a blink. 

“Wow…” You murmured, turning to Theo, “What was—”

His lips pressed to yours firmly, his arms around you keeping you close as he placed a single, heavy kiss onto our mouth. “That, was an ancient tradition. Wizarding world special. Instead of mistletoe, you cast a spell with the person you love in a pledge for a happy and joyful Christmas. My mum used to bring me when I was a kid, and I… I wanted to bring you.”

“Oh, Teddy…” Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in until your eyes could flutter closed and your forehead was pressed to his. “That is so sweet. I’ve never heard of such a tradition before.”

“I’m not surprised.” He huffed to himself bemusedly, trapped in a joke only he understood. “Come on, let's get your home, your hands are freezing. Where are your gloves?”

“Think I lost them along the way somewhere.” You deflected, and he shrugged. The rest of his family were beginning to round up too, and none too soon, you were all piling once again back into a floo to Nott Manor. Unloading your coat to another excitable but demanding house elf, you guided yourself back through to the living room where the fires were still roaring. The youngest of the children sprinted past you, and you leaned down to gather your bag in the meantime. 

In the background, you could hear Theo’s family chatting away, laughter and love filling the halls in a way that was so homely and comforting, and you guided yourself over to the Christmas tree already stacked high with presents underneath, spilling out in mountains from beneath. 

Sinking to your knees, you opened up your bag, diving elbow-deep into the extended insides and beginning to pull out the few, carefully wrapped presents you’d brought with you. In the dining room, you could hear glasses clinking and corks popping, as preparations for the Feast you’d only just learned about took place.  

That clawing, suffocating sense of embarrassment was back as you let slip a sigh, running a finger over the wrapping paper covered in small Santa hats that you’d used to wrap the gifts for the younger children. It felt so out of place now, utterly ridiculous, as you remembered hearing so many children running around the markets talking about La Befana, before eventually needing Theo to explain. You contemplated whether it was too late to find some other kind of paper and rewrap them.

With a shake of your head, your resolve weakened, fingers trembling as you picked at the red ribbon wrapped around it. “What’s wrong, amore?”

Theo startled you from being so lost in your thoughts, and you whipped around to see him standing over you, a concerned look on his face. At your hesitation, he lowered himself down to sit crosslegged before you.

“Nothing, baby. I’m all good, just putting a few presents under your tree.”

He watched you place the final gift on the small stack you’d added, before taking your hand in his, his thumb tracing your knuckles. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve gone all quiet.” He whispered, “What’s wrong, are you homesick?”

“No, not at all. I’m having a wonderful time.” You reassured him, squeezing his hand in your own. 

“But you’re sad.”

“No, I’m not—” He gave you a look, one you were familiar with after a year together, pressing you for the truth and you caved faster than you’d have liked. Your voice cracked as you spoke quietly once again, “I feel like an idiot, Theo.”

“What are you talking about, bella? Why would you feel that way, I don’t understand?”

“I should’ve been more prepared. I’ve come to spend Christmas with your family, and you’ve all been so kind all day, and spoken my language because I don’t even know yours! I have been so behind at every step with your traditions and customs, I feel so selfish because I should’ve done more research into today, so that I could share it with you properly, but I didn’t!” Your eyes stung, and you tore your gaze away from his, “I’m sorry, Teddy.”

Theo cupped your cheek, a sad sound escaping him as he pressed kisses all over the side of your face you allowed him access to, as he tried to coax you to face him once again. “Listen to me, amore. Please? I didn’t expect you to know anything at all, you were here to learn, that was the whole point! I’ve had so much fun teaching you. I got to share everything with you and relive the magic of it by re-experiencing it all with you of the first time.”

His words did their job, easing some of the discomfort you’d been feeling, and you finally gave in, looking back up to him as he smiled, bumping his nose with your own lovingly. 

“As for the English, in my family, we’re taught English alongside Italian since we started learning to talk at all. We all go to Hogwarts, and some of my family spend more of the year in London or Paris or other places than here at all, meaning Italian isn’t even our main language even if it is our first. It’s not something to stress about, I swear.” He gave you a quick but reassuring kiss, rubbing his thumb across your cheek as you smiled. “But if you want to learn Italian, I’ll teach you. I’d love to, but I never wanted you to feel forced to.”

“I’d like that.” You whispered, stealing a kiss too, and a little of that light came back to his face as you did. 

“You know, I didn’t really know anything about English Christmas traditions until I started Hogwarts. Don’t you remember? You all had to teach me in first year.”

You cast your mind back, trying to remember the fuzzy memories of your friends from so long ago. “You caught on quick.”

“I’m a fast learner.” Theo teased playfully. “Please don’t let yourself feel down, because this day has been perfect for me, and I want you to remember it that way too.”

Your shoulders sagged, leaning into his hug, and you tried your best to let the last of your worries slip away. Theo’s hands rubbed up and down your back, and you melted a little more into his embrace. 

“Ahem.” Theo’s uncle Marco coughed dramatically, and Theo groaned in your ear as he twisted his head on your shoulder to look at him. 

“What? Can’t you see we’re having a moment here? Vaffanculo.”

“Now, now, Theo. What would Nonna say if I told her what you just said?” He grinned, and Theo lifted a hand to make a gesture you didn’t allow, clasping his hand and lowering it back down. His uncle smirked, putting his hands on his hips, “Sorry to interrupt your moment, but it’s time to eat.”

He left before Theo could respond, and you clambered to your feet, brushing yourself off and offering him your hands. He took them, letting you pull him to his feet before he was checking in on you one more time, and seeing something that must’ve reassured him, taking you through to the dining room for dinner. 

“Can you tell me about Snata?” One of the toddlers, Romeo, asked. He climbed up beside you and Theo on the couch, uncaring of the meal you’d just stuffed yourselves with as he climbed over Theo, stepping on his stomach before sitting himself in your lap. Looking up at you expectantly, the three-year-old frowned at your stunned expression. “Satna.” He demanded, leaning in closer. 

“It’s Santa, idiota.” Another small voice chimed in.

“Hey!” Theo scooped up the other boy, Aldo, and folded him into his arms tightly, shaking his head as the young boy squirmed in the hug and pushed a sticky hand against Theo’s jaw. “That’s not nice, you don’t call people that. Do you want La Befana to bring you presents tonight?”

“Sí.” He grumbled out with added an apology to his brother, and Theo nodded, ruffling his hair as the boy turned to look at you from his perch in his cousin’s lap. He stuck his thumb into his mouth, and leaned to rest his head on Theo’s chest as he prepared to listen. Another little hand landed on you arm, and you found Adriana, their sister, has settled herself in beside you. 

“You want to know about Santa too?” You asked, and she nodded her head. You twisted to Theo, “Did you set this up?”

“Nope, this is all them.” He smiled, stretching his arm out along the back of the couch. “Maybe you still have some things to teach us after all.”

So, you settled in, with three small children which soon became four, then five, as you told them all the story of Santa Claus. They were particularly fond of the reindeers, although they weren’t sold on Rudolph, insisting that he must be very, very poorly if his nose is that red. You skirted carefully around the edges of their questions, trying hard not to ruin anything for them or encroach onto territory that might get them thinking a little too deeply and unravel their belief. Instead, you kept the magic alive, by spinning a tale instead of how Santa and La Befana work together to make sure all the children across the world get presents for Christmas Day.

Regardless, the children had taken to the story with wide-eyed excitement and enthusiasm you thought couldn't be conquered. That was, until they smelled hot chocolate in the air. Immediately leaping off of the couch with a new set of interests, they no longer cared to hear about who might bring presents tomorrow, but instead, who might have a treat right now. 

You followed after them, back to the dining room where the table was now laid with teapots, coffees and small treats to enjoy for dessert. In the corner, Allessandra was handing out mugs of hot chocolate to the children, and Theo pressed a kiss to the side of your head as he came back to your side. He pressed a warm mug into your hands, and the smell drifted up to your nose, making you groan happily. Looking down, your suspicions were confirmed. 

“Theo, what’s all this?” You brought the glass up, sniffling the fruity concoction, and he shrugged. 

“This is a little piece of home for you, bella. I want you to be one hundred percent happy here. Your happiness is important to me, don’t you know that? You should’ve told you the moment you felt down, so that I could fix it. I hate seeing you upset.”

“I’m never upset when I’m with you. I just felt a little out of place, but I’m fine now.” You promised, and he seemed to believe you this time, you could see it in his eyes as he nodded. 

Lifting the mug to your face, you blew slowly onto the steam rising up from it, and then you heard a cry; “Why is my favourite wine steaming?”

“Uncle Gio, just try it!” Theo insisted, nodding his head less than subtly in your direction, assuming you couldn't see him out of the corner of your eye. “It was my idea, and it happens to be… very nice.” 

“It’s something I love, from home.” You interfered, ruling out Theo’s less than convincing attempt to persuade his family. Even as your cheeks heated when several sets of eyes fell on you, you didn’t feel rejected by them, just feeling their intrigue. “It really is good, I promise! It’s just not to everybody’s tastes.”

You nudged your hip against Theo’s who smirked as his shoulders rose and fell. After a lingering moment, his uncle caved and served himself a glass, his other relatives following suit. Soon, several murmured compliments to it were passing around the room, and you grinned up at Theo who was adamantly ignoring your attention. 

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that? Your family likes it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, clearly they all hate it, and—”

“Hate what?” His cousin Lucia interrupted, Aria close behind. “This is a surprisingly nice way to enjoy wine,” She offered to you, “It’s better than spiking the coffee and getting shouted at by Nonna when you want a tipsy hot drink, that’s for sure.”

Theo rolled his eyes petulantly, and she tipped her head. “You disagree, Theo?”

“Oh, Theo hates my love for mulled wine. He won’t even kiss me after I’ve had any.” You joked, clutching the glass in your hand and letting the warmth seep through the porcelain and into your cold palms.

His aunts laughed, cooing over his frown as they all clutched their own glasses, enjoying the concoction he hated so abhorrently. Theo’s arm snaked around your middle, pulling you back against him. “Now, that’s just a little lie, isn’t it?”

His family grinned at him, turning away into their own conversation as he guided you away for a little more privacy. Tucking you away with himself into an empty corridor, the two of you made your way slowly through his home, to a little porch swing on the back terrace, looking out across snowy and frost covered grounds.

You settled in, tucking yourself under a blanket and covering his lap with it too, as his arm stretched out along the back, behind your body. “Now, how about those kisses, hm?”

“Are you sure you want to? I mean, I have been drinking this mulled—” Theo scoffed, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger before sealing his mouth over your own, effectively silencing you. His tongue traced a seam underneath your lip, licking away any remnants of the mulled wine and begging entry into your mouth. 

You gave way, lips parting, the sweet and fruity taste of your drink mixing with the sugars of cookies still lingering on his tongue, and you groaned softly at the taste of him. His arm slipped down from the back of the bench to slide around your shoulders, pulling you in closer. Tilting his head to the side, Theo’s other hand slipped up your cheek, holding you so tenderly, and you shivered at the feeling of his cold fingers on your skin. 

He pulled away, just to dive back in, dotting a series of kisses to your lips, each one you pressed into, returned with a smile or a giggle, until you finished, with your forehead pressed to his. Eyes closed and noses bumping, Theo sighed. His hand slipped down, over your neck and shoulder, to find your hand atop the blanket, and take it in his own. 

“Listen, it’s not too late, maybe you could still get in touch with your family?”

“Theo,” You murmured, words sticking in your throat as you held them back. 

“We could use my floo, we can call them and ask if you could stay, or maybe compromise, or something?”

“Teddy.” You pressed your free hand to his chest, right over his heart, and he deflated a little under your touch. He’d tried already, he’d been trying for weeks now to convince you to stay with him for the whole of the holidays, and he lifted his head, eyes shining a little as he pouted. A small bubble rose inside you, made of happiness and thrill and the lingering excitement of a surprise you weren’t ready to share yet. “Let’s just enjoy this moment for now, stop thinking about when it will end and just be here with me.”

He relented to your point, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, cuddled up together under the blanket with his hand in your hair. He pressed the occasional kiss to your forehead, using his foot to rock the swing back and forth slowly, sharing the glass of mulled wine between you both despite his supposed hatred for it. When it was empty, he left the glass balanced on the small side table, and took advantage of your new freedom of hands for more clingy cuddling. 

Time disappeared around you both, until the clock inside the house began to chime, it's muffled tones making their way through the walls to you both outside, and you felt him stiffen underneath you. 

“Do you really have to leave, already?” Theo whispered, as the clock behind you signalled the turn of the hour. His arms tightened around you a little more, his face pressing further into you, and you cuddled him back just as tightly. “What’s it going to take to convince you to stay?”

“You could kiss me again.” You bargained, and his lips flickered at the edges as he lowered his head, catching your mouth with his own in a tender kiss. 

His lips dragged across yours sadly, desperately, too reluctant to part for even a breath because it would give you time to say you were leaving now, and he shifted himself. Using his weight to press you back into the edge of the swing, he made not-so-subtle attempts to keep you trapped, to stop you from leaving too soon. 

At last, when the need for air became too much, he pulled back with a dismayed breath, and nudged his nose against yours. “I wish you’d stay. I hate saying goodbye.”

Wrapping an arm around his neck, you settled your other hand on his cheek, his eyes closing as he tipped his face further into your touch. Your thumb stroked across his skin, a slow sweep that he timed his exhale with, and a smile twitched on your face. “Ask me again.”

“Please stay.” He whispered, words hollow as he spoke them, and you lifted your head to peck his lips. 

“Okay, Theo.”

His eyes snapped open, a confused expression twisting his face, and you failed to bite back your smile. “What?”

“I’ll stay. If you really want me to.”

“If I really— I thought your family wanted you to stay at home?” He questioned breathlessly, sitting back to get a better look at you. 

“They did.” You shrugged, smoothing down your messy hair from the cuddle session you’d been entangled in. “But you’re my family too, and you want me here, so I chose you.”

His jaw dropped, a shaky breath slipping free, and his chin wobbled as he leaned in to press a series of needy and erratic kisses to your lips. “You’re really staying with me for Christmas?” His voice cracked, and he pulled you closer to him, tightening the blanket around you both as he moved until you were practically lay against his chest.

“If you still want me to.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He muttered, tapping the tip of your nose, and staring at you with sparkling eyes. “Ti amo, mia bellissima ragazza.”

“I love you too, Teddy. Happy Christmas.”

“È un contento Natale adesso.”

I WISH IT HAD ALL BEEN DIFFERENT!!!!!

shot by jason nocito for homme girls

Stitched Together

mafia boss!Charles Leclerc x surgeon!Reader

Summary: helping a man in dire need of medical attention leads you down a road you never could have imagined

Warnings: this is a mafia romance so … yeah (gunshot wounds, drugging, kidnapping, and Mattia Binotto)

The quiet streets of Monaco glisten under the soft glow of streetlights as you make your way home from a work dinner. The night air carries a slight chill, and you pull your jacket tighter around yourself, your heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement.

Suddenly, a pained groan echoes from a nearby alley, stopping you in your tracks. Your instincts as a surgeon kick in, and you cautiously approach the shadowed passage.

“Hello?” You call out, peering into the darkness. “Is someone there?”

Another groan answers you, and as your eyes adjust, you spot a figure slumped against the wall. Rushing forward, you kneel beside the man, immediately noticing the dark stain spreading across his midsection.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, your training kicking in. “Sir, can you hear me? I’m a doctor. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

As you reach for your phone, a hand weakly grasps your wrist. “No ... no hospitals,” the man rasps, his voice strained.

You frown, conflicted. “Sir, you’re seriously injured. You need medical attention.”

“Can’t ... risk it,” he manages, his breathing labored.

Biting your lip, you consider your options. “Okay, what’s your name?”

“Charles,” he replies, grimacing as he shifts slightly.

“Alright, Charles,” you say, your voice calm and steady. “If you won’t go to a hospital, will you at least let me take you back to my apartment? I’m a surgeon and I can patch you up there.”

Charles hesitates, his piercing green eyes searching your face. After a moment, he nods. “Okay.”

With some effort, you manage to help Charles to his feet, supporting his weight as you slowly make your way out of the alley. “My place isn’t far,” you assure him. “Just hang on.”

The short walk feels like an eternity, but finally, you reach your apartment building. As you fumble with your keys, Charles leans heavily against the wall.

“Almost there,” you encourage, guiding him inside and into the elevator.

Once in your apartment, you lead Charles to your couch. “Lie down,” you instruct, already moving to gather supplies. “I need to assess the damage.”

Returning with your medical kit, you carefully cut away Charles’ blood-soaked shirt. The bullet wound is clearly visible, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you realize it’s not as severe as you initially feared.

“Good news,” you tell him, meeting his gaze. “The bullet seems to have missed any vital organs. I can clean and stitch this up, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. Are you sure I can’t convince you to go to a hospital?”

Charles shakes his head firmly. “No hospitals. Please.”

You nod, respecting his decision despite your reservations. “Alright. This is going to hurt, but I’ll do my best to be quick.”

As you work, Charles grits his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. “So,” he says, clearly trying to distract himself, “what’s a surgeon doing patching up strange men in her living room?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Honestly? I have no idea. I guess I just couldn’t leave you bleeding in that alley.”

“Most people would have just called the police,” Charles points out, hissing as you clean the wound.

“Well, I’m not most people,” you reply with a small smile. “And you seemed pretty adamant about avoiding official channels.”

Charles studies you for a moment. “You’re not going to ask why?”

You shrug, focusing on your work. “It’s not my place to pry. Though I have to admit, I am curious about what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

A wry smile tugs at Charles’ lips. “Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know.”

“Fair enough,” you concede. “Hold still, I’m about to start stitching.”

As you work, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your face.

“You’re good at this,” he comments after a while.

You smile, not looking up from your task. “I should hope so. I didn’t go through years of medical school for nothing.”

“How long have you been in Monaco?” Charles asks, seemingly genuinely interested.

“About three years now,” you reply. “I came here for a fellowship at the hospital and ended up staying.”

Charles nods. “Do you like it here?”

You consider the question as you finish the last stitch. “I do. It’s beautiful, and the work is challenging. But ...”

“But?” Charles prompts when you trail off.

Sighing, you begin applying a bandage. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels a bit ... lonely, I guess. It’s not always easy to connect with people here.”

Charles’ expression softens. “I can understand that. Monaco can be a difficult place to truly belong.”

You meet his gaze, surprised by the understanding in his eyes. “Exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and I’ve made some friends, but sometimes I miss the sense of community I had back home.”

“Where is home for you?” Charles asks.

“Originally? A small town that feels like a lifetime away from here,” you answer. “Nothing like Monaco, that’s for sure.”

Charles chuckles, then winces slightly. “I can imagine. It must have been quite the culture shock.”

You nod, smiling. “You have no idea. But enough about me. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks to you,” Charles replies, attempting to sit up.

You gently push him back down. “Not so fast. You need to rest and let that wound start healing.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on keeping me hostage, doctor?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. But I’d feel better if you stayed put for at least a little while. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?”

“Water would be great, thank you,” Charles says, settling back against the couch cushions.

As you move to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, you can’t help but glance back at your unexpected guest. There’s something intriguing about Charles, beyond his mysterious injury and resistance to seek official help.

Returning with the water, you hand it to Charles, who takes it gratefully. “Thank you,” he says, his fingers brushing against yours as he accepts the glass.

You sit in the armchair across from him, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. “So, Charles,” you begin, “what do you do when you’re not getting shot in dark alleys?”

Charles nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly before letting out a surprised laugh. “You certainly don’t pull any punches, do you?”

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Well, you did say it was better if I didn’t know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be curious.”

Charles regards you with amusement. “Fair enough. Let’s just say I’m in ... business management.”

“Business management,” you repeat skeptically. “That must be some high-stakes business.”

“You have no idea,” Charles murmurs, his expression turning serious for a moment before he shakes it off. “But really, I’d much rather hear more about you. It’s not every day I meet a beautiful surgeon with a penchant for rescuing mysterious strangers.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment. “There’s not much more to tell, really. I work, I occasionally have dinners with colleagues, and apparently, I moonlight as a back-alley doctor.”

Charles laughs, then winces, pressing a hand to his side. “Careful,” you warn, “You’ll pull your stitches.”

“Worth it,” Charles says with a grin. “You’re quite something, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. “You’re not so bad yourself, for a guy who got shot and refused proper medical care.”

“What can I say? I like to live dangerously,” Charles quips.

You shake your head, amused despite yourself. “Clearly. Though maybe you should consider a slightly less dangerous lifestyle. I can’t imagine getting shot is good for your long-term health.”

Charles’ expression turns thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I’ve been due for a change.”

An unexpected wave of concern washes over you. “Charles, are you in some kind of trouble? Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looks at you, surprise and something else you can’t quite place flickering in his eyes. “You’ve already done more than enough. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” you say dryly, gesturing to his bandaged midsection.

Charles chuckles. “Point taken. But really, you’ve been incredibly kind. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just promise me you’ll be more careful,” you say, surprised by the intensity of your own words.

Charles holds your gaze, his expression serious. “I promise.”

A moment of charged silence passes between you, broken only when Charles slowly pushes himself to his feet. “I should go,” he says, though he sounds reJoristant. “I’ve imposed on you enough.”

You stand as well, moving to steady him. “Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay and rest.”

Charles shakes his head. “Thank you, but I really should be going. I have some ... matters to attend to.”

You bite your lip, concerned. “Alright. But please, take it easy. And if you need anything — if that wound gives you any trouble — don’t hesitate to come back or call me.” You scribble your number on a piece of paper and hand it to him.

Charles takes the paper, his fingers lingering against yours. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For everything.”

As you walk him to the door, you find yourself wishing he would stay. There’s something about Charles that intrigues you, draws you in despite the obvious danger surrounding him.

At the threshold, Charles turns to you one last time. “I meant what I said earlier. You really are something special. I hope our paths cross again under ... better circumstances.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Then, with a final smile, he’s gone, leaving you standing in your doorway, your heart racing and your mind reeling.

As Charles exits the building, he immediately pulls out his phone, his expression hardening into one of intense focus. He dials a number, speaking in a low, authoritative tone the moment the call connects.

“It’s me. I need eyes on someone, 24/7. A surgeon named Y/N Y/L/N. She’s under my protection now. No one touches her, understood?”

He ends the call, casting one last glance at your apartment building before disappearing into the night, already planning when and how he’ll see you again.

***

The glittering lights of the Hotel de Paris’ ballroom cast a warm glow over the assembled guests. You smooth down your elegant evening gown, feeling slightly out of place among Monaco’s elite. The hospital’s annual benefit gala is always a grand affair, but tonight feels different, charged with an energy you can’t quite place.

“Y/N!” A is familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Dr. Sophia Moreau, one of your closest colleagues, approaching with two champagne flutes in hand. “You clean up nicely,” she teases, offering you a glass.

You accept it gratefully, taking a small sip. “Thanks, Sophia. You look amazing too. How’s the night been so far?”

Sophia shrugs, her eyes scanning the room. “Oh, you know, the usual schmoozing and small talk. But there’s a buzz going around. Apparently, the director has some big announcement planned.”

Your interest piques. “Really? Any idea what it’s about?”

“No clue,” Sophia replies. “But whatever it is, it’s got the board members practically giddy. And you know how rare that is.”

You chuckle, nodding in agreement. The hospital’s board is notoriously hard to please, a fact you know all too well from your years of lobbying for transplant certification.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Dr. Henri Beaumont, the hospital’s director, takes the stage. The room falls into a respectful hush as he taps the microphone.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Beaumont begins, his voice carrying across the ballroom. “Thank you all for joining us tonight in support of our wonderful hospital. Your generosity never ceases to amaze me.”

You listen politely, expecting the usual platitudes. But as Dr. Beaumont continues, you feel your heart begin to race.

“Tonight, I have the great pleasure of announcing a new chapter in our hospital’s history,” he says, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Thanks to an incredibly generous donation from one of Monaco’s own, we will be embarking on a project that will revolutionize healthcare in our principality.”

You grip your champagne flute tighter, hardly daring to hope.

“Within the year, our hospital will become fully transplant certified,” Dr. Beaumont announces, his words met with a wave of gasps and excited murmurs. “And that’s not all. This donation will also fund a dedicated medical helicopter, allowing us to transport organs and critical patients with unprecedented speed.”

The room erupts in applause, but you barely hear it over the pounding of your own heart. After years of fighting, of presenting proposal after proposal, it’s finally happening.

“None of this would be possible without the extraordinary generosity of our donor,” Dr. Beaumont continues once the applause dies down. “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in thanking Mr. Charles Leclerc!”

As the room once again breaks into enthusiastic applause, a figure rises from one of the front tables. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognize the man turning to face the crowd.

It’s him. The mysterious Charles from the alley, the man whose life you saved. He looks completely different now — impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his presence commanding the room’s attention. But those piercing green eyes are unmistakable.

“Y/N?” Sophia’s voice breaks through your shock. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blink, tearing your gaze away from Charles to look at your friend. “I ... yes, I’m fine. Just surprised, that’s all.”

Sophia raises an eyebrow. “I’ll say. This is everything you’ve been working towards. You must be thrilled!”

“I am,” you assure her, your mind still reeling. “It’s just ... a lot to take in.”

As the applause dies down and the crowd begins to disperse, you find your eyes drawn back to Charles. He’s engaged in conversation with Dr. Beaumont and several board members, but as if sensing your gaze, he looks up. Your eyes meet across the room, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Excuse me,” you murmur to Sophia, setting down your champagne flute. “There’s someone I need to speak with.”

You make your way through the crowd, your heart pounding with each step. As you approach, Charles politely excuses himself from his conversation and turns to face you.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets you, his voice warm. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Mr. Leclerc,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Charles’ smile widens. “I’m full of surprises. Though I believe you already knew that.”

You glance around, noticing the curious looks from nearby guests. “Could we speak privately?”

“Of course,” Charles says, gesturing towards a secluded balcony. “Shall we?”

You follow him out onto the balcony, the cool night air a welcome respite from the crowded ballroom. For a moment, you both stand in silence, looking out over the twinkling lights of Monaco.

“So,” you finally say, turning to face him. “Charles Leclerc. I’m guessing that’s not the name you usually give to people who find you bleeding in alleys.”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “No, it’s not. But it is my real name.”

“And you’re ... what? A millionaire philanthropist?”

“Among other things,” Charles replies enigmatically.

You cross your arms, studying him. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were that night?”

Charles leans against the balcony railing, his expression turning serious. “Would you have believed me if I had? A man refusing hospital treatment, claiming to be a wealthy businessman?”

You have to admit he has a point. “I suppose not. But this ...” you gesture back towards the ballroom, “This is incredible. The transplant certification, the helicopter ... it’s everything I’ve been fighting for.”

“I know,” Charles says softly.

You blink, surprised. “You know?”

Charles nods. “After that night, I ... may have done some research. I was curious about the remarkable surgeon who saved my life without asking questions or for anything in return.”

“So this donation,” you say slowly, “it’s because of me?”

“In part,” Charles admits. “Your passion for your work, your dedication to improving healthcare here — it’s inspiring. But more than that, I saw an opportunity to do some real good. To maybe balance the scales a bit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Balance the scales? What exactly is it that you do, Charles?”

He gives you a rueful smile. “Let’s just say my business dealings aren’t always as philanthropic as tonight’s donation might suggest.”

A chill runs down your spine as the pieces start to fall into place. The gunshot wound, the refusal of hospitals, the mysterious “business management” — it all points to one conclusion.

“You’re not just a businessman, are you?” You ask quietly.

Charles holds your gaze, his expression unreadable. “No, I’m not. Are you sure you want to know more?”

You take a deep breath, considering. Part of you wants to walk away, to pretend this conversation never happened. But a larger part — the part that couldn’t leave a bleeding man in an alley, the part that’s drawn to the mystery and danger Charles represents — wants to stay.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “I want to know.”

Charles nods, respect flickering in his eyes. “Very well. But not here. This isn’t a conversation for a crowded gala.”

“Then where?” You ask.

“Have dinner with me,” Charles suggests. “Tomorrow night. I’ll answer all your questions, I promise.”

You hesitate, weighing the risks. But the memory of that night in your apartment, the connection you felt with Charles despite the strange circumstances, makes your decision for you.

“Alright,” you agree. “Dinner tomorrow.”

Charles smiles, relief evident in his features. “Thank you. I’ll send a car for you at eight.”

Just then, the balcony doors open, and Dr. Beaumont steps out. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Leclerc! And Dr. Y/L/N, how wonderful. I was hoping to speak with both of you.”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to hide your frustration at the interruption. “Dr. Beaumont, good evening.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Dr. Beaumont says, looking between you and Charles.

“Not at all,” Charles replies smoothly. “Dr. Y/L/N was just expressing her excitement about the transplant certification project.”

Dr. Beaumont beams. “Yes, isn’t it marvelous? And it’s all thanks to your generous donation, Mr. Leclerc. We can’t thank you enough.”

“Please,” Charles says, “call me Charles. And the thanks should really go to Dr. Y/L/N here. Her proposals and persistence were what brought this need to my attention.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as Dr. Beaumont turns to you, his eyebrows raised. “Is that so? Well, Dr. Y/L/N, it seems we owe you a debt of gratitude as well. Your dedication to this cause has clearly paid off.”

“Thank you, Dr. Beaumont,” you manage, still reeling from Charles’ praise. “I’m just glad we’ll finally be able to offer these life-saving services to our patients.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Beaumont agrees. “In fact, I’d like to discuss the possibility of you heading up the new transplant department. Your expertise would be invaluable in getting the program off the ground.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “I ... I would be honored, sir. Thank you.”

“Excellent!” Dr. Beaumont claps his hands together. “We’ll set up a meeting next week to discuss the details. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle with our other donors. Charles, Dr. Y/L/N, enjoy your evening.”

As Dr. Beaumont retreats back into the ballroom, you turn to Charles, still stunned. “Did you have something to do with that offer?”

Charles holds up his hands innocently. “I merely suggested to Dr. Beaumont that the project would benefit from your leadership. The decision was entirely his.”

You shake your head, a mixture of gratitude and confusion swirling inside you. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Then don’t say it,” Charles replies softly. “Just promise me you’ll use this opportunity to do what you do best — save lives.”

You nod, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the events of the evening. “I should probably get back inside,” you say reluctantly. “People will be wondering where I’ve gone.”

“Of course,” Charles agrees. “I look forward to our dinner tomorrow. There’s much we need to discuss.”

As you turn to leave, Charles gently catches your hand. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low. “Whatever you learn tomorrow, whatever you decide ... know that my feelings for you are genuine. That night in your apartment, it ... it changed things for me.”

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words. “It changed things for me too,” you admit softly.

Charles brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Until tomorrow, then.”

As you make your way back into the ballroom, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions and questions. You spot Sophia across the room, waving you over with a curious expression.

“Spill,” she demands as soon as you reach her. “What was that all about? How do you know Charles Leclerc?”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the inexplicable situation you’ve found yourself in.

“It’s ... complicated,” you finally say. “And I think I’m about to find out just how complicated it is.”

***

As the sun sets over Monaco, casting a golden glow across the city, you find yourself standing in front of your apartment building, nervously smoothing down your dress. The sleek Rolls Royce that Charles promised pulls up, and a uniformed driver steps out to open the door for you.

“Good evening, Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets you politely. “Mr. Leclerc is expecting you.”

You slide into the plush leather seat, your heart racing with anticipation. The drive through Monaco’s winding streets is brief but gives you time to collect your thoughts. Before you know it, the car is pulling up to Le Louis XV, arguably the most exclusive restaurant in all of Monaco.

As you step out of the car, you spot Charles waiting for you at the entrance. He’s impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his presence commanding even among the elite clientele entering the restaurant.

“Y/N,” he greets you warmly, taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Thank you, Charles. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckles, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

As you enter the restaurant, you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the decor. Crystal chandeliers hang from intricately painted ceilings, and the soft strains of a string quartet fill the air.

The maître d’ greets Charles by name, leading you to a secluded table tucked away in a corner. Charles pulls out your chair for you before taking his own seat across from you.

A waiter approaches, offering you menus. As he leans over to pour water into your glasses, you notice his gaze lingering a bit too long on your neckline. Before you can react, Charles clears his throat sharply.

“I think we’ll need a different server,” he says, his voice cold and authoritative. The waiter pales, stammering an apology before hurrying away.

You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “That was ... intense.”

Charles’ expression softens as he looks at you. “I apologize if that made you uncomfortable. I simply don’t tolerate disrespect, especially towards someone I care about.”

His words send a flutter through your chest, but you push it aside, reminding yourself why you’re here. “So,” you say, meeting his gaze, “you promised me answers.”

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Indeed I did. But first, let’s order. This conversation may take a while.”

Once you’ve placed your orders and the new, much more professional waiter has poured your wine, Charles leans back in his chair, studying you intently.

“What do you know about the Monegasque underworld, Y/N?” He asks quietly.

You shake your head. “Not much, honestly. I know it exists, of course, but it’s not exactly something we discuss in the hospital break room.”

A small smile tugs at Charles’ lips. “No, I suppose not. Well, to put it bluntly, I am what you might call the boss of the Monegasque Mafia.”

Despite your suspicions, hearing him say it so plainly sends a shock through you. “The Mafia? Charles, that’s ...”

“Illegal? Dangerous? Morally questionable?” He finishes for you, his tone wry. “Yes, it’s all of those things.”

You take a sip of your wine, trying to process this information. “How did you end up in that position?”

Charles sighs, his eyes distant. “It’s a long story, but the short version is that I inherited the role from my father. He built this empire, and when he died, it fell to me to maintain it.”

“And the gunshot wound?” You ask, remembering the night you first met.

“A disagreement with a rival organization,” Charles explains. “It’s been dealt with.”

You feel a chill at the implication in his words. “Dealt with how?”

Charles meets your gaze steadily. “Do you really want to know?”

After a moment’s hesitation, you shake your head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Smart,” Charles says approvingly. “The less you know about certain aspects of my business, the safer you’ll be.”

The waiter returns with your appetizers, providing a brief respite from the heavy conversation. As you start to eat, you find your mind whirling with questions.

“Why are you telling me all this?” You finally ask. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to reveal your identity?”

Charles nods slowly. “It is. But I trust you, Y/N. That night in your apartment, when you helped me without question, without judgment — it showed me what kind of person you are. And I find myself ... unwilling to lie to you.”

His honesty touches you, despite the circumstances. “I appreciate that, Charles. But where does this leave us? What happens now?”

Charles leans forward, his eyes intense. “That depends on you. I won’t lie — being associated with me comes with risks. But it also comes with benefits, as you’ve seen with the hospital donation.”

“Is that what this is about?” You ask, a hint of disappointment creeping into your voice. “You’re trying to buy my loyalty?”

“No,” Charles says firmly. “The donation was genuine. Your passion inspired me to do some good. This ... this is something else entirely.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath. “I have a proposition for you. I’d like you to work for me, as my personal doctor when the need arises.”

You blink in surprise. “Your personal doctor? But I’m a surgeon, not a general practitioner.”

“Exactly,” Charles nods. “In my line of work, emergency surgical skills are more valuable than routine check-ups. You’d be on call for me and my ... associates when medical attention is needed discreetly.”

You sit back, considering his words. “That sounds an awful lot like being a mob doctor, Charles.”

He doesn’t deny it. “It is. But it would also give you the opportunity to save lives that might otherwise be lost. And I can promise you, the compensation would be ... substantial.”

The waiter returns to clear your plates and bring the main course, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts. As you cut into your perfectly cooked steak, you mull over Charles’ offer.

“What about my work at the hospital?” You ask. “I can’t just abandon that, especially not now that we’re getting the transplant certification.”

Charles shakes his head. “I wouldn’t ask you to. This would be in addition to your regular work, called upon only when necessary. Your hospital duties would always come first.”

You take a sip of wine, studying Charles over the rim of your glass. “And what if I refuse? What happens then?”

“Then you walk out of here, go back to your life, and we never speak of this again,” Charles says simply. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I trust you. If you choose not to be involved, I know you’ll keep my secret.”

His sincerity is clear, and you find yourself believing him. “Can I ask you something, Charles?”

“Anything,” he replies.

“Why me? Surely there are other doctors you could approach, ones with more ... flexible ethics, perhaps?”

Charles’ expression softens. “Because you’re extraordinary, Y/N. Your skill, your compassion, your integrity — they’re rare qualities, especially in my world. And selfishly, perhaps, I want to keep you in my life.”

His words send a warmth spreading through your chest, and you find yourself at a crossroads. On one hand, everything you know tells you to walk away, to keep your life simple and safe. But on the other ...

“What would it entail, exactly?” You ask, surprising yourself.

A glimmer of hope appears in Charles’ eyes. “Primarily, it would involve treating injuries that can’t be taken to a hospital — gunshot wounds, knife punctures, that sort of thing. Occasionally, there might be a need for more ... specialized care.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Specialized how?”

“Let’s just say that sometimes, information needs to be obtained through methods that aren’t entirely ... ethical,” Charles says carefully.

You feel a chill run down your spine. “You mean torture.”

Charles doesn’t flinch from the word. “Yes. Your role would be to ensure that lines aren’t crossed, that no permanent damage is done. To save lives, even in the darkest of circumstances.”

You take a deep breath, trying to reconcile the charming man across from you with the brutal world he’s describing. “I don’t know if I can do that, Charles. It goes against everything I believe in as a doctor.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “I know. And I wouldn’t ask you to participate directly. Your job would be to mitigate harm, to heal. Nothing more.”

As the waiter clears your plates and offers dessert menus, you find yourself at a loss for words. Charles watches you carefully, giving you space to process.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. Weigh the pros and cons. I know it’s not an easy decision.”

You nod, grateful for the reprieve. “Thank you. I ... I will think about it.”

As you share a decadent chocolate dessert, the conversation shifts to lighter topics. Charles tells you about his childhood in Monaco, and you share stories from your medical school days. Despite the heavy subject matter earlier, you find yourself laughing and enjoying Charles’ company.

All too soon, the evening draws to a close. Charles insists on walking you out, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you exit the restaurant.

As you wait for the valet to bring his car around, Charles turns to face you, his expression serious once more.

“Thank you for hearing me out tonight, Y/N,” he says softly. “Whatever you decide, know that I meant every word. You’re an extraordinary woman, and I’m honored to know you.”

Before you can respond, Charles leans in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth in a kiss that’s both chaste and charged with potential. You feel your breath catch in your throat, your heart racing at his proximity.

As he pulls back, Charles meets your gaze, his green eyes intense. “Think about my offer. And when you’ve made your decision, good or bad, call me.”

With that, he steps back, leaving you feeling slightly dazed as the valet pulls up with his car. Charles opens the passenger door for you, ever the gentleman.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says softly. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

As the car pulls away from the curb, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions and conflicting thoughts. You touch your fingers to the spot where Charles kissed you, still feeling the ghost of his lips.

Part of you knows you should run as far and fast as you can from Charles Leclerc and the dangerous world he inhabits. But a larger part – the part that yearns for excitement, for purpose beyond the hospital walls – is already considering his offer.

As Monaco’s glittering lights pass by outside the car window, you realize that no matter what you decide, your life will never be the same. The question is, are you ready to take the leap into the unknown?

With Charles’ business card burning a hole in your purse and the memory of his kiss lingering on your skin, you know that the decision you make will shape not just your future, but potentially the future of Monaco itself.

***

The shrill ring of your phone pierces the quiet of your bedroom, jolting you awake. Fumbling in the darkness, you grab your phone, squinting at the bright screen. Unknown number.

Your heart races as you answer, “Hello?”

“Y/N,” Charles’ voice comes through, tense and urgent. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

Sitting up, suddenly alert, you reply, “Charles? What’s wrong?”

There’s a brief pause before he continues, “I wish I could give you more time to consider my offer, but I’m afraid circumstances have forced my hand. One of my associates is badly injured and needs immediate medical attention.”

You can hear the strain in his voice as he continues, “If you’re willing to accept my offer, I’ll have someone pick you up right now. If not, I understand, and I’ll look for help elsewhere. But I need to know your decision now.”

Your mind races, weighing the implications. This is it — the moment of truth. Do you step into Charles’ world or walk away?

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice. “I’ll do it. Send the car.”

You can almost hear Charles’ relief through the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. A car will be there in five minutes. Be ready.”

The line goes dead, and you spring into action. Throwing on clothes and grabbing a bag with some basic medical supplies, you’re waiting outside your building when a sleek black car pulls up.

The drive is tense and silent. The driver, a stern-faced man, offers no conversation as he speeds through Monaco’s empty streets. Within minutes, you’re pulling up to an expansive, gated compound.

As soon as the car stops, the front door of the mansion flies open. Charles strides out, his face etched with worry.

“Y/N,” he greets you, guiding you quickly inside. “Thank you for coming. Follow me.”

You hurry after him through opulent hallways, your mind struggling to take in the surroundings. “What happened, Charles? Who’s hurt?”

“My right-hand man, Pierre,” Charles explains as he leads you down a staircase. “He was ambushed leaving a meeting. Took a bullet to the chest.”

You nod, your mind already racing through possibilities. “How long ago?”

“About an hour,” Charles replies, pushing open a door.

You step into what appears to be a fully-equipped operating room. On the table lies a man, his breathing labored and shirt soaked with blood.

Rushing to his side, you begin your examination. “Pierre? I’m Dr. Y/L/N. Can you hear me?”

Pierre’s eyes flutter open, filled with pain. “Y-yes,” he manages to wheeze.

You turn to Charles, who’s hovering nearby. “I need to examine him properly. Can you help me remove his shirt?”

As you and Charles carefully cut away Pierre’s bloodied shirt, you assess the wound. The bullet hole is below his right collarbone, and his breathing is increasingly strained.

“The bullet’s punctured his lung,” you announce, your mind already formulating a plan. “He needs surgery immediately. Charles, I’ll need assistance. Are you up for it?”

Charles nods without hesitation. “Tell me what to do.”

You quickly outline the procedure as you prep Pierre for surgery. “We need to reinflate his lung and remove the bullet. It’s going to be tricky, but we don’t have time to get him to a hospital.”

As you work, you fall into a focused rhythm, your years of training taking over. Charles proves to be a capable assistant, following your instructions precisely.

“Suction here,” you direct, carefully navigating the delicate lung tissue. “Good. Now hold this retractor steady.”

Hours pass in a blur of intense concentration. Finally, you step back, exhaling deeply. “I think we’ve done it. The lung’s reinflated and the bullet’s out. He’s not out of the woods yet, but his chances are good.”

Charles looks at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude. “Y/N, I ... thank you. You’ve saved his life.”

You nod, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion. “He’ll need close monitoring for the next 24 hours. Is there somewhere I can clean up?”

Charles leads you to an adjacent bathroom, where you wash the blood from your skin. As you emerge, you find Charles waiting, two glasses of whiskey in hand.

“I thought you might need this,” he says, offering you a glass.

You accept it gratefully, taking a long sip. The alcohol burns pleasantly, helping to calm your frayed nerves.

“So,” you say, meeting Charles’ gaze. “I guess this makes it official. I’m your doctor now.”

Charles nods solemnly. “Indeed. And I can’t express how grateful I am. Not just for tonight, but for taking this risk.”

You lean against the wall, suddenly feeling the weight of your decision. “I still have questions, Charles. About all of this. About what I’m getting myself into.”

“Of course,” Charles agrees. “Ask me anything. You deserve to know what you’re part of now.”

Taking a deep breath, you begin, “How often can I expect nights like this? And what exactly is the nature of your ... business?”

Charles considers his words carefully. “Nights like this are, thankfully, rare. Most of what I’ll need from you will be more routine — treating minor injuries, regular check-ups for my key people. As for my business ...” He pauses, taking a sip of his whiskey. “It’s complex. We have interests in various sectors — some legitimate, some less so. Gambling, real estate, import and export. And yes, sometimes that involves activities that aren’t entirely legal.”

You nod slowly, processing this information. “And the violence? The rivalries that led to Pierre getting shot?”

“An unfortunate reality of our world,” Charles admits. “We try to minimize it, but conflicts do arise. My goal is always to resolve things peacefully, but sometimes ...” He gestures towards the operating room, where Pierre lies recovering.

“I see,” you murmur. “And my role in all this? Beyond providing medical care, I mean.”

Charles’ expression softens. “Your role, Y/N, is to be a light in this sometimes dark world. To save lives, to minimize harm. And perhaps ... to remind people like me that there’s good in the world worth protecting.”

His words touch something deep inside you, and you find yourself nodding. “I think I can do that.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only when a monitor in the operating room beeps. You both rush to check on Pierre, finding his vitals stable.

As you adjust his IV, you ask, “So, what happens now? Do I just ... go home and wait for the next emergency call?”

Charles shakes his head. “Not quite. I’d like you to stay here for the next day or so, to monitor Pierre’s recovery. After that, we’ll set up a more formal arrangement. You’ll have a secure phone for communications and a driver on call for when you’re needed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And my regular job at the hospital?”

“Remains your priority,” Charles assures you. “This work will always come second to that. I don’t want to jeopardize your career or the good you do there.”

Relieved, you nod. “Alright. And ... us? Where do we stand?”

Charles steps closer, his eyes intense. “That is entirely up to you. My feelings haven’t changed since our dinner. But I understand if this is too much, too complicated.”

You find yourself drawn to him, despite the rational part of your brain screaming caution. “It is complicated. But ... I can’t deny there’s something here. Something worth exploring.”

A smile spreads across Charles’ face, genuine and warm. “I’m glad to hear that. We’ll take it slow, see where this leads us.”

Just then, Pierre stirs on the operating table, groaning softly. You both move to his side, your instincts taking over once again.

“Pierre?” You call softly. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first but then settling on you. “Who ... where am I?”

Charles steps into his line of sight. “You’re safe, my friend. This is Dr. Y/L/N. She saved your life tonight.”

Pierre’s eyes widen in recognition. “The surgeon ... from the alley. You recruited her?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “It’s a long story. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” Pierre croaks, attempting a weak smile.

You check his vitals as you explain, “The bullet punctured your lung. We’ve repaired the damage, but you’re going to need time to recover. No strenuous activity for at least a month.”

Pierre nods, then looks to Charles. “The meeting ... did we get the information?”

Charles places a hand on Pierre’s shoulder. “We did, thanks to you. But don’t worry about that now. Focus on getting better.”

As Pierre drifts back to sleep, you turn to Charles. “He needs rest. And so do we, for that matter.”

Charles nods in agreement. “I’ll show you to a guest room. We should both try to get some sleep before morning.”

As you follow Charles through the mansion, the events of the night start to catch up with you. By the time you reach the luxurious guest suite, you’re practically swaying on your feet.

“Get some rest,” Charles says softly. “I’ll have some fresh clothes brought for you in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you catch his hand. “Charles ... thank you. For trusting me with this.”

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “No, Y/N. Thank you for taking this leap of faith. Sleep well.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, your mind whirling with the night’s events. You’ve crossed a line tonight, stepped into a world you never imagined being part of. But as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement about what the future might hold.

For better or worse, your life will never be the same again.

***

As the weeks pass following that fateful night, you begin to notice subtle yet undeniable changes in your daily life. It starts with a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched that you can’t quite shake. At first, you dismiss it as paranoia, a natural reaction to your new connection with Charles’ world. But then you start to catch glimpses — a man in a dark suit lingering across the street from your apartment, a familiar face that seems to pop up wherever you go.

One morning, as you’re grabbing coffee before work, you decide to confront the situation. Turning abruptly, you lock eyes with a tall, broad-shouldered man who’s been tailing you for the past few blocks.

“Alright,” you say, crossing your arms. “Who are you and why are you following me?”

The man looks momentarily surprised before his face settles into a neutral expression. “Mr. Leclerc assigned me to ensure your safety, Dr. Y/L/N. I’m not meant to interfere with your daily life.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And does Charles think I need a bodyguard to get my morning coffee?”

The man — you decide to call him Shadow in your head — gives a small shrug. “Mr. Leclerc believes in being thorough. I’m here to protect you from any potential threats.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine. But can you at least try to be a little less ... obvious? I don’t need my colleagues at the hospital getting suspicious.”

Shadow nods. “Of course. I’ll maintain a more discreet distance.”

As you continue your walk to the hospital, you can’t help but feel a mix of irritation and a strange sort of warmth at Charles’ protective instincts.

The surprises don’t stop there. Later that week, you return home from a long shift to find a large, elegantly wrapped package outside your door. Curious, you bring it inside and carefully open it.

Inside, you find a stunning designer handbag — one you vaguely remember admiring in a shop window weeks ago. Attached is a simple note:

A beautiful bag for a beautiful doctor – CL

You can’t help but smile, even as you shake your head at the extravagance. Pulling out your phone, you send a quick text to Charles.

The bag is gorgeous, but you really didn’t have to.

His reply comes moments later.

I wanted to.

Is it not to your liking?

You chuckle, typing back.

It’s perfect. But you don’t need to shower me with gifts.

Perhaps not. But I enjoy it. Allow me this small pleasure?

Rolling your eyes fondly, you respond.

Fine. But nothing too outrageous, okay?

You can almost hear his chuckle in his reply.

I make no promises.

True to his word, the gifts keep coming. A rare first edition of your favorite medical text. A pair of ridiculously comfortable designer shoes that somehow fit perfectly. Each accompanied by a note signed simply “CL”.

But it’s not just the material things that change. One day, as you’re buried in paperwork at the hospital, a delicious aroma wafts into your office. You look up to see your colleague standing in the doorway with a bag from your favorite local restaurant.

“Special delivery,” Sophia says with a grin, setting the bag on your desk.

You blink in surprise. “I didn’t order anything.”

Her grin widens. “No, but apparently you have a very thoughtful admirer. This has been showing up every day for the past week. The nurses have been taking turns bringing it up.”

Your cheeks flush as you open the bag, finding a perfectly prepared lunch and another note from Charles.

Sophia leans in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So, who’s the mystery man? Anyone I know?”

You quickly tuck the note away. “It’s ... complicated. We’re still figuring things out.”

“Uh-huh,” Sophia says, clearly not buying it. “Well, whoever he is, he’s got good taste. In food and women.”

As Sophia leaves, you can’t help but smile. Despite the complexity of your situation with Charles, these small gestures warm your heart.

The changes extend beyond gifts and food, though. You start to notice that things at the hospital seem to be running more smoothly. Bureaucratic hurdles that used to take weeks to clear now resolve themselves in days. Equipment requests that were once denied due to budget constraints are suddenly approved.

One afternoon, you’re in a meeting with Dr. Beaumont, discussing the progress of the new transplant center.

“I must say, Dr. Y/L/N,” Beaumont says, beaming, “the speed at which we’re moving forward is remarkable. It’s as if all the red tape has simply ... vanished.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suspecting Charles’ influence but unable to confirm it. “Yes, it’s ... quite fortunate.”

Beaumont leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think our generous donor, Mr. Leclerc, might have something to do with it. He seems to have friends in high places.”

You force a neutral expression. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

Beaumont chuckles. “Let’s just say that certain government officials who were dragging their feet on approvals suddenly became very cooperative after a few calls from Mr. Leclerc’s office. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

As you leave the meeting, your mind is whirling. You appreciate the help, but the extent of Charles’ influence is starting to sink in. That evening, you decide it’s time for a face-to-face conversation.

You send Charles a text.

We need to talk. Dinner tonight?

His reply is almost immediate.

Of course. I’ll send a car. 8 PM?

At eight sharp, you find yourself being ushered into an exclusive rooftop restaurant. Charles is waiting, looking as handsome and composed as ever in a perfectly tailored suit.

He stands as you approach, pulling out your chair. “Y/N, you look lovely.”

You sit, fixing him with a serious look. “Charles, we need to discuss a few things.”

His expression turns concerned. “Is everything alright?”

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “The bodyguard, the gifts, the lunch deliveries ... it’s all very sweet, but it’s a bit much. And the thing with the hospital — are you pulling strings to make things happen?”

Charles listens intently, his face unreadable. When you finish, he leans back, considering his words carefully.

“I apologize if I’ve overstepped,” he says finally. “The protection is non-negotiable, I’m afraid. Your safety is paramount to me. But if the gifts make you uncomfortable, I can scale them back.”

You nod, relieved he’s listening. “And the hospital situation?”

Charles sighs. “I may have ... encouraged certain officials to be more cooperative. But I assure you, it was all above board. No bribes, no threats. Just a gentle reminder of how beneficial the new transplant center will be for Monaco.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Gentle reminder, huh? And I suppose your reputation had nothing to do with it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of Charles’ mouth. “I may have a certain ... influence. But I used it for a good cause. The transplant center will save lives, Y/N. Isn’t that what matters?”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Charles reaches across the table, taking your hand. “I know my world is very different from yours, Y/N. I’m trying to bridge that gap, to make things easier for you. But if I’m going about it the wrong way, tell me. I want you to be comfortable with this ... with us.”

The sincerity in his eyes touches you. “I appreciate that, Charles. I do. I just ... I need to feel like I’m still in control of my own life, you know? Like I’m not just being swept along in your wake.”

Charles nods, squeezing your hand gently. “I understand. From now on, I’ll consult you before making any decisions that affect your life. No more surprises. Well, fewer surprises, at least.”

You laugh, feeling the tension dissipate. “I suppose I can live with that. But maybe we can compromise on the bodyguard situation? I don’t need a shadow 24/7.”

“How about this,” Charles proposes, “The security detail maintains a distance unless you’re entering or leaving your apartment or the hospital. They’ll be there if you need them, but not constantly in your space. Would that work?”

You consider for a moment, then nod. “I can live with that. Thank you for listening.”

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Always, Y/N. Your happiness and comfort are important to me.”

As the waiter approaches to take your order, you find yourself relaxing, enjoying the evening with Charles. The conversation flows easily, touching on your work at the hospital, Charles’ legitimate business ventures, and your shared love of classical music.

By the time dessert arrives, you’re feeling more at ease with the situation than you have in weeks.

“Charles,” you say, savoring a spoonful of soufflé, “I have to ask. How did you know about the handbag? The one I admired weeks ago?”

A mischievous glint appears in Charles’ eyes. “I have my ways. Let’s just say I pay attention to the things that catch your eye.”

You shake your head, amused. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees with a smile. “But admit it, you’re starting to enjoy it.”

As you leave the restaurant, Charles’ hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you realize that he’s right. Despite the complexity, despite the lingering concerns about his world, you are enjoying this. Enjoying him.

Charles walks you to the waiting car, opening the door for you. Before you get in, he catches your hand, his expression turning serious.

“Y/N,” he says softly, “I want you to know that I treasure what’s growing between us. I know my world is complicated, often dangerous. But with you ... I see a possibility for something real, something good. I hope you can be patient with me as we navigate this.”

Touched by his honesty, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m here, aren’t I? We’ll figure it out together.”

As the car pulls away, Charles watching from the curb, you lean back in your seat, a small smile playing on your lips. Your life has certainly become more complicated since that night in the alley. But as you reflect on the past few weeks — the challenges, the surprises, the growing connection with Charles — you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement about what the future might hold.

***

The cool evening air greets you as you exit the hospital, your shift finally over. You roll your shoulders, easing the tension from a long day of surgeries. As you walk towards your car, your mind drifts to Charles, wondering if he’ll be free for a late dinner.

Suddenly, a sharp prick in your neck startles you. Before you can react, a wave of dizziness washes over you. The world tilts, your vision blurring. You try to call out, but your voice fails you. As darkness encroaches, your last conscious thought is of Charles.

When you come to, it’s to a pounding headache and disorientation. You blink, trying to focus. The room is dimly lit, cold, with bare concrete walls. As awareness creeps back, you realize you’re strapped to a chair, your wrists and ankles bound tightly.

Panic rises in your throat, but you force it down, trying to assess the situation. You’re still in your scrubs, which means you haven’t been unconscious for too long. There are no windows, no indication of where you might be.

The creak of a door opening snaps your attention forward. A man enters — relatively tall, curly-haired, with a scar running down the left side of his face. His eyes, when they meet yours, are cold and calculating.

“Ah, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, his voice carrying a slight Italian accent. “So good of you to join us. I hope you’re comfortable.”

You glare at him, finding your voice. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The man chuckles, pulling up a chair to sit across from you. “Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mattia Binotto. And as for what I want ...” He leans in, his gaze intense. “I want Charles Leclerc.”

Your heart races, but you keep your expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mattia’s laugh is harsh. “Come now, Doctor. Let’s not play games. I know all about your ... relationship with Charles. I’ve been watching you both for quite some time.”

“Why?” You demand, tugging futilely at your restraints. “What does Charles have to do with this?”

Mattia leans back, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Everything, my dear. You see, I used to work for Charles’ father. I was his right-hand man, his most trusted advisor. And how did the old man repay my loyalty? By kicking me out, exiling me from Monaco.”

You listen, your mind racing. Charles had mentioned conflicts within the organization, but this ... this was something else entirely.

“So this is about revenge?” You ask, trying to keep him talking.

Mattia’s eyes flash dangerously. “Revenge, yes. But also reclamation. What was taken from me, I intend to take back. And you, my dear doctor, are the perfect bait.”

Fear claws at your insides, but you push it down, channeling it into anger instead. “Charles won’t fall for this. He’s smarter than that.”

“Oh, I’m counting on his intelligence,” Mattia says, standing up and beginning to pace. “You see, Charles knows exactly who I am and what I’m capable of. He’ll come for you, make no mistake. And when he does ...” Mattia’s smile is chilling. “Well, let’s just say I have quite the reunion planned.”

You struggle against your bonds, your mind whirling. “You’re insane if you think you can take on Charles and his entire organization.”

Mattia stops pacing, turning to face you. “Insane? No, Doctor. Prepared. I’ve spent years planning this, gathering allies, waiting for the perfect moment. And you ...” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You jerk away from his touch. “You are the key to it all.”

“Don’t touch me,” you snarl, glaring up at him.

Mattia chuckles. “Feisty. I can see why Charles is so taken with you. It will make breaking you all the more satisfying.”

A chill runs down your spine at his words. “If you hurt me, Charles will-”

“Charles will what?” Mattia interrupts, his voice mocking. “Come charging in to save you? That’s exactly what I’m counting on, my dear.”

You fall silent, realizing that every word you say is potentially giving Mattia more ammunition. Instead, you focus on studying your surroundings, looking for any potential way out.

Mattia seems to sense your shift in focus. He leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “Don’t bother looking for escape routes. This room was designed to hold people far more dangerous than you. You’re not going anywhere until Charles arrives.”

Pulling back, he checks his watch. “Speaking of which, I imagine he’s discovered your absence by now. Shall we give him a call?”

Your eyes widen as Mattia pulls out a phone — your phone. He scrolls through your contacts, finding Charles’ number.

“No, don’t-” you start, but Mattia silences you with a sharp look.

He puts the phone on speaker as it rings. After two rings, Charles’ voice comes through, tense and worried. “Y/N? Where are you? Your security detail lost track of you hours ago.”

Mattia’s grin is triumphant as he speaks. “Hello, Charles. It’s been a long time.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence before Charles responds, his voice low and dangerous. “Mattia. If you’ve hurt her, I swear-”

“Now, now,” Mattia interrupts. “Your precious doctor is fine. For now. Whether she stays that way depends entirely on you.”

You can’t stay silent any longer. “Charles, don’t listen to him! It’s a trap!”

Mattia backhands you, the slap echoing in the small room. “Quiet!”

“Y/N!” Charles’ voice is anguished. “Mattia, I’m warning you-”

“You’re warning me?” Mattia laughs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to come alone to the address I’m about to send you. If I see any of your men, if I even suspect you’ve involved your friends in the police, the good doctor here will suffer the consequences. Understood?”

There’s a tense pause before Charles responds. “I understand. Let me speak to her.”

Mattia considers for a moment, then holds the phone closer to you. “Make it quick.”

“Charles,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Don’t do this. It’s not worth-”

“Y/N, listen to me,” Charles interrupts, his voice intense. “I’m coming for you. Just hold on. I promise, I’ll make this right.”

Before you can respond, Mattia pulls the phone away. “How touching. You have one hour, Charles. Come alone or she dies.”

He ends the call, turning to you with a satisfied smirk. “And now, we wait.”

The next hour is agonizing. Mattia leaves you alone in the room, your mind racing with possibilities, each worse than the last. You test your restraints, but they hold firm. The chair is bolted to the floor, leaving you no way to move.

Just when you think you can’t take the suspense any longer, the door opens. Your heart leaps, thinking it might be Charles, but it’s Mattia who enters, followed by two burly men.

“It seems your knight in shining armor has arrived,” Mattia announces, his eyes glinting with malice. “Let’s make sure we give him a proper welcome, shall we?”

He nods to one of the men, who moves behind you. You feel the cold press of a gun barrel against your temple.

“Is this really necessary?” You ask, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Mattia shrugs. “Insurance, my dear. Can’t have you trying anything heroic when Charles arrives.”

As if on cue, there’s a commotion outside the room. The door bursts open and Charles strides in, his eyes immediately finding yours.

“Y/N,” he breathes, relief and worry warring in his expression.

“Charles, no,” you plead. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s a trap!”

Mattia steps forward, clapping slowly. “Bravo, Charles. Right on time, and alone, as instructed. I must say, I’m impressed by your obedience.”

Charles tears his gaze from you to glare at Mattia. “Let her go, Mattia. This is between us.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Mattia replies, circling around to stand behind you. He places his hands on your shoulders, and you struggle not to flinch. “You see, your lovely doctor here is my insurance policy. Insurance that you’ll listen very carefully to what I have to say.”

Charles’ jaw clenches, but he remains still. “Say your piece, then.”

Mattia’s grip on your shoulders tightens. “It’s quite simple, really. I want what’s rightfully mine. The position your father stole from me, the respect I deserve. You’re going to step down, hand over control of the organization to me, and leave Monaco. Forever.”

You can’t stay silent any longer. “Charles, don’t do it! You can’t trust him!”

The gun presses harder against your temple, silencing you.

Charles’ eyes flick between you and Mattia, his expression unreadable. “And if I refuse?”

Mattia’s laugh is cold. “Then you get to watch your beloved doctor die, slowly and painfully, before I kill you too. Your choice, Charles.”

The tension in the room is palpable as Charles considers his options. You try to catch his eye, to silently communicate that your life isn’t worth the price Mattia is demanding. But Charles’ gaze is fixed on Mattia, his mind clearly racing.

Finally, Charles speaks, his voice eerily calm. “You’ve made one critical mistake, Mattia.”

Mattia’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? And what’s that?”

A small, dangerous smile plays at the corner of Charles’ lips. “You assumed I came alone.”

In that instant, several things happen at once. The lights in the room suddenly cut out, plunging everything into darkness. You hear the sound of breaking glass, followed by several muffled thuds. Someone grabs you, and for a moment you panic, thinking it’s Mattia. But then a familiar voice whispers in your ear.

“It’s me, Y/N. Hold still.”

It’s Pierre. You feel him cutting through your restraints. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you make out shapes moving in the room — Charles’ men, you realize, taking down Mattia’s guards.

When the lights flicker back on, the scene has completely changed. Mattia and his men are on the ground, subdued by Charles’ team. Charles himself is standing over Mattia, a gun pointed at his head.

“You’re right, Mattia,” Charles says, his voice cold. “This was between us. You should have left Y/N out of it.”

As Pierre helps you to your feet, you stumble, your legs weak from being bound for so long. Charles is at your side in an instant, supporting you.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

You nod, still trying to process what just happened. “I’m okay. How did you ...”

Charles manages a small smile. “Did you really think I’d come unprepared? My men were in position before I ever entered the building.”

You lean into him, relief washing over you. “I thought ... I was so scared you’d give in to his demands.”

Charles’ arm tightens around you. “Never. I would never let him hurt you, Y/N.”

As Charles’ men secure Mattia and begin to lead him away, you turn to Charles. “What happens now?”

Charles’ expression turns grim. “Now, we make sure Mattia can never threaten us again. And then ...” He looks down at you, his eyes softening. “Then we talk about upgrading your security. Because I’m never letting something like this happen again.”

***

The morning after your harrowing ordeal, you find yourself seated in the hospital’s main conference room, feeling as though you’ve stepped into some sort of surreal dream. To your left sits Charles, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. Across the table, the hospital’s board of directors fidget nervously, their eyes darting between you, Charles, and Dr. Beaumont, who sits at the head of the table.

The tension in the room is palpable as Dr. Beaumont clears his throat. “Well, Mr. Leclerc, Dr. Y/L/N, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. I understand there’s been some ... concerns about security?”

Charles leans forward, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steel. “Concerns would be putting it mildly, Dr. Beaumont. Dr. Y/L/N was kidnapped from your parking lot last night. I think that warrants more than just concern.”

You can see the color drain from Dr. Beaumont’s face. “Kidnapped? I ... we had no idea. Dr. Y/L/N, are you alright?”

All eyes turn to you, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “I’m fine, thank you. It was a ... misunderstanding that’s been resolved.”

Charles’ hand finds yours under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “A misunderstanding that could have ended very differently. Which is why we’re here to discuss new security measures.”

Dr. Beaumont nods, still looking shaken. “Of course, of course. What did you have in mind?”

“Two of my personal security team will accompany Dr. Y/L/N at all times while she’s on hospital grounds,” Charles states, his tone brooking no argument.

There’s a moment of stunned silence before one of the board members, Dr. Rossi, speaks up. “Mr. Leclerc, while we certainly understand your concern, having armed guards in a hospital environment is highly unorthodox. It could make patients uncomfortable, not to mention the potential liability issues ...”

Charles’ eyes narrow. “I’m not particularly concerned with what’s orthodox, Dr. Rossi. I’m concerned with Y/N’s safety.”

You decide to intervene, hoping to smooth things over. “Perhaps we could find a compromise? The security team could maintain a discreet distance, only stepping in if necessary?”

Dr. Beaumont latches onto this suggestion eagerly. “Yes, that sounds more reasonable. We could provide them with visitor badges, allow them access to staff areas ...”

“No,” Charles cuts in firmly. “They stay with Y/N at all times. This isn’t up for negotiation.”

Another board member, Dr. Chen, leans forward. “Mr. Leclerc, please understand our position. We have protocols, regulations to follow. Having armed personnel constantly present could jeopardize our accreditation.”

Charles’ smile is cold. “I’m sure exceptions can be made, Dr. Chen. After all, I’d hate to think that the hospital values bureaucratic red tape over the safety of its star surgeon.”

The implied threat hangs heavy in the air. You can see the administrators exchanging nervous glances.

Dr. Beaumont attempts to regain control of the situation. “Now, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that satisfies everyone. Mr. Leclerc, what if we were to increase our own security measures? Install more cameras, hire additional guards ...”

Charles shakes his head. “Not good enough. My men are highly trained professionals. They stay with Y/N.”

You can see the frustration building on the faces of the board members. Dr. Rossi tries again. “Mr. Leclerc, please be reasonable. We can’t just allow civilians to roam freely through sensitive areas of the hospital. There are privacy concerns, not to mention-”

“I think you misunderstand me,” Charles interrupts, his voice dangerously soft. “This isn’t a request. It’s happening. The only question is whether you choose to cooperate or not.”

The threat in his words is unmistakable. You watch as the color drains from Dr. Rossi’s face.

Feeling the need to defuse the tension, you speak up. “Perhaps we could implement this on a trial basis? See how it works for a month and then reassess?”

Dr. Beaumont seizes on this suggestion like a lifeline. “Yes, excellent idea, Dr. Y/L/N. A trial period would allow us to address any issues that arise and make adjustments as necessary.”

Charles considers this for a moment before nodding slowly. “A trial period is acceptable, provided there’s no interference with my security team’s duties.”

Relief is palpable around the table, but it’s short-lived as Charles continues.

“Of course, I understand this arrangement may cause some ... inconvenience for the hospital. To that end, I’m prepared to make an additional donation to help smooth things over.”

The board members perk up at this, their expressions shifting from worry to interest.

Dr. Beaumont leans forward eagerly. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Leclerc. What sort of donation did you have in mind?”

Charles’ smile is predatory. “Let’s say ... sixteen million euros, to be used at the hospital’s discretion. Provided, of course, that my security requirements are met without further argument.”

The room falls silent as the enormity of the offer sinks in. You can practically see the dollar signs in the administrators’ eyes.

Dr. Chen is the first to recover. “Mr. Leclerc, that’s an incredibly generous offer. I’m sure we can work out the details of the security arrangement to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Charles nods, satisfied. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now, shall we discuss the specifics?”

What follows is a detailed negotiation of the security protocols. You watch, somewhat bemused, as the very same administrators who were stammering objections moments ago now fall over themselves to accommodate Charles’ every demand.

By the end of the meeting, it’s agreed that Charles’ security team will have full access to all areas of the hospital, will be allowed to carry concealed weapons, and will have final say on any security matters relating to you.

As the meeting wraps up, Dr. Beaumont turns to you, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “Dr. Y/L/N, I hope you know that your safety is our utmost concern. If there’s anything else we can do ...”

You manage a small smile. “Thank you, Dr. Beaumont. I appreciate the hospital’s flexibility in this matter.”

As you and Charles stand to leave, Dr. Beaumont calls out, “Mr. Leclerc, a word in private, if you don’t mind?”

Charles nods, turning to you. “I’ll be right out, Y/N.”

You exit the conference room, your mind whirling. As you wait in the hallway, you overhear snippets of the conversation inside.

Dr. Beaumont’s voice, low and eager, “... sure there isn’t anything else we should know?”

Charles’ reply, cool and dismissive, “... all you need to concern yourself with ...”

A moment later, Charles emerges, his expression softening as he sees you. “Ready to go?”

You nod, falling into step beside him as you walk towards the elevator. “Don’t you think this is all a bit ... excessive?”

He stops, turning to face you. “After what happened last night, I’m not taking any chances with your safety. I can’t lose you.”

The raw emotion in his voice catches you off guard. You reach out, touching his arm gently. “You won’t lose me. But Charles, this is my workplace. I need to be able to do my job without feeling like I’m under constant surveillance.”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know. And I’m sorry if this complicates things for you. But please, just give it a chance. For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

You study his face, seeing the worry lines etched around his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Despite your reservations, you find yourself nodding. “Alright. We’ll try it your way. But if it becomes too disruptive ...”

“Then we’ll reassess,” Charles finishes, relief evident in his voice. “Thank you, Y/N.”

As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. The world of medicine, with its clear rules and ethical guidelines, seems far removed from Charles’ realm of shadowy deals and armed guards.

“Charles,” you say as the elevator descends, “what exactly did Dr. Beaumont want to discuss in private?”

Charles’ expression turns guarded. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just some details about the donation.”

You’re not entirely convinced, but you decide not to push it. As the elevator doors open, you’re greeted by the sight of two men in suits — clearly Charles’ security team.

Charles nods to them. “This is Andrea and Joris. They’ll be your primary security detail.”

You force a smile, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you both.”

Andrea and Joris nod respectfully, but their expressions remain impassive. You can already tell that this is going to take some getting used to.

As you walk through the hospital lobby, you’re acutely aware of the stares and whispers from staff and patients alike. Charles seems oblivious to the attention, but you feel your cheeks heating up.

“Charles,” you murmur, “people are staring.”

He glances around, then shrugs. “Let them stare. Your safety is more important than gossip.”

You’re about to argue further when you spot Sophia rushing towards you, her eyes wide with concern.

“Y/N!” She exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “I heard you were in some kind of trouble last night. Are you okay? And who are these guys?”

You extract yourself from Sophia’s embrace, acutely aware of Charles and the security team watching. “I’m fine, Sophia. Really. It was just a misunderstanding. As for these gentlemen ...” You gesture vaguely. “They’re, um ...”

“Private security,” Charles interjects smoothly. “In light of recent events, we felt it prudent to take extra precautions.”

Sophia’s eyes dart between you and Charles, clearly bursting with questions. “Private security? Y/N, what’s going on?”

You can feel a headache building behind your eyes. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain later, okay?”

She nods, though her expression says this conversation is far from over. “Okay, but you owe me details. Lots of details.”

As Sophia walks away, you turn to Charles with a sigh. “This is going to be a nightmare to explain to everyone.”

Charles’ expression softens. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But I need you safe. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

Looking into his eyes, seeing the mix of concern and affection there, you feel your resistance crumbling. Despite the complications, despite the danger, you know that what you and Charles have is worth fighting for.

“Together,” you agree softly.

As you head towards your office, flanked by Andrea and Joris, with Charles by your side, you can’t help but feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter of your life. One filled with more danger and complexity than you ever imagined, but also with a depth of love and protection you never thought possible.

The hospital corridors stretch out before you, familiar yet somehow changed. You take a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them head-on — with Charles (and now apparently with an armed escort) by your side.

***

A year later, life has settled into a new normal. You’ve grown accustomed to the peculiarities of being the personal physician to Monaco’s most powerful man, including the late-night calls and the sometimes bizarre injuries.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’re in Charles’ private medical suite, nestled within his sprawling mansion, tending to yet another gunshot wound. The room is state-of-the-art, rivaling any hospital, but with a touch of luxury that screams Charles.

“Ow! Easy there, mon cœur,” Charles winces as you clean the wound on his upper arm.

You roll your eyes, but there’s affection in your voice as you reply, “Maybe if you’d stop zigging when you should be zagging, we wouldn’t be here so often.”

Charles attempts a charming smile, but it turns into a grimace as you start preparing the sutures. “You know I can’t help it. Danger follows me everywhere.”

“Mhmm,” you hum skeptically. “And I’m sure you do nothing to encourage it.”

As you begin stitching, Charles lets out an exaggerated groan. “Y/N, you’re torturing me. Is this revenge for forgetting our dinner reservation last week?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “If I wanted revenge, I’d let Pierre patch you up instead. Now hold still, unless you want a scar to ruin your perfect skin.”

Charles pouts, looking more like a petulant child than the feared boss of the Monegasque Mafia. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Only a little,” you admit with a smirk. “Someone has to keep that ego of yours in check.”

As you finish the last stitch, Charles flexes his arm experimentally. “You know, for someone who claims to care about me, you’re awfully indifferent about my pain.”

You start cleaning up, shaking your head in amusement. “Stop getting shot if you don’t want stitches.”

Charles’ hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer. “But it hurts,” he whines playfully. “You should kiss me, treat me with care. I’m your patient, you should be good to me.”

You laugh, gently extracting yourself from his grip. “Nice try. But doctor’s orders are rest and recovery. No strenuous activity for at least a week.”

Charles’ eyes widen in horror. “A week? You can’t be serious. What am I supposed to do for a whole week?”

“I don’t know,” you tease, “maybe try not getting into gunfights? I hear it’s good for your health.”

Charles stands, testing his arm’s mobility. “You know that’s not what I meant. Come on, mon amour, surely there are some ... activities we could engage in that won’t strain my arm?”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. “No sex, Charles. You’ll pull your stitches.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Charles groans dramatically, flopping back onto the examination table. Then, a mischievous glint appears in his eye. “What about just a little ... oral attention? That won’t affect my arm at all.”

You can’t help but laugh at his persistence. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Charles grins, clearly thinking he’s won. “But you love me anyway.”

“God help me, I do,” you admit, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “But the answer is still no. Doctor’s orders, remember?”

Charles sighs in defeat. “Fine, fine. But you owe me when I’m healed.”

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” you promise with a wink. “Now, let’s get you to bed. And I mean for sleeping, mister.”

As you help Charles to his feet, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You know, this whole stern doctor act is incredibly sexy. Maybe we could role-play once I’m better?”

You playfully swat his uninjured arm. “Behave or I’ll have Pierre stand guard outside our door to make sure you rest.”

Charles chuckles as you guide him out of the medical suite and towards the bedroom. “You wouldn’t dare. Pierre’s terrified of walking in on us after last time.”

The memory makes you blush. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t look him in the eye.”

As you reach the opulent bedroom, you help him settle into bed. He catches your hand as you turn to leave. “Stay with me?” He asks, his voice soft and vulnerable in a way few people ever get to hear.

Your resolve melts. “Just to sleep. I mean it, Charles.”

You kick off your shoes and climb into bed beside him, careful not to jostle his injured arm. Charles immediately pulls you close with his good arm, nuzzling into your neck.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Not just for this, but for everything. For patching me up, for putting up with my dangerous life, for ... for loving me despite it all.”

The sincerity in his voice touches you deeply. You turn in his embrace to face him, cupping his cheek gently. “Charles, I don’t love you despite your life. I love all of you, dangerous parts included. Though I could do with fewer midnight patch-up sessions.”

Charles chuckles softly. “I’ll try to schedule my injuries for more convenient times in the future.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “How about trying to avoid injuries altogether?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Charles teases, but then his expression turns serious. “I know my life isn’t easy, Y/N. I know I ask a lot of you. If it ever becomes too much ...”

You silence him with a gentle kiss. “Stop right there. I’m not going anywhere. I knew what I was getting into, and I choose this — I choose you — every day.”

Charles’ arms tighten around you, mindful of his injury. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Probably not,” you agree with a smirk. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”

As you lay there in comfortable silence, your mind drifts to the events of the past year. The increased security measures, the close calls, the exhilarating highs and terrifying lows of being part of Charles’ world. It hasn’t been easy, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“What are you thinking about?” Charles asks softly, noticing your contemplative mood.

You trace lazy patterns on his chest as you answer. “Just ... everything. How much has changed in a year. How different my life is now.”

Charles tenses slightly. “Do you ever regret it? Getting involved with me, I mean.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him properly. “Never. It’s crazy and dangerous and sometimes I think I must be out of my mind, but I’ve never been happier.”

The relief on Charles’ face is palpable. “Even when I wake you up at ungodly hours to stitch me up?”

“Even then,” you assure him with a smile. “Though I reserve the right to be grumpy about it.”

Charles laughs, then winces as the movement jostles his arm. “Fair enough. I suppose I should be grateful you haven’t accidentally stitched anything embarrassing into me yet.”

You grin mischievously. “Don’t give me ideas. I’m sure ‘Drama Queen’ would look lovely across your bicep.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Charles gasps in mock horror.

“Try me,” you challenge playfully. “Keep whining about your injuries and find out.”

Charles pulls you closer, nuzzling into your hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll be a model patient from now on.”

You snort in disbelief. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Now get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”

As Charles’ breathing evens out, you find yourself marveling at the turn your life has taken. From a chance encounter in a dark alley to this — sharing a bed with one of the most powerful men in Monaco, patching up bullet wounds in the middle of the night.

It’s not the life you ever imagined for yourself, but as you feel the steady beat of Charles’ heart beneath your hand, you know it’s exactly where you’re meant to be. Dangerous, complicated, and wonderfully yours.

You press a soft kiss to Charles’ chest, careful not to wake him. “I love you,” you whisper, knowing that no matter what challenges tomorrow brings, you’ll face them together.

As sleep begins to claim you, your last coherent thought is a mix of amusement and affection. You make a mental note to stock up on lollipops – it seems your most frequent patient has a penchant for post-treatment rewards, and you have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot more of his pouty face in the future.

But that’s okay. Because for every whine, every pout, every dramatic sigh, there’s also the fierce protectiveness, the tender moments, and the love that radiates from Charles in everything he does. It’s a package deal, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer to Charles and let sleep take you, ready to face whatever adventures — or misadventures — tomorrow might bring.

Million Dollar Man | Logan Sargeant/ Elijah Hewson X reader (smau)

Summary: In which Y/n y/l/n meets the love of her life after losing the other one.

Pairings: Logan Sargeant x fem!ex!reader, Elijah Hewson x fem!actress!reader

A/n: I’m back with my Elijah Hewson x f1 fanfics! Also no hate intended towards Logan.

Masterlist

Yourusername

Liked by AlexAlbon, DanielRicciardo and 567000 others

Yourusername: Race weekend with my favourite people <3

Comments:

AlexAlbon: Wrong team y/n!

> DanielRicciardo: Alpha Tauri is the only right team😎

F1fans: “with my favourite people”. So where’s Logan🤔

> justaninchident: Right, he hasn’t been in any of her photo dumps and he hasn’t liked any of her pictures lately.

Lilymhe: My favourite person🫶🏼

> AlexAlbon: Tought I was your favourite person🤨

Yourusername

📍Dublin, Ireland

Liked by Lilymhe, AlexAlbon and 564900 others

Yourusername: Me, myself and I on a little get away!

Comments:

Lilymhe: You deserve it y/n/n🫶🏼

> F1fan3: I love how y/n and Lily are still friends even tho y/n and Logan probably broke up.

LoganSargeantfan2: Where is Logan????

Yourusername posted on their story:

📍Dublin, Ireland

Caption: Getting to know the culture!

Replies:

Lilymhe: 2 pints😏 who’s the lucky one??

> yourusername: I’ll tell u all about it when I’m back😉

LoganSargeant: Y/n please answer your texts, also 2 glasses, who are you with??

Yourusername

📍 Dublin, Ireland

Liked by ElijahHewson, LoganSargeant and 564000 others

Yourusername: Dublin in ecstasy.

Comments:

Lilymhe: Babe it’s been a month, I need you back here😩

> Yourusername: I’ll be back in 2 weeks babe🫶🏼

Inhalerfan2: Girly spends a month in Dublin and is already an Inhaler fan

> ElijahHewsonsguitarstring: That guy in the second pic looks a lot like Eli🤔

> inhalefan3: omg he does🤨

ElijahHewson: Am I not the best tour guide ever??

> yourusername: Definitely!

Yourusername

Liked by ElijahHewson, Lilymhe and 5476000 others

yourusername: Brooklyn baby

comments:

Inhalerfan2: "Well, my bofriend's in a band"

ElijahHewson: Prettiest girl ever

>Yourusername: Prettiest boy ever <3

LoganSargeantfan2: Damn she moved on fast.

>Y/nswife: Girl shut up, they broke up 3 months ago and Logan cheated on her so let her be!

Yourusername

Liked by ElijahHewson, LoganSargeant and 571000 others

yourusername: I too love Bono's son <3

comments have been disabled

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ARABELLA —ELIJAH HEWSON'S IT GIRL GF HEADCANONS

summary —every popular man needs an even more popular girlfriend and rn that's you babe xx

written for this request

wraps her lips round the mexican coke, makes you wish that you were the bottle

you're such a fan fav.

like whenever you're at inhaler gigs they're almost more excited to take pictures with you than with the band

if you work in the limelight as well (singer, model, actress, etc) his fanbase is your fanbase.

pictures of you and elijah (and just you) are very common profile pics for inhaler twt and tiktok

he's very aware that he's the arm candy in the relationship

he can't complain tho, he gets it

obsessed bf, pretty gf dynamic

goes without saying that you've got more than a few songs written about you

if you're irish (self projecting) you would be freaking out with him and the lads over them playing in slane (and for opening hslot ofc)

in famous!reader headcanons i always see "his insta is a fanpage for you" and i raise you one, your insta is a fanpage for HIM!!

litch whenever an album drops, it's on the story and in a post. they announced tour dates? posted. they're opening for someone? posted. they fall asleep on your couch after a show? posted. you see a cute fan edit? saved, commented, and posted.

you're visibly down bad for him

BUT DONT WORRY hes visibly down bad for you too

if you're a singer, people are getting videos of him with the biggest heart eyes chilling in the vip section

if you're an actress, pictures of him staring at you on the red carpet or during interviews haunt the rockstar gf pinterest girlies

if you're a model you better believe that there has never been a show of yours when everyone can see him smiling in the front row

your little fanboy <3

forehead kisses for the win!!!

AND AND AND!!!!!! a hand on the small of your back at all times

definitely does the thumb thing when you're holding hands

he follows the sidewalk rule like it's a law

tells u abt the time he got abducted by aliens to help u sleep xx

he doesn't really fuck with spooning but will always rest easier if your head is on his chest and his arm is around you

i feel like if you're a very excitable person (self projecting again) he's such a listener

like you could be rambling about the most random thing in the world, and he'll just sit there nodding with a cute little smile on his face

he'd be great to gossip with, i think, but that might just be the irish in him

it's pretty much mandatory that you get on well with the rest of the bad bcs if you're not busy yourself, eli is dragging you on tour with them

if you were in the industry longer than them i feel like you'd all have some really good chats

like giving them advice on how to deal with anxiety and helping them through any doubts or fears they have

they all appreciate having you around even if ye take the piss out of each other 24/7

it's loving banter <3

you'd get mentioned in interviews a few times

never by name tho

because eli's so private and doesn't want to end up with the bands success being attributed to you he'd never be like "oh, y/n said this, y/n said that"

instead he'd be like "oh, yeah my girlfriend's been here before so she's been telling us where to go and all"

if the others ever brought you up it'd be to take the piss out of eli

"yeah his girlfriend had to drag him out the bus this morning" "he wouldn't shut up till we brought his girlfriend over" stuff like that

you and eli would have some proper deep chats i feel

he trusts you so much

each others ride or dies fr

fans hope you get married

he does too

overall, any comment section under a pic of the two of you is filled with people crediting ye for their bisexuality xx

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