The Summer I Turned Pretty - Charles Leclerc & Arthur Leclerc

to live a lifetime with you | CL16

PAIRING: charles leclerc x fem!reader

REQUESTED: [] yes [X] no

WORD COUNT: 7.8k

SYNOPSIS: after twenty-six years together, it only made sense that charles would want to live out the rest of his life with you by his side.

WARNINGS: mentions of death (jules + charles' father), mattia being a decent human being at the end (sorry its for plot only), probably so many sentences that make no sense, time skips galore, me writing about love without having ever experienced it, french translations

as always, don't be a ghost reader!

to say that you and charles were childhood sweethearts would be an understatement, really.

you and charles had known each other since the two of you were born basically, with your parents moving in next door to the leclercs not long after your birth. charles had only just started standing on his own two feet at seven months, while your own six-month-old self had discovered the art of scooting your bum around to get from one place to another. 

at the time, lorenzo was absolutely obsessed with all things relating to his baby brother, and when he saw the new neighbours walk into the empty house with a small baby girl nibbling on a cookie, he was ecstatic, running up to his mom and telling her that they could set up play dates for charles and you. honestly, if it wasn’t for lorenzo’s insistence, you were sure that you and charles would not have been where you were today.

it helped that your parents and charles’ parents became fast friends. growing up, your families did everything together. vacations, celebrations, holidays, anything and everything you could think of. the two of you grew up sharing everything, from toys to food, and everything in between. the only thing you hadn’t shared with one another was the fact that charles had a brother, and you did not.

when arthur was born, you had cried to your parents every day and night about wanting a baby sister. as a soon-to-be three-year-old, you had no idea that your parents were unable to have more children, receiving nothing but sad smiles when you continuously asked for another sibling.

nonetheless, you had quickly taken to arthur leclerc. and much like lorenzo had felt for charles, you and charles felt for arthur. instead of playing with charles, you were now focused on the new baby in pascale’s arms and how tiny he was. looking back, pascale would always reminisce how you and charles were horrible for her heart when arthur was a baby, always handing the small boy even smaller toys. arthur himself would always bring up the times the two of you tried to “kill” him as a baby, always finding it funny how you and charles defended yourselves.

you’d learned quite early on that charles was a strange kid. and rude, if your four-year-old self were to add. the two of you would always play together, and while you two shared all your toys with one another, charles drew the line at your barbies. 

on his fourth birthday, pascale and hervé had bought charles a remote control car, and he had instantly rushed off to go play with it, pulling you along. he had run over your barbie doll that day, after having fought with you about how it was his birthday and he didn’t want to play with girly dolls. a few days later, charles had ‘accidentally’ ripped ken’s head off of his body, leaving you in a mess of distressed sobs and tears. 

lorenzo could still remember the way you had knocked and entered his room, fat tears rolling down your chubby cheeks as you presented the headless figurine to him and jules who had been hanging out with the eldest leclerc. you had begged either of them to fix it, and while jules took the doll from your hands, lorenzo went off to find his younger brother and scold him for ruining your toys. instead of in his room, lorenzo found charles leaning over arthur’s crib, explaining to the youngest how cars were much cooler than your barbies. arthur, of course, had no idea what his brother had been telling him, too focused on figuring out how he could eat the plastic car in his hand.

since then, however, charles had been a lot more willing to play with your dolls, and soon enough, the driver’s seat in his remote control car was filled with your new ken doll that the leclercs had bought for your own birthday. charles would drive his car up to your small dollhouse, and then the passenger seat would get filled as well, with your favourite barbie doll sitting next to ken as they drove off to charles’ racetrack set up. 

life was always filled with compromises and balance for charles and yourself, and as you two got older, your friendship became stronger and less of the cat and mouse relationship you had when you were four. when you two started school, you were lucky enough to be put in the same class, and at every parent-teacher conference, your teacher always said the same thing to your parents; vos enfants parlent toujours entre eux, jamais aux autres. your children are always talking to each other, never to others.

the two of you became attached at the hip, so one can imagine the turmoil you felt when charles decided to take up racing like jules, and left you all alone at your shared desk while he karted along the tracks of france. you were even more upset when charles came back talking about a french boy named pierre. you had decided then, with both jules and pierre taking charles away from you, that you hated french people. 

during the time that charles began karting, your parents were often asked to house either lorenzo or arthur, sometimes even both, while pascale and hervé took the middle child to his races. you’d grown especially close to arthur and lorenzo during those times, and your parents had countless pictures of you and the youngest leclerc playing dress-up before bedtime.

when you met pierre, you had given him the cold shoulder, much like you had been giving jules whenever he came to visit. you were especially angry when pierre had been invited to join your vacations, but you couldn’t help but feel bad when charles looked at both of you with a sad look on his face. he wanted both of his friends to be friends too.

more years passed, and the resentment you had towards both frenchmen faded as you realized just how happy racing made charles. and when arthur started joining his brother some days, you never gave yourself the chance to feel upset, already begging your parents to let you miss a day of school so you could watch both brothers race on the same track.

you were twelve when you decided that you wanted to be involved in charles’ racing life. having grown up with hervé leclerc telling you and his kids stories about his own racing days, and having seen the leclercs and the gasly boy race on many tracks, it felt almost inevitable that you would follow a route in a similar field as them.

you had been sitting in your science class when you had your epiphany. you had listened in on jules and lorenzo talking about racing and the physics behind racing the night before, and when your teacher mentioned the word physics during the lesson, you realized that maybe, instead of racing yourself, you could join charles behind the scenes.

as charles made his way up the ranks in racing, you put your head down and studied hard to get the highest grades in your class. long gone were the days when your teachers would complain to your parents about you and charles talking so much, instead, they now focused on how you excelled in science. 

the leclercs had been just as happy for your accomplishments as they had been for their own family members. if anything, lorenzo couldn’t help but feel protective over you, going as far as to sit charles down and help him realize just how much of your life you were changing to fit in with his lifestyle. 

after that talk, thirteen-year-old charles spent hours in your room asking you if you were sure that engineering was what you wanted to do, and that he didn’t want to ruin your dreams just because of his own. you had giggled at his ever so slightly puberty-ridden voice, explaining just how sure you were that your future was going to be in engineering. 

when puberty hit the two of you, your relationship dynamic changed ever so slightly. no more sleepovers in the same room, or talking about everything that happened to one another. suddenly, you’d find yourself laying in your bed, a science textbook laying next to you haphazardly as you wondered if the shock you felt from charles’ fingers brushing against your arm was static electricity or if you were experiencing the same feelings as the girls in the books you read did. charles himself, wasn’t fairing all too well, blushing from time-to-time when pierre would call you his girl friend–yes, with the space. 

but alas, the two of you were oblivious to the growing and changing feelings between you two, brushing it off as just friends being friends. your parents had all exchanged glances when they caught you two sharing shy smiles, and lorenzo and jules couldn’t help but feel excited for the younger boy. arthur had gone as far as asking charles why his cheeks were red after you had left to go to the bathroom. the youngest leclerc had been pushed off the sofa and could be seen with teary eyes and a bruised elbow in the pictures from that barbecue night.

you were sixteen when you realized you harboured feelings for your best friend. you watched from the sidelines as charles transitioned to single-seaters, won races and made podiums with fortec. your realization had hit you while you watched him land his first podium, hugging pascale in absolute elation. the mother of the boy would later go on to tell you she could see the look on your face that day, and how she knew instantly that you knew you were in love.

you never reacted on your feelings, not wanting to ruin your relationship with charles. to him, you two were just best friends, and you would rather be his friend than lose him altogether. after all, losing him didn’t just mean living life without charles by your side. 

losing charles meant losing all the leclercs; pascale, hervé, lorenzo, and arthur. losing him meant losing pierre. losing jules, the dumb frenchman who was smart enough to figure out how you felt for the leclerc boy. the one that always pushed your buttons yet was there to help you out just like he had done all those years ago with your broken ken doll. and yet, even without telling charles how you truly felt, you ended up losing jules anyway. 

that day, you’d been at the leclerc household like always, watching the japan grand prix with the whole family. as tradition, you and charles had been wearing the team shirts that jules had given everyone at the start of the season. your eyes had been stuck to the screen as you watched jules’ crash, heart instantly plummetting to the bottom of your stomach as everyone let out gasps.

that same night, you had begged lorenzo to let you go with him when he left to go see jules’, but he had given you a sad smile and told you that he’d call you as soon as he was with jules so that you could talk to him as soon as he was able to. neither of your parents said anything when you followed charles into his room at night, holding his body tightly as you prayed that jules would be alright. no one said anything the next morning when they noticed the dark patches on your shoulder, or how your shirt had been crinkled as if someone had been holding onto it all night.

on july 17, you had decided that you would forever keep your feelings to yourself. losing jules was like losing your older brother, and you were sure that you would never be able to handle his loss along with the loss of charles. as you stood in your black dress, you had cried silently, apologizing to jules for going against his wishes and hiding your feelings once more. your heart ached when charles cried beside you, reaching a hand out to hold his. 

charles and yourself never went back to normal, for normal included lorenzo and jules picking at the two of you while your cheeks flushed red, or sending an unsuspecting arthur to spy on you two to see what you guys were doing. instead, the two of you had found a new normal, one that involved sharing sleepless nights reminiscing in your memories with jules, falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

days turned into weeks, which turned into months and years, and your feelings for your next door neighbour continued to grow. charles, however, remained entirely oblivious, both to your feelings and his own. he had been making big moves in the racing world, winning the title in gp3, and moving onto his first season in f2. you’d celebrated his entry into the f1 world as a haas developmental driver, and in turn, he celebrated the completion of your first year of university.

things were finally starting to look up, and then hervé fell ill. you watched from the back of the hospital room as his eyes lost a little bit of life every day. you watched as charles would hide his tears and smile at his dad, hoping to see him back in good health.

for your entire summer break, you’d find yourself staying at the leclerc household for multiple hours a day, sleeping over most of the nights. charles distanced himself from you, focusing on his racing, recounting his races with hervé for hours until a nurse would come in and tell him he’d have to leave. you couldn’t find it within yourself to be upset with him, knowing that right now, he didn’t need you, he needed his dad.

during this time, you had gotten exceptionally close to arthur, finding him sitting in his dark room crying silently as he thought about his dad. you would lay with him at night, letting the youngest wrap his arms around you while he shared how scared he was. you wished you could take his pain away, but you knew you couldn’t, instead opting to wipe away his tears and kissing his forehead.

you watched charles waste away, wishing you could reach out to him every time you saw him. he had lost his smile, the shine in his eyes dimming with every hour he spent watching his father whither away. by the end of the second week, you had decided you couldn’t simply watch him from afar, letting yourself into his room one night when you heard loud sniffles.

he didn’t move when you rested your hand against his back, and he didn’t resist when you pulled him into your side. at the feeling of your arms around him, his sniffles turned into broken cries and he sobbed against your clavicle. you stayed quiet, letting the boy blubber out words about how he tried so hard to stay strong but that he couldn’t anymore. you didn’t tell him it would be okay, you knew it wouldn’t. hervé was getting sicker and you feared that you would all experience loss once more.

when he had calmed down, the two of you laid down in his bed, charles’ head resting against your chest. his fingers fiddled with the bottom of your shirt, touching the skin of your back every so often. 

“je lui ai dit que j'avais signé avec ferrari,” his voice was quiet, barely louder than a whisper. i told him i signed with ferrari,

your hand found its way to his head, twirling the strands with your fingers, “comment a-t-il réagi?” how did he react?

charles’ voice broke, “il était si heureux pour moi,” his arms tightened around you, “mais je lui ai menti.” he was so happy for me, but i lied to him.

“maman est contrariée, elle a dit que je n'aurais pas dû mentir,” he sniffled, “mais je lui ai dit que j'avais signé pour 2019. je ne voulais pas mentir alors je me suis donné du temps. je veux que cela se produise.” mom is upset, said i shouldn’t have lied, but i told him i signed for 2019. i didn’t want to lie so i gave myself time. i want to make it happen.

“tu as le temps, char,” you used your hand to pull his head back, “tu as deux ans pour en faire une réalité.” you’ve got time, char, you’ve got two years to make it a reality.

his eyes glistened with tears, “mais c’est ferrari.” but it’s ferrari.

“je suis un fils horrible,” he looked away, “je lui ai menti.” i’m a horrible son, i lied to him

“tu n'es pas un fils horrible, charles,” you moved to hold his face in your hands, “tu ne l'es pas.” you are not a horrible son, charles. you’re not.

“je ne veux pas qu'il s'inquiète,” his tears slipped under your palms, “je veux qu'il parte en sachant que je peux subvenir aux besoins de notre famille.” i just don’t want him to worry. want him to leave knowing i can support our family.

your heart broke for him, “charles.”

“je veux juste qu'il soit fier de moi.” i just want to make him proud.

you leaned forward and placed gentle kisses against his closed eyelids, “il est et sera toujours fier de toi.” he has and will always be proud of you. 

a week later, you stood a few feet away from charles, tears spilling from your eyes as you wore another black dress. hervé had passed away with his family by his side, telling his boys to look after their mother. your own parents stood silently beside you, tears slipping down their own faces as well. 

after the service, you sat with the leclerc boys on the porch outside. charles’ arm pressed against yours, while arthur sat between your legs, head in your hands where you combed through his hair. lorenzo sat near the front door, keeping an eye out for his mother who sat on the couch, resting against your own mother. not a word was shared, all of you mourning in silence. 

your relationship with charles turned delicate, walking on eggshells whenever you wanted to talk to him. charles was stuck in his head, he had a job to do. you had pushed and pushed to tell him to not race in baku until he exploded, yelling at you for not understanding.

“je n'ai pas le temps de ne pas courir, y/n!” his hands were tugging at his hair, “je lui ai promis que j'avais une place chez ferrari mais je ne l'ai pas. je ne peux pas me permettre de ne pas courir, je dois aller chez ferrari.” i don't have the time to not race, y/n! i promised him i had a spot in ferrari but i don't. i can't afford to not race, i need to get to ferrari. 

and so you watched him race his heart out in baku, joining the leclerc family on their trip to azerbaijan. you watched as his sadness and despair poured into his racing. he was fast, enough speed to win the race he had dedicated to his father. his eyes had met yours while he stood at the podium and he felt himself look at you differently for the first time, his father’s words ringing in his head as he watched you smile at him with teary eyes.

it had been a couple days after charles had told hervé about his signing with ferrari when hervé asked charles to sit down and talk with him. his voice was weak and his hand shook as he reached out to grab his son’s hand.

he had smiled, “mon garçon, maintenant que tu as signé avec ferrari, pourquoi ne pas enfin te poser?” my boy, now that you've signed with ferrari, why don't you finally settle down?

“se poser?” charles had been confused, “papa, je n'ai même pas encore 20 ans.” settle down? dad, i’m not even 20 yet.

“l'amour n'a pas d'âge requis,” hervé’s laugh turned into a cough. love has no required age.

“je ne suis même pas amoureux, qu'est-ce que tu dis?” charles helped his father drink water. i'm not even in love, what are you saying?

hervé leaned back, giving his son a fond look, “mon garçon, tu es amoureux de ta meilleure amie depuis que tu l'as laissée jouer avec tes voitures télécommandées.” my boy, you have been in love with your best friend ever since you let her play with your remote control cars.

charles had since waved off his dad’s words, blaming them on his sickness. he had got it all wrong, you were his friend. nothing more, nothing less. 

yet as he stood there, looking at you for the first time since you had fought about this very race, he realized that there was something about you that made him feel like no one else could. is this what love is, papa?, he had asked as he held the trophy over his head.

less than a month later, you found yourself sitting in your room, smiling down at your phone. charles had sent you a picture of himself, dressed in ferrari red, ready to participate in the mid-season testing. charles was almost there, another step closer to his dreams. 

another month passed and now, you were preparing for your move to university dorms, third year looming around the corner. charles asked if you would like to go to mala beach with him. you’d agreed and the two of you sat in front of the bright turquoise sea, a comforting silence between you two.

“j'ai été signé,” charles had broken the silence. i got signed.

you whipped your head to him, “to ferrari?!”

charles let out a small laugh, shaking his head before looking back at you, “sauber, i’ll be starting with them in the new season.”

“c'est incroyable, char,” you gave him a wide smile, “you’re finally in f1.” that’s amazing.

charles returned your smile with one a bit smaller, “just hope i can make it to ferrari next season.”

“you will, i believe you can do it,” you leaned over and nudged me, “save me a spot in the pit wall, yeah? i’ll be waiting on your call for the 2020 season.”

charles had laughed, “of course, i will. lorenzo would have my head if i didn’t.”

“lorenzo is a smart man.”

the conversation died and you two focused back on the view in front of you. charles was nervous. he had invited you to the beach to do more than just tell you about his career. he wanted to confess to you. 

the last few months had been painful— hard— but you made it better with just a single look. after the race in baku, charles realized that he had loved you for a lot longer than he had let on. he loved you when you wore his shirt to school, running late after a sleepover. he loved you when he walked in on you and jules talking about the physics of racing. he loved you when he watched you help arthur with his math homework. he loved you when you had held him close and kissed his puffy eyes, and every single time you told him you were proud of him.

he loved you since the moment he realized what love was, even if he thought it was platonic at the time.

a finger pressed against the middle of his eyebrows, “vous réfléchissez très fort, perceval.” you’re thinking quite hard.

charles’ brows unfurrowed, but a pout graced his lips at the sound of his middle name. ever since you learned of his full name, you had taken to calling him by a different name for certain situations. perceval was for when you were teasing him. he had complained many times that he hated it when you called him that, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it endearing all at the same time. he reached up to grab your hand and pulled it between both his hands, turning so that the two of you were sat across one another rather than beside.

he let out a small sigh, eyes focused on your hand in his, “je veux te dire quelque chose.” i want to tell you something.

you, noticing his nerves, didn’t say anything, only nodding. 

you squeezed his hand and he continued, “je veux te dire quelque chose, mais j'ai peur.” i want to tell you something, but i’m scared.

your grip tightened slightly, “pourquoi as-tu peur?” why are you scared?

“j'ai peur de te perdre après avoir dit ce que j'ai à dire.” i'm scared i'll lose you after i say what i have to say.

you felt your heart race at his words, hands growing clammy. for years, you had repeated those same words to yourself, vowing yourself to silence regarding the topic. did he finally feel the same?

you willed yourself to stay calm, “you could never lose me, charles. jamais.” ever.

he gave you a nervous smile, eyes meeting yours for the first time since the new conversation rose. you gave him a soft smile, encouraging him to go on. you needed to hear him say the words first.

“quelques jours après avoir dit à papa que j'avais signé, il m'a dit qu'il était temps pour moi d'avouer mes sentiments,” charles looked away from you, “à l'époque, je n'avais aucune idée de ce dont il parlait.” a couple days after i told dad about me signing, he told me that it was time for me to come clean about my feelings…at the time i had no idea what he was talking about.

“il m'a dit que j'étais amoureuse,” he told me i was in love. charles spoke and your heart went wild. was this really happening? 

“et quand j'ai demandé avec qui, il a dit que c'était toi.” and when i asked with who, he said it was you.

you blinked at him. charles’ eyes darted back to your face, his hands squeezing yours.

“et depuis, j'ai réalisé qu'il avait raison,” he gave you a soft smile, “c'est toi. ca a toujours été toi.” and since then, i realized he was right. it's you. it's always been you.

you felt like the small waves lapping at the sand in front of you suddenly turned large and splashed down on you. you felt like your world had just gotten a thousand times brighter. a weight you never even realized you were carrying, lifted off your chest. you felt like you were breathing right for the first time. 

“y/n l/n, i love you. looking back, i have loved you from the moment you filled my memories,” his eyes searched yours, “tu as été la seule constante dans ma vie, et ce que j'ai ressenti pour toi a toujours été le même.” you've been the one constant in my life, and the way i've felt for you has always been the same. 

“je sais maintenant que c'est de l'amour, et j'ai vraiment besoin que tu le saches avant que nous passions au prochain chapitre de nos vies.” i know now it's love, and i really need you to know that before we move on to the next chapter of our lives. 

it was as if his words had been kissing you, leaving you breathless the moment he pulled away and stopped talking. charles had just told you he loved you. charles marc hervé perceval leclerc had just confessed to you.

a beat passed and he lightly tugged on your hand, the hopeful look in his eyes dimming slightly. you realized you had not responded.

“you love me?” after nearly five years of hiding your feelings from him, charles had just told you that he had felt the same. you couldn’t believe it.

he nodded slightly, “i do. je t’aime beaucoup.” i love you a lot.

you let the words sink in. he loved you. he loves you.

charles opened his mouth, “it’s okay if you don–”

“i love you, too,” you had let out a breathless laugh, “mon dieu, charles, je t'aime depuis que nous avons seize ans, quand tu as eu ton premier podium avec fortec.” my god, i have loved you since we were sixteen, when you got your first podium with fortec.

“fortec?” his eyes were wide as he realized how long it had been, “je suis un tel connard. tu as caché tes sentiments pendant si longtemps.” i am such an asshole. you've been hiding your feelings for so long.

his eyes looked watery with love, his forehead coming to rest against yours, “je suis désolé qu'il m'ait fallu si longtemps pour réaliser mes sentiments pour toi.” i'm sorry it took me so long to realize my feelings for you.

you smiled at him softly, your own eyes tearing up just as much as his, “mieux vaut tard que jamais.” better late than never.

to say your relationship with charles changed drastically after the confession would be a lie. the two of you spent the rest of your day at the beach wrapped up in each other’s arms, and charles had kissed your forehead before he drove the two of you home. the entire night you felt like you couldn’t sleep, and instead you spent your entire night texting charles with your curtains pulled shut, not wanting charles to see how wide you smiled with every text.

and although you two had confessed, you had neglected to discuss what would happen next.

charles had texted you at half past midnight the night before you left for university, asking for you to come outside. when you came out to your porch, he stood there with a smile on his face and an offer to go to the park you two used to play at as kids.

you were on the swings when he had asked you, sitting side by side and swinging back and forth slowly. you had been focused on the movement of your feet, trying to swing just slightly higher than charles.

“tu dirais oui si je te demandais d'être ma petite amie?” would you say yes if i asked you to be my girlfriend?

whenever charles reminisced this moment, he would say that the look you gave him when you registered his question had been the cutest doe-eyed look ever. your eyes were wide and your eyebrows had raised slightly. your lips were parted in the smallest of round shapes, and you blinked before responding.

“je pense que oui,” you slowed your swinging slightly, eyes bright with excitement, “veux-tu l'essayer?” i think i would. do you want to try it?

charles had given you a cheeky smile, slipping out of his swing and resting on one knee in front of you. he had gotten down wrong with his right knee kissing the ground, but you said nothing as your lips quirked into a smile.

“y/n l/n,” he reached for your hands and you let him grab them, “me ferais-tu l'honneur d'être ma charmante petite amie?” would you do the honour of being my lovely girlfriend?

you pretended to think about it, the hum turning into a giggle at the way charles’ face dropped in annoyance, “j’aimerais.” i would love to.

and much to the annoyance of charles’ nosy brothers, you two hadn’t kissed to set the new relationship in stone, instead wrapping each other into a tight hug, one where your feet left the ground, before charles placed a gentle kiss to your temple. 

the two of you had been dating for four months before you finally had your first kiss. charles had asked you out on a date on christmas eve, and had been rather disappointed when it began raining halfway through. it was cheesy, you knew it, charles knew it, and anyone and everyone who watched you tug charles out from under the canopy and into the rain knew it too, but neither of you seemed to care. 

charles’ cheeks and nose were slightly rosy from the mixture of cold raindrops and wind, and you were sure you weren’t fairing much better. your hands had wrapped around his neck as his found home against your hips. 

“i’ve dreamt of kissing under the rain ever since i watched ‘a cinderella story’,” you had laughed, throwing your head back into the rain.

charles had pulled you closer, “well, ma princesse, i’m here to make your dreams a reality.” 

sharing a kiss under the rain was cold, obviously— you couldn’t help the shiver that travelled up your spine when charles’ cold lips pressed themselves against your own— but at the same time, it was so warm. you felt like someone had lit a candle inside of you, warming you up from the inside out. when you pulled away, the two of you couldn’t help but let out soft laughs, hearts racing faster than any car charles had ever drove. 

the two of you had spent the rest of the year laying under warm blankets, with a cacophony of coughs and sneezes being your main form of communication.

your third year in university was split halfway between studying or taking exams, and watching charles’ races or crying to him over facetime because engineering was already so hard. as much as you had wished to be there attending charles’ every race in f1, you were nearing the end of your second semester and were swamped with finals. 

your first f1 race had been the 2018 monaco grand prix, and you’d spent the better part of your evening with your arms wrapped around him as he promised you that the next races would be better. the season had been rough for charles, but you had celebrated every good result, no matter how small.

it was your second holiday season as charles’ girlfriend when both of your worlds changed entirely. a couple days before christmas, charles had asked for you and your parents to join his family for dinner. when you had all settled around the dining table, charles stood up with a wide smile on his face.

“j'ai signé avec ferrari.” i signed with ferrari.

to this day, that dinner had been one of your favourite memories. the amount of smiles and tears shared, and the sheer pride that filled your chest when you looked at charles was something you had never been able to forget. 

that night, you and charles found yourselves sharing a bed, hands intertwined between the two of you. his eyes were glossy as he looked at you. 

a tear slipped out of his eyes when he closed them, “i didn’t lie.”

your free hand moved to wipe the tear away. your mind rushed back to the night you two had shared a week before hervé’s passing. 

you leaned forward and kissed his closed eyelids much like you had done the previous year, “no you didn’t. you’ve done well, mon amour. i know he’s so proud of you.”

on christmas morning, lorenzo had surprised you with a letter from the ferrari engineering academy, offering you an intern position to gain trackside experience for your final semester of your engineering degree. you had cried and thanked him profusely, while he laughed at your blubbering figure. later that night, arthur and charles had fought over who you’d be a race engineer for, with the youngest pointing out that he would soon join the ferrari driver academy himself.

and so 2019 began, with charles driving for ferrari, while you gained experience working with the ferrari engineering academy. by the end of your final semester, you had been offered to continue your internship with the academy which you had accepted immediately.

2019 was also the year that your relationship became public, a series of events causing fans to go crazy. pictures of charles in a suit had gone viral after some of your classmates caught sight of him at your graduation, and while you weren’t in the pictures, fans were quick to theorize that his girlfriend was one of the students who was graduating. 

speculations and theories about who you were had only just started when you made yourself known to the general f1 public, joining charles at french grand prix. it hadn’t been the plan, but after watching charles finish the race in p3 behind the mercedes, you couldn’t hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around your boyfriend and sharing a sweet kiss, unbeknownst to the cameras plastered everything to the big screens. 

for the rest of the season, you made appearances on random race weekends, work being a lot more lenient than your university deadlines had ever been. fans had joked that you were his good luck charm, with charles ending up on a podium in every race you went to.

the belgian grand prix was a race weekend you could never forget, for more reasons than one. you were there to see anthoine’s crash, hand clasped with charles as you watched the scene pan out. you felt like you were eighteen again, sitting next to charles as you watched jules on the tv. 

you had met anthoine quite a few times as you grew up for he, pierre, and charles had always been a tight-knit group. the frenchman had always been kind to you, and you found it hard to believe that he would no longer be cracking jokes with you about something pierre and charles had done while you were away.

both pierre and yourself had cried watching charles receive his award and dedicate his first win to anthoine. you wondered if he and jules were watching charles from above, smiling proudly for his accomplishment.

t was a home race that charles had won next, and the amount of people you had come across at work asking you to pass on a congratulations to charles was insane. you couldn’t complain though, you were proud charles was finally getting the recognition and love he deserved.

it was in italy where you celebrated your second anniversary, also. charles had gifted you a pretty necklace with his racing number on it, something you had worn ever since. 

in late 2019, you had been given an opportunity to join prema racing as an engineer which you had happily accepted. as you all sat around the dinner table for christmas, you shared the exciting news. arthur had been ecstatic, explaining how he would be driving for prema racing starting 2020.

“stop pouting, charles,” arthur had rolled his eyes, catching sight of his brooding older brother, “je t'avais dit qu'elle serait mon ingénieur de course.” i told you she would be my race engineer.

charles gaped at his younger brother, “woah, woah, woah. qui a dit qu'elle était votre ingénieur de course?” who said anything about her being your racing engineer?

“cela doit arriver,” arthur had smirked, dodging the hand that charles has attempted to slap his head with. it’s bound to happen.

and so, you debuted as a racing engineer during a pandemic, something you had never imagined yourself saying. much like how you hadn’t imagined saying that you would be the racing engineer for one arthur leclerc. 

much to charles’ chagrin, you remained arthur’s racing engineer for as long as he stayed in prema racing, which had been a total of three years. when it was revealed that arthur had signed with alfa romeo racing for the 2023 season, you had received multiple offers from other f1 teams to join as an engineer for their drivers. 

charles himself had jumped at the opportunity, conducting a meeting with mattia to consider switching xavier out for you, presenting him with all of yours and arthur’s stats from the previous years. when word got out about you possibly becoming charles’ race engineer, ferrari fans from across the globe demanded that mattia offer you the job. at the end of the 2022 season, scuderia ferrari had released a statement that stated how you would be replacing xavier padros as charles leclerc’s race engineer for his future ferrari seasons.

it was christmas yet again, the sixth one since you had started dating charles, and said boyfriend couldn’t help but taunt his younger brother.

“je t'avais dit qu'elle serait à moi après tout.” told you she would be mine after all.

arthur waved him off, “oui, oui. elle était mon ingénieur en premier. et pendant trois ans, laissez-moi le dire.” yeah, yeah. she was my engineer first. and for three years, let me just put that out there.

you rolled your eyes, smacking the back of charles’ head before reaching over and tugging on arthur’s ear, “depuis quand suis-je un objet que vous pouvez posséder et faire circuler?” since when was i an object you guys could just own and pass around?

both brothers winced and avoided your eyes, mumbling a quick sorry before stuffing their mouths with food. pascale had laughed, always entertained when her boys got scolded by you.

the start of your first season with ferrari had gone amazingly, with both charles and the season’s car performing exceptionally well. charles had managed to secure a large gap in the points for the driver’s championship, leading the championship with two wins worth of points.

and that leads us to now, the final race of the 2023 season. the fight for the title had yet to be over, with charles and max flipping positions every few races. at the moment, max had been leading the wdc with only five more points than charles, said ferrari driver currently leading the race with the dutch driver hot on his tail.

“alright, char, we’ve got two more laps, you can do it. push, push.”

the sound of your voice had never failed to bring a smile on charles face, no matter how stressed he was when you spoke over the radio, “how’s it looking?”

“you’re quicker than max in all sectors but the last,” you read off your observations, “ideally, you’d want that last sector to be the quickest so that there’s no chance of him overtaking you. can you go any faster?”

you could hear the smile in his voice as he pushed his car to go faster, “of course, i can, cherié.”

you tsked, “no flirting on the job, leclerc. one lap remaining.”

the radio stayed silent for the next minute, charles focused on staying ahead of max who continued to put pressure on the monégasque from behind. you could see the red ferrari at the final turn, unable to keep the smile from growing as max’s tires locked up, increasing the gap between him and charles.

the mechanics began cheering loudly, rushing to the pit wall to cheer for your boyfriend who crossed the finish line first.

you had laughed loudy, “and that’s a checkered flag, mon amour! you are the 2023 world champion!”

charles exclaimed loudly over the radio, car slowing down for a cooldown lap. he let out a few whoops before settling down to give a quick message to the team, “excellent job, guys. wow, congratulations everyone. thank you for all of the hard work this season. today marks not only my first driver’s championship, but also our first constructor’s championship win since 2008.”

he continued to thank a few more people before letting out another ecstatic laugh. from across the pitwall, you could see arthur’s red and white car cross the finish line in fifth place. 

“amour?” charles’ voice called out to you, “you there?”

“of course, champ. what’s up?” you gave mattia a confused look as he smiled at you. 

“tu dirais oui si je te demandais d'être ma femme?” would you say yes if i asked you to be my wife?

your breath hitched in your throat. you felt like you were thrown back into 2017, twenty years old sitting on a swing while charles sat in the one next to you.

“je pense que oui,” you repeated, eyes beady with unshed tears, “veux-tu l'essayer?” i think i would. do you want to try it?

charles had rushed to you the second he parked his car, pulling you close to plant a kiss against your lips before he was whisked away rather quickly to complete his post-race duties.

in front of the cameras, charles expressed his absolute elation regarding winning the grand prix, as well as coming first in both championships. the interviewer congratulated the monégasque on getting most votes for driver of the day as well, before moving on to the question he knew everyone wanted an answer for.

“so, we all picked up on that last radio message there. can we expect to receive any happy news in the near future?”

charles had smiled and shrugged, “i guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

for the final podium of the season, as his race engineer and team principal, you and mattia would be joining charles. even after 26 years of being around him, your heart still raced when you saw charles join you two on the podium.

with the awards distributed, you had waited to get drenched with champagne, looking around confused when no one popped a bottle. charles got off his step, making his way towards you.

unlike his cheeky smile six years ago, the smile on his face today was tender. the crowd beneath the podium screamed loudly as he kneeled on his left knee. he did it right this time, you couldn’t help but smile.

just like he had done six years ago, he uttered your name, “y/n l/n,” instead of grabbing your hands this time, he held his hand out to mattia, who handed him a ring box. 

charles opened the box and presented it to you, “me ferais-tu l'honneur d'être ma charmante femme?” would you do the honour of being my lovely wife?

and just like you had done six years ago, you pretended to contemplate, your smile peeking through as charles rolled his eyes at you playfully. you stuck your left hand out, wiggling your fingers, “j’aimerais.” i would love to.

the champagne bottles popped the second charles slipped the ring on your finger. you didn’t even care as the sweet champagne sprayed against your face and body, too wrapped up in the loving gaze of your fiancé. 

and then, just like you had done for the first time under the rain six years ago, the two of you locked lips under the showers of champagne. 

to live a lifetime with you | CL16

PAIRING: charles leclerc x reader

REQUESTED: [] yes [X] no

WORD COUNT: 7.8k

SYNOPSIS: after twenty-six years together, it only made sense that charles would want to live out the rest of his life with you by his side.

WARNINGS: mentions of death (jules + charles' father), mattia being a decent human being at the end (sorry its for plot only), probably so many sentences that make no sense, time skips galore, me writing about love without having ever experienced it, french translations

as always, don't be a ghost reader!

to say that you and charles where childhood sweethearts would be an understatement, really.

you and charles had known each other since the two of you were born basically, with your parents moving in next door to the leclercs not long after your birth. charles had only just started standing on his own two feet at seven months, while your own six-month-old self had discovered the art of scooting your bum around to get from one place to another. 

at the time, lorenzo was absolutely obsessed with all things relating to his baby brother, and when he saw the new neighbours walk into the empty house with a small baby girl nibbling on a cookie, he was ecstatic, running up to his mom and telling her that they could set up play dates for charles and you. honestly, if it wasn’t for lorenzo’s insistence, you were sure that you and charles would not have been where you were today.

it helped that your parents and charles’ parents became fast friends. growing up, your families did everything together. vacations, celebrations, holidays, anything and everything you could think of. the two of you grew up sharing everything, from toys to food, and everything in between. the only thing you hadn’t shared with one another was the fact that charles had a brother, and you did not.

when arthur was born, you had cried to your parents every day and night about wanting a baby sister. as a soon-to-be three-year-old, you had no idea that your parents were unable to have more children, receiving nothing but sad smiles when you continuously asked for another sibling.

nonetheless, you had quickly taken to arthur leclerc. and much like lorenzo had felt for charles, you and charles felt for arthur. instead of playing with charles, you were now focused on the new baby in pascale’s arms and how tiny he was. looking back, pascale would always reminisce how you and charles were horrible for her heart when arthur was a baby, always handing the small boy even smaller toys. arthur himself would always bring up the times the two of you tried to “kill” him as a baby, always finding it funny how you and charles defended yourselves.

you’d learned quite early on that charles was a strange kid. and rude, if your four-year-old self were to add. the two of you would always play together, and while you two shared all your toys with one another, charles drew the line at your barbies. 

on his fourth birthday, pascale and hervé had bought charles a remote control car, and he had instantly rushed off to go play with it, pulling you along. he had run over your barbie doll that day, after having fought with you about how it was his birthday and he didn’t want to play with girly dolls. a few days later, charles had ‘accidentally’ ripped ken’s head off of his body, leaving you in a mess of distressed sobs and tears. 

lorenzo could still remember the way you had knocked and entered his room, fat tears rolling down your chubby cheeks as you presented the headless figurine to him and jules who had been hanging out with the eldest leclerc. you had begged either of them to fix it, and while jules took the doll from your hands, lorenzo went off to find his younger brother and scold him for ruining your toys. instead of in his room, lorenzo found charles leaning over arthur’s crib, explaining to the youngest how cars were much cooler than your barbies. arthur, of course, had no idea what his brother had been telling him, too focused on figuring out how he could eat the plastic car in his hand.

since then, however, charles had been a lot more willing to play with your dolls, and soon enough, the driver’s seat in his remote control car was filled with your new ken doll that the leclercs had bought for your own birthday. charles would drive his car up to your small dollhouse, and then the passenger seat would get filled as well, with your favourite barbie doll sitting next to ken as they drove off to charles’ racetrack set up. 

life was always filled with compromises and balance for charles and yourself, and as you two got older, your friendship became stronger and less of the cat and mouse relationship you had when you were four. when you two started school, you were lucky enough to be put in the same class, and at every parent-teacher conference, your teacher always said the same thing to your parents; vos enfants parlent toujours entre eux, jamais aux autres. your children are always talking to each other, never to others.

the two of you became attached at the hip, so one can imagine the turmoil you felt when charles decided to take up racing like jules, and left you all alone at your shared desk while he karted along the tracks of france. you were even more upset when charles came back talking about a french boy named pierre. you had decided then, with both jules and pierre taking charles away from you, that you hated french people. 

during the time that charles began karting, your parents were often asked to house either lorenzo or arthur, sometimes even both, while pascale and hervé took the middle child to his races. you’d grown especially close to arthur and lorenzo during those times, and your parents had countless pictures of you and the youngest leclerc playing dress-up before bedtime.

when you met pierre, you had given him the cold shoulder, much like you had been giving jules whenever he came to visit. you were especially angry when pierre had been invited to join your vacations, but you couldn’t help but feel bad when charles looked at both of you with a sad look on his face. he wanted both of his friends to be friends too.

more years passed, and the resentment you had towards both frenchmen faded as you realized just how happy racing made charles. and when arthur started joining his brother some days, you never gave yourself the chance to feel upset, already begging your parents to let you miss a day of school so you could watch both brothers race on the same track.

you were twelve when you decided that you wanted to be involved in charles’ racing life. having grown up with hervé leclerc telling you and his kids stories about his own racing days, and having seen the leclercs and the gasly boy race on many tracks, it felt almost inevitable that you would follow a route in a similar field as them.

you had been sitting in your science class when you had your epiphany. you had listened in on jules and lorenzo talking about racing and the physics behind racing the night before, and when your teacher mentioned the word physics during the lesson, you realized that maybe, instead of racing yourself, you could join charles behind the scenes.

as charles made his way up the ranks in racing, you put your head down and studied hard to get the highest grades in your class. long gone were the days when your teachers would complain to your parents about you and charles talking so much, instead, they now focused on how you excelled in science. 

the leclercs had been just as happy for your accomplishments as they had been for their own family members. if anything, lorenzo couldn’t help but feel protective over you, going as far as to sit charles down and help him realize just how much of your life you were changing to fit in with his lifestyle. 

after that talk, thirteen-year-old charles spent hours in your room asking you if you were sure that engineering was what you wanted to do, and that he didn’t want to ruin your dreams just because of his own. you had giggled at his ever so slightly puberty-ridden voice, explaining just how sure you were that your future was going to be in engineering. 

when puberty hit the two of you, your relationship dynamic changed ever so slightly. no more sleepovers in the same room, or talking about everything that happened to one another. suddenly, you’d find yourself laying in your bed, a science textbook laying next to you haphazardly as you wondered if the shock you felt from charles’ fingers brushing against your arm was static electricity or if you were experiencing the same feelings as the girls in the books you read did. charles himself, wasn’t fairing all too well, blushing from time-to-time when pierre would call you his girl friend–yes, with the space. 

but alas, the two of you were oblivious to the growing and changing feelings between you two, brushing it off as just friends being friends. your parents had all exchanged glances when they caught you two sharing shy smiles, and lorenzo and jules couldn’t help but feel excited for the younger boy. arthur had gone as far as asking charles why his cheeks were red after you had left to go to the bathroom. the youngest leclerc had been pushed off the sofa and could be seen with teary eyes and a bruised elbow in the pictures from that barbecue night.

you were sixteen when you realized you harboured feelings for your best friend. you watched from the sidelines as charles transitioned to single-seaters, won races and made podiums with fortec. your realization had hit you while you watched him land his first podium, hugging pascale in absolute elation. the mother of the boy would later go on to tell you she could see the look on your face that day, and how she knew instantly that you knew you were in love.

you never reacted on your feelings, not wanting to ruin your relationship with charles. to him, you two were just best friends, and you would rather be his friend than lose him altogether. after all, losing him didn’t just mean living life without charles by your side. 

losing charles meant losing all the leclercs; pascale, hervé, lorenzo, and arthur. losing him meant losing pierre. losing jules, the dumb frenchman who was smart enough to figure out how you felt for the leclerc boy. the one that always pushed your buttons yet was there to help you out just like he had done all those years ago with your broken ken doll. and yet, even without telling charles how you truly felt, you ended up losing jules anyway. 

that day, you’d been at the leclerc household like always, watching the japan grand prix with the whole family. as tradition, you and charles had been wearing the team shirts that jules had given everyone at the start of the season. your eyes had been stuck to the screen as you watched jules’ crash, heart instantly plummetting to the bottom of your stomach as everyone let out gasps.

that same night, you had begged lorenzo to let you go with him when he left to go see jules’, but he had given you a sad smile and told you that he’d call you as soon as he was with jules so that you could talk to him as soon as he was able to. neither of your parents said anything when you followed charles into his room at night, holding his body tightly as you prayed that jules would be alright. no one said anything the next morning when they noticed the dark patches on your shoulder, or how your shirt had been crinkled as if someone had been holding onto it all night.

on july 17, you had decided that you would forever keep your feelings to yourself. losing jules was like losing your older brother, and you were sure that you would never be able to handle his loss along with the loss of charles. as you stood in your black dress, you had cried silently, apologizing to jules for going against his wishes and hiding your feelings once more. your heart ached when charles cried beside you, reaching a hand out to hold his. 

charles and yourself never went back to normal, for normal included lorenzo and jules picking at the two of you while your cheeks flushed red, or sending an unsuspecting arthur to spy on you two to see what you guys were doing. instead, the two of you had found a new normal, one that involved sharing sleepless nights reminiscing in your memories with jules, falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

days turned into weeks, which turned into months and years, and your feelings for your next door neighbour continued to grow. charles, however, remained entirely oblivious, both to your feelings and his own. he had been making big moves in the racing world, winning the title in gp3, and moving onto his first season in f2. you’d celebrated his entry into the f1 world as a haas developmental driver, and in turn, he celebrated the completion of your first year of university.

things were finally starting to look up, and then hervé fell ill. you watched from the back of the hospital room as his eyes lost a little bit of life every day. you watched as charles would hide his tears and smile at his dad, hoping to see him back in good health.

for your entire summer break, you’d find yourself staying at the leclerc household for multiple hours a day, sleeping over most of the nights. charles distanced himself from you, focusing on his racing, recounting his races with hervé for hours until a nurse would come in and tell him he’d have to leave. you couldn’t find it within yourself to be upset with him, knowing that right now, he didn’t need you, he needed his dad.

during this time, you had gotten exceptionally close to arthur, finding him sitting in his dark room crying silently as he thought about his dad. you would lay with him at night, letting the youngest wrap his arms around you while he shared how scared he was. you wished you could take his pain away, but you knew you couldn’t, instead opting to wipe away his tears and kissing his forehead.

you watched charles waste away, wishing you could reach out to him every time you saw him. he had lost his smile, the shine in his eyes dimming with every hour he spent watching his father whither away. by the end of the second week, you had decided you couldn’t simply watch him from afar, letting yourself into his room one night when you heard loud sniffles.

he didn’t move when you rested your hand against his back, and he didn’t resist when you pulled him into your side. at the feeling of your arms around him, his sniffles turned into broken cries and he sobbed against your clavicle. you stayed quiet, letting the boy blubber out words about how he tried so hard to stay strong but that he couldn’t anymore. you didn’t tell him it would be okay, you knew it wouldn’t. hervé was getting sicker and you feared that you would all experience loss once more.

when he had calmed down, the two of you laid down in his bed, charles’ head resting against your chest. his fingers fiddled with the bottom of your shirt, touching the skin of your back every so often. 

“je lui ai dit que j'avais signé avec ferrari,” his voice was quiet, barely louder than a whisper. i told him i signed with ferrari,

your hand found its way to his head, twirling the strands with your fingers, “comment a-t-il réagi?” how did he react?

charles’ voice broke, “il était si heureux pour moi,” his arms tightened around you, “mais je lui ai menti.” he was so happy for me, but i lied to him.

“maman est contrariée, elle a dit que je n'aurais pas dû mentir,” he sniffled, “mais je lui ai dit que j'avais signé pour 2019. je ne voulais pas mentir alors je me suis donné du temps. je veux que cela se produise.” mom is upset, said i shouldn’t have lied, but i told him i signed for 2019. i didn’t want to lie so i gave myself time. i want to make it happen.

“tu as le temps, char,” you used your hand to pull his head back, “tu as deux ans pour en faire une réalité.” you’ve got time, char, you’ve got two years to make it a reality.

his eyes glistened with tears, “mais c’est ferrari.” but it’s ferrari.

“je suis un fils horrible,” he looked away, “je lui ai menti.” i’m a horrible son, i lied to him

“tu n'es pas un fils horrible, charles,” you moved to hold his face in your hands, “tu ne l'es pas.” you are not a horrible son, charles. you’re not.

“je ne veux pas qu'il s'inquiète,” his tears slipped under your palms, “je veux qu'il parte en sachant que je peux subvenir aux besoins de notre famille.” i just don’t want him to worry. want him to leave knowing i can support our family.

your heart broke for him, “charles.”

“je veux juste qu'il soit fier de moi.” i just want to make him proud.

you leaned forward and placed gentle kisses against his closed eyelids, “il est et sera toujours fier de toi.” he has and will always be proud of you. 

a week later, you stood a few feet away from charles, tears spilling from your eyes as you wore another black dress. hervé had passed away with his family by his side, telling his boys to look after their mother. your own parents stood silently beside you, tears slipping down their own faces as well. 

after the service, you sat with the leclerc boys on the porch outside. charles’ arm pressed against yours, while arthur sat between your legs, head in your hands where you combed through his hair. lorenzo sat near the front door, keeping an eye out for his mother who sat on the couch, resting against your own mother. not a word was shared, all of you mourning in silence. 

your relationship with charles turned delicate, walking on eggshells whenever you wanted to talk to him. charles was stuck in his head, he had a job to do. you had pushed and pushed to tell him to not race n baku until he exploded, yelling at you for not understanding.

“je n'ai pas le temps de ne pas courir, y/n!” his hands were tugging at his hair, “je lui ai promis que j'avais une place chez ferrari mais je ne l'ai pas. je ne peux pas me permettre de ne pas courir, je dois aller chez ferrari.” i don't have the time to not race, y/n! i promised him i had a spot in ferrari but i don't. i can't afford to not race, i need to get to ferrari. 

and so you watched him race his heart out in baku, joining the leclerc family on their trip to azerbaijan. you watched as his sadness and despair poured into his racing. he was fast, enough speed to win the race he had dedicated to his father. his eyes had met yours while he stood at the podium and he felt himself look at you differently for the first time, his father’s words ringing in his head as he watched you smile at him with teary eyes.

it had been a couple days after charles had told hervé about his signing with ferrari when hervé asked charles to sit down and talk with him. his voice was weak and his hand shook as he reached out to grab his son’s hand.

he had smiled, “mon garçon, maintenant que tu as signé avec ferrari, pourquoi ne pas enfin te poser?” my boy, now that you've signed with ferrari, why don't you finally settle down?

“se poser?” charles had been confused, “papa, je n'ai même pas encore 20 ans.” settle down? dad, i’m not even 20 yet.

“l'amour n'a pas d'âge requis,” hervé’s laugh turned into a cough. love has no required age.

“je ne suis même pas amoureux, qu'est-ce que tu dis?” charles helped his father drink water. i'm not even in love, what are you saying?

hervé leaned back, giving his son a fond look, “mon garçon, tu es amoureux de ta meilleure amie depuis que tu l'as laissée jouer avec tes voitures télécommandées.” my boy, you have been in love with your best friend ever since you let her play with your remote control cars.

charles had since waved off his dad’s words, blaming them on his sickness. he had got it all wrong, you were his friend. nothing more, nothing less. 

yet as he stood there, looking at you for the first time since you had fought about this very race, he realized that there was something about you that made him feel like no one else could. is this what love is, papa?, he had asked as he held the trophy over his head.

less than a month later, you found yourself sitting in your room, smiling down at your phone. charles had sent you a picture of himself, dressed in ferrari red, ready to participate in the mid-season testing. charles was almost there, another step closer to his dreams. 

another month passed and now, you were preparing for your move to university dorms, third year looming around the corner. charles asked if you would like to go to mala beach with him. you’d agreed and the two of you sat in front of the bright turquoise sea, a comforting silence between you two.

“j'ai été signé,” charles had broken the silence. i got signed.

you whipped your head to him, “to ferrari?!”

charles let out a small laugh, shaking his head before looking back at you, “sauber, i’ll be starting with them in the new season.”

“c'est incroyable, char,” you gave him a wide smile, “you’re finally in f1.” that’s amazing.

charles returned your smile with one a bit smaller, “just hope i can make it to ferrari next season.”

“you will, i believe you can do it,” you leaned over and nudged me, “save me a spot in the pit wall, yeah? i’ll be waiting on your call for the 2020 season.”

charles had laughed, “of course, i will. lorenzo would have my head if i didn’t.”

“lorenzo is a smart man.”

the conversation died and you two focused back on the view in front of you. charles was nervous. he had invited you to the beach to do more than just tell you about his career. he wanted to confess to you. 

the last few months had been painful–hard–but you made it better with just a single look. after the race in baku, charles realized that he had loved you for a lot longer than he had let on. he loved you when you wore his shirt to school, running late after a sleepover. he loved you when he walked in on you and jules talking about the physics of racing. he loved you when he watched you help arthur with his math homework. he loved you when you had held him close and kissed his puffy eyes, and every single time you told him you were proud of him.

he loved you since the moment he realized what love was, even if he thought it was platonic at the time.

a finger pressed against the middle of his eyebrows, “vous réfléchissez très fort, perceval.” you’re thinking quite hard.

charles’ brows unfurrowed, but a pout graced his lips at the sound of his middle name. ever since you learned of his full name, you had taken to calling him by a different name for certain situations. perceval was for when you were teasing him. he had complained many times that he hated it when you called him that, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it endearing all at the same time. he reached up to grab your hand and pulled it between both his hands, turning so that the two of you were sat across one another rather than beside.

he let out a small sigh, eyes focused on your hand in his, “je veux te dire quelque chose.” i want to tell you something.

you, noticing his nerves, didn’t say anything, only nodding. 

you squeezed his hand and he continued, “je veux te dire quelque chose, mais j'ai peur.” i want to tell you something, but i’m scared.

your grip tightened slightly, “pourquoi as-tu peur?” why are you scared?

“j'ai peur de te perdre après avoir dit ce que j'ai à dire.” i'm scared i'll lose you after i say what i have to say.

you felt your heart race at his words, hands growing clammy. for years, you had repeated those same words to yourself, vowing yourself to silence regarding the topic. did he finally feel the same?

you willed yourself to stay calm, “you could never lose me, charles. jamais.” ever.

he gave you a nervous smile, eyes meeting yours for the first time since the new conversation rose. you gave him a soft smile, encouraging him to go on. you needed to hear him say the words first.

“quelques jours après avoir dit à papa que j'avais signé, il m'a dit qu'il était temps pour moi d'avouer mes sentiments,” charles looked away from you, “à l'époque, je n'avais aucune idée de ce dont il parlait.” a couple days after i told dad about me signing, he told me that it was time for me to come clean about my feelings…at the time i had no idea what he was talking about.

“il m'a dit que j'étais amoureuse,” he told me i was in love. charles spoke and your heart went wild. was this really happening? 

“et quand j'ai demandé avec qui, il a dit que c'était toi.” and when i asked with who, he said it was you.

you blinked at him. charles’ eyes darted back to your face, his hands squeezing yours.

“et depuis, j'ai réalisé qu'il avait raison,” he gave you a soft smile, “c'est toi. ca a toujours été toi.” and since then, i realized he was right. it's you. it's always been you.

you felt like the small waves lapping at the sand in front of you suddenly turned large and splashed down on you. you felt like your world had just gotten a thousand times brighter. a weight you never even realized you were carrying, lifted off your chest. you felt like you were breathing right for the first time. 

“y/n l/n, i love you. looking back, i have loved you from the moment you filled my memories,” his eyes searched yours, “tu as été la seule constante dans ma vie, et ce que j'ai ressenti pour toi a toujours été le même.” you've been the one constant in my life, and the way i've felt for you has always been the same. 

“je sais maintenant que c'est de l'amour, et j'ai vraiment besoin que tu le saches avant que nous passions au prochain chapitre de nos vies.” i know now it's love, and i really need you to know that before we move on to the next chapter of our lives. 

it was as if his words had been kissing you, leaving you breathless the moment he pulled away and stopped talking. charles had just told you he loved you. charles marc hervé perceval leclerc had just confessed to you.

a beat passed and he lightly tugged on your hand, the hopeful look in his eyes dimming slightly. you realized you had not responded.

“you love me?” after nearly five years of hiding your feelings from him, charles had just told you that he had felt the same. you couldn’t believe it.

he nodded slightly, “i do. je t’aime beaucoup.” i love you a lot.

you let the words sink in. he loved you. he loves you.

charles opened his mouth, “it’s okay if you don–”

“i love you, too,” you had let out a breathless laugh, “mon dieu, charles, je t'aime depuis que nous avons seize ans, quand tu as eu ton premier podium avec fortec.” my god, i have loved you since we were sixteen, when you got your first podium with fortec.

“fortec?” his eyes were wide as he realized how long it had been, “je suis un tel connard. tu as caché tes sentiments pendant si longtemps.” i am such an asshole. you've been hiding your feelings for so long.

his eyes looked watery with love, his forehead coming to rest against yours, “je suis désolé qu'il m'ait fallu si longtemps pour réaliser mes sentiments pour toi.” i'm sorry it took me so long to realize my feelings for you.

you smiled at him softly, your own eyes tearing up just as much as his, “mieux vaut tard que jamais.” better late than never.

to say your relationship with charles changed drastically after the confession would be a lie. the two of you spent the rest of your day at the beach wrapped up in each other’s arms, and charles had kissed your forehead before he drove the two of you home. the entire night you felt like you couldn’t sleep, and instead you spent your entire night texting charles with your curtains pulled shut, not wanting charles to see how wide you smiled with every text.

and although you two had confessed, you had neglected to discuss what would happen next.

charles had texted you at half past midnight the night before you left for university, asking for you to come outside. when you came out to your porch, he stood there with a smile on his face and an offer to go to the park you two used to play at as kids.

you were on the swings when he had asked you, sitting side by side and swinging back and forth slowly. you had been focused on the movement of your feet, trying to swing just slightly higher than charles.

“tu dirais oui si je te demandais d'être ma petite amie?” would you say yes if i asked you to be my girlfriend?

whenever charles reminisced this moment, he would say that the look you gave him when you registered his question had been the cutest doe-eyed look ever. your eyes were wide and your eyebrows had raised slightly. your lips were parted in the smallest of round shapes, and you blinked before responding.

“je pense que oui,” you slowed your swinging slightly, eyes bright with excitement, “veux-tu l'essayer?” i think i would. do you want to try it?

charles had given you a cheeky smile, slipping out of his swing and resting on one knee in front of you. he had gotten down wrong with his right knee kissing the ground, but you said nothing as your lips quirked into a smile.

“y/n l/n,” he reached for your hands and you let him grab them, “me ferais-tu l'honneur d'être ma charmante petite amie?” would you do the honour of being my lovely girlfriend?

you pretended to think about it, the hum turning into a giggle at the way charles’ face dropped in annoyance, “j’aimerais.” i would love to.

and much to the annoyance of charles’ nosy brothers, you two hadn’t kissed to set the new relationship in stone, instead wrapping each other into a tight hug, one where your feet left the ground, before charles placed a gentle kiss to your temple. 

the two of you had been dating for four months before you finally had your first kiss. charles had asked you out on a date on christmas eve, and had been rather disappointed when it began raining halfway through. it was cheesy, you knew it, charles knew it, and anyone and everyone who watched you tug charles out from under tha canopy and into the rain knew it too, but neither of your seemed to care. 

charles’ cheeks and nose were slightly rosy from the mixture of cold raindrops and wind, and you were sure you weren’t fairing much better. your hands had wrapped around his neck as his found home against your hips. 

“i’ve dreamt of kissing under the rain ever since i watched ‘a cinderella story’,” you had laughed, throwing your head back into the rain.

charles had pulled you closer, “well, ma princesse, i’m here to make your dreams a reality.” 

sharing a kiss under the rain was cold, obviously–you couldn’t help the shiver that travelled up your spine when charles’ cold lips pressed themselves against your own–but at the same time, it was so warm. you felt like someone had lit a candle inside of you, warming you up from the inside out. when you pulled away, the two of you couldn’t help but let out soft laughs, hearts racing faster than any car charles had ever drove. 

the two of you had spent the rest of the year laying under warm blankets, with a cacophony of coughs and sneezes being your main form of communication.

your third year in university was split halfway between studying or taking exams, and watching charles’ races or crying to him over facetime because engineering was already so hard. as much as you had wished to be there attending charles’ every race in f1, you were nearing the end of your second semester and were swamped with finals. 

your first f1 race had been the 2018 monaco grand prix, and you’d spent the better part of your evening with your arms wrapped around him as he promised you that the next races would be better. the season had been rough for charles, but you had celebrated every good result, no matter how small.

it was your second holiday season as charles’ girlfriend when both of your worlds changed entirely. a couple days before christmas, charles had asked for you and your parents to join his family for dinner. when you had all settled around the dining table, charles stood up with a wide smile on his face.

“j'ai signé avec ferrari.” i signed with ferrari.

to this day, that dinner had been one of your favourite memories. the amount of smiles and tears shared, and the sheer pride that filled your chest when you looked at charles was something you had never been able to forget. 

that night, you and charles found yourselves sharing a bed, hands intertwined between the two of you. his eyes were glossy as he looked at you. 

a tear slipped out of his eyes when he closed them, “i didn’t lie.”

your free hand moved to wipe the tear away. your mind rushed back to the night you two had shared a week before hervé’s passing. 

you leaned forward and kissed his closed eyelids much like you had done the previous year, “no you didn’t. you’ve done well, mon amour. i know he’s so proud of you.”

on christmas morning, lorenzo had surprised you with a letter from the ferrari engineering academy, offering you an intern position to gain trackside experience for your final semester of your engineering degree. you had cried and thanked him profusely, while he laughed at your blubbering figure. later that night, arthur and charles had fought over who you’d be a race engineer for, with the youngest pointing out that he would soon join the ferrari driver academy himself.

and so 2019 began, with charles driving for ferrari, while you gained experience working with the ferrari engineering academy. by the end of your final semester, you had been offered to continue your internship with the academy which you had accepted immediately.

2019 was also the year that your relationship became public, a series of events causing fans to go crazy. pictures of charles in a suit had gone viral after some of your classmates caught sight of him at your graduation, and while you weren’t in the pictures, fans were quick to theorize that his girlfriend was one of the students who was graduating. 

speculations and theories about who you were had only just started when you made yourself known to the general f1 public, joining charles at french grand prix. it hadn’t been the plan, but after watching charles finish the race in p3 behind the mercedes, you couldn’t hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around your boyfriend and sharing a sweet kiss, unbeknownst to the cameras plastered everything to the big screens. 

for the rest of the season, you made appearances on random race weekends, work being a lot more lenient than your university deadlines had ever been. fans had joked that you were his good luck charm, with charles ending up on a podium in every race you went to.

the belgian grand prix was a race weekend you could never forget, for more reasons than one. you were there to see anthoine’s crash, hand clasped with charles as you watched the scene pan out. you felt like you were eighteen again, sitting next to charles as you watched jules on the tv. 

you had met anthoine quite a few times as you grew up for he, pierre, and charles had always been a tight-knit group. the frenchman had always been kind to you, and you found it hard to believe that he would no longer be cracking jokes with you about something pierre and charles had done while you were away.

both pierre and yourself had cried watching charles receive his award and dedicate his first win to anthoine. you wondered if he and jules were watching charles from above, smiling proudly for his accomplishment.

t was a home race that charles had won next, and the amount of people you had come across at work asking you to pass on a congratulations to charles was insane. you couldn’t complain though, you were proud charles was finally getting the recognition and love he deserved.

it was in italy where you celebrated your second anniversary, also. charles had gifted you a pretty necklace with his racing number on it, something you had worn ever since. 

in late 2019, you had been given an opportunity to join prema racing as an engineer which you had happily accepted. as you all sat around the dinner table for christmas, you shared the exciting news. arthur had been ecstatic, explaining how he would be driving for prema racing starting 2020.

“stop pouting, charles,” arthur had rolled his eyes, catching sight of his brooding older brother, “je t'avais dit qu'elle serait mon ingénieur de course.” i told you she would be my race engineer.

charles gaped at his younger brother, “woah, woah, woah. qui a dit qu'elle était votre ingénieur de course?” who said anything about her being your racing engineer?

“cela doit arriver,” arthur had smirked, dodging the hand that charles has attempted to slap his head with. it’s bound to happen.

and so, you debuted as a racing engineer during a pandemic, something you had never imagined yourself saying. much like how you hadn’t imagined saying that you would be the racing engineer for one arthur leclerc. 

much to charles’ chagrin, you remained arthur’s racing engineer for as long as he stayed in prema racing, which had been a total of three years. when it was revealed that arthur had signed with alfa romeo racing for the 2023 season, you had received multiple offers from other f1 teams to join as an engineer for their drivers. 

charles himself had jumped at the opportunity, conducting a meeting with mattia to consider switching xavier out for you, presenting him with all of yours and arthur’s stats from the previous years. when word got out about you possibly becoming charles’ race engineer, ferrari fans from across the globe demanded that mattia offer you the job. at the end of the 2022 season, scuderia ferrari had released a statement that stated how you would be replacing xavier padros as charles leclerc’s race engineer for his future ferrari seasons.

it was christmas yet again, the sixth one since you had started dating charles, and said boyfriend couldn’t help but taunt his younger brother.

“je t'avais dit qu'elle serait à moi après tout.” told you she would be mine after all.

arthur waved him off, “oui, oui. elle était mon ingénieur en premier. et pendant trois ans, laissez-moi le dire.” yeah, yeah. she was my engineer first. and for three years, let me just put that out there.

you rolled your eyes, smacking the back of charles’ head before reaching over and tugging on arthur’s ear, “depuis quand suis-je un objet que vous pouvez posséder et faire circuler?” since when was i an object you guys could just own and pass around?

both brothers winced and avoided your eyes, mumbling a quick sorry before stuffing their mouths with food. pascale had laughed, always entertained when her boys got scolded by you.

the start of your first season with ferrari had gone amazingly, with both charles and the season’s car performing exceptionally well. charles had managed to secure a large gap in the points for the driver’s championship, leading the championship with two wins worth of points.

and that leads us to now, the final race of the 2023 season. the fight for the title had yet to be over, with charles and max flipping positions every few races. at the moment, max had been leading the wdc with only five more points than charles, said ferrari driver currently leading the race with the dutch driver hot on his tail.

“alright, char, we’ve got two more laps, you can do it. push, push.”

the sound of your voice had never failed to bring a smile on charles face, no matter how stressed he was when you spoke over the radio, “how’s it looking?”

“you’re quicker than max in all sectors but the last,” you read off your observations, “ideally, you’d want that last sector to be the quickest so that there’s no chance of him overtaking you. can you go any faster?”

you could hear the smile in his voice as he pushed his car to go faster, “of course, i can, cherié.”

you tsked, “no flirting on the job, leclerc. one lap remaining.”

the radio stayed silent for the next minute, charles focused on staying ahead of max who continued to put pressure on the monégasque from behind. you could see the red ferrari at the final turn, unable to keep the smile from growing as max’s tires locked up, increasing the gap between him and charles.

the mechanics began cheering loudly, rushing to the pit wall to cheer for your boyfriend who crossed the finish line first.

you had laughed loudy, “and that’s a checkered flag, mon amour! you are the 2023 world champion!”

charles exclaimed loudly over the radio, car slowing down for a cooldown lap. he let out a few whoops before settling down to give a quick message to the team, “excellent job, guys. wow, congratulations everyone. thank you for all of the hard work this season. today marks not only my first driver’s championship, but also our first constructor’s championship win since 2008.”

he continued to thank a few more people before letting out another ecstatic laugh. from across the pitwall, you could see arthur’s red and white car cross the finish line in fifth place. 

“amour?” charles’ voice called out to you, “you there?”

“of course, champ. what’s up?” you gave mattia a confused look as he smiled at you. 

“tu dirais oui si je te demandais d'être ma femme?” would you say yes if i asked you to be my wife?

your breath hitched in your throat. you felt like you were thrown back into 2017, twenty years old sitting on a swing while charles sat in the one next to you.

“je pense que oui,” you repeated, eyes beady with unshed tears, “veux-tu l'essayer?” i think i would. do you want to try it?

charles had rushed to you the second he parked his car, pulling you close to plant a kiss against your lips before he was whisked away rather quickly to complete his post-race duties.

in front of the cameras, charles expressed his absolute elation regarding winning the grand prix, as well as coming first in both championships. the interviewer congratulated the monégasque on getting most votes for driver of the day as well, before moving on to the question he knew everyone wanted an answer for.

“so, we all picked up on that last radio message there. can we expect to receive any happy news in the near future?”

charles had smiled and shrugged, “i guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

for the final podium of the season, as his race engineer and team principal, you and mattia would be joining charles. even after 26 years of being around him, your heart still raced when you saw charles join you two on the podium.

with the awards distributed, you had waited to get drenched with champagne, looking around confused when no one popped a bottle. charles got off his step, making his way towards you.

unlike his cheeky smile six years ago, the smile on his face today was tender. the crowd beneath the podium screamed loudly as he kneeled on his left knee. he did it right this time, you couldn’t help but smile.

just like he had done six years ago, he uttered your name, “y/n l/n,” instead of grabbing your hands this time, he held his hand out to mattia, who handed him a ring box. 

charles opened the box and presented it to you, “me ferais-tu l'honneur d'être ma charmante femme?” would you do the honour of being my lovely wife?

and just like you had done six years ago, you pretended to contemplate, your smile peeking through as charles rolled his eyes at you playfully. you stuck your left hand out, wiggling your fingers, “j’aimerais.” i would love to.

the champagne bottles popped the second charles slipped the ring on your finger. you didn’t even care as the sweet champagne sprayed against your face and body, too wrapped up in the loving gaze of your fiancé. 

and then, just like you had done for the first time under the rain six years ago, the two of you locked lips under the showers of champagne. 

lando norris, pierre gasly (love triangle)

all parts - completed

part 1 | better left unsaid part 2 | treat you better part 3 | better late than never part 4 | better than words (18+) part 5 | better luck next time part 6 | for the better part 7 | may the best man win epilogue | better match (blurb)

Hello!! May I request a charles leclerc fluff drable where he's like always staring at y/n (in a non-creepy way hehe) and like just has a big crush on her even when they're dating already type of thing? or something? tysm!

something – cl16

Looking can be so similar to loving—just ask Charles.

auds here... title from this. also i feel it is the one of the best ‘so enamored ur moving in slow mo’ songs...

A blue dress. Deep blue, satin, wrapped around your figure like you’re a dream that’s his.

There are moments where Charles’ world slows when he sees you, and this is one of them, a year into dating. Suddenly he feels like he’s a teen seeing his first racing car, or a kid seeing Star Wars all over again. Nothing else matters but this—but you, in this deep blue dress, your arms swinging around as you dance to the upbeat music that plays at this dinner party.

Someone’s clutched your hand and twirled you around, so quick your hair falls over your face. He wants to pick you up, let his hands wring around your waist and hug you close, close, closer. He wants to wipe the hair from your face, press a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then your lips, taste the martini there, smell the sea and the two spritzes of perfume on your jaw.

You move in slow motion, every ripple of your dress, every tendril of hair over your eyelashes. You’re laughing, tipsy, when your friend hugs you close, moving the both of you into a shitty waltz. Jesus, you’re so pretty. 

“Charles!” You’re saying. He blinks, and your eyes are meeting his, smiling with the rest of your face. The French summer has tinged your cheeks with the heat, your left shoulder peeling with a sunburn. Even now in the evening, when it hides, it’s managed to follow you still, blinding and beautiful. An arm stretches out, a hand, then a finger. Come on, you’re saying, dance with me!

It’s your favorite song that’s playing, some disco tune that has you hopping excitedly, hips swaying in the kind of way he can’t ever get his eyes off of. He knows this because it’s one of the ones at the top of his Spotify statistics, what with how often you’re using his phone to launch impromptu dance parties while cooking or cleaning or driving. 

So he does, gets up from where he’s been sitting while everyone else dances. He’d been undoing his tie, then two buttons on his polo, nursing Scotch (between you both, you like to say, he’s the boring drinker and you’re the fun one.) You shimmy your shoulders when his hand locks with yours, a smile stretching onto your face when he pulls you close and wraps the same arm around your waist. The song hasn’t yet reached its crescendo, so you sway softly, smiling like idiots.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes lidded from the alcohol and the feeling of being this near you.

“Hey there, handsome. Here often?”

“Just passing by, actually.” He pauses. “I saw a beautiful girl from the entrance and couldn’t help myself.”

You laugh, letting him twirl you as the chorus begins, both of you moving to the ever-familiar beat of this song and using the same moves you use at home, when it’s just the two of you. That’s exactly how it feels, though: like it’s just you both, dancing and laughing. When he finally moves your hair aside and presses a kiss to your lips, the world slows all over again. 

—

His world whirs into slow motion when Pascale is laughing at one of your jokes.

“I’m funnier than your son,” you say when she’s wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. Across the brunch table, finger tapping against the white linen tablecloth, Charles’ eyes are stuck on you. Nobody notices his stare of adoration, because it’s so usual, so ordinary, for him to be looking at you so intently, and with so much love.

You’re wearing a white dress that you’d been wiping your palms over nervously in the car, asking him to repeat a crash course of his family over and over until it was the only thing your mind was capable of retaining. Yet for all your nerves, you’d blended in exceptionally well with everyone at the table, over salmon and pasta and tea and biscuits.

Pascale had ushered you in with the urgency of every mother, a hand around your shoulder, pointing out members of the family, fixtures on the wall. There’s a story behind everything. Behind stains, scratches, pictures, peeled-off labels. You’d let her tell you everything. 

A smile makes its way onto your face when you see Pascale fail to stop laughing over your joke, her hand clenching yours. Your eyes meet his, and he can see the excitement in them—the joy of having this happen. He hopes you can read him equally well, hopes you can see how excited he is, too, for this to be happening, for you to be so loved by the people that matter most to him.

A hand comes up to tuck hair behind your ear, lips pursing to prevent your smile from widening. No, he wants to say, I want to see you smile. Everything. Show me everything. You’re beautiful.

“You really are,” says Pascale, and the two of you turn to smile softly at him. This is love, he thinks, and he wishes time never quickens ever again.

—

The book this week is Love in the time of Cholera. You try to read one book every two weeks, but lately you’ve been forgetting—last night you’d firmly resolved to start again, and you’re hooked on the words already.

The thin blanket of your bed is the only thing shielding you from the cold, your bare back turned to him as you continue to read the chapter. Charles sees you and wishes he was half as good as you. You’re stupid, you’d said with genuine concern when he told you this once. Have you even seen yourself? And you praised him, listed every last amazing thing about him.

Still, he wasn’t convinced. There may have been awards and videos and celebrations for him, but he wishes he was good enough for you sometimes. Your intelligence, your wit, your beauty. Your ability to get up and read a book in the morning. Your capacity to love. He can’t believe you’re his, all his, this beautiful girl is truly all his.

His world slows again, time ticking into slow motion as he watches you passively. Every few moments there’s the sound of the page turning, and your slow breathing makes up the rest. He wants to paint a picture on your back, make you his canvas, so he can think of another way to convey his immense, all-encompassing love for you.

Genuinely, he thinks he’d be incomplete without you. He conveys this in the way he stares, the way he admires, like you’re a sculpture in the Louvre and he’s at the front of the line. But he’s the only one in line, and he’ll be damned if somebody shows up behind him. 

You pause; the noise of the blanket rustling and your book shutting snaps Charles back to reality. Without turning, your voice penetrates the silence. “What are you doing?” With sleep and unuse, your voice is raspy.

“Looking at you.” He answers slowly.

Your eyes meet his, eyebrow raising as you turn slightly. “Why?”

“Just…” he pauses. It’s impossible to articulate why. So he says instead, “Just looking.”

—

When a race is won, reaches its climax and its end all at once, it’s a noisy affair.

Tonight, there are fireworks, music, the pulse of excitement in the crowd that celebrates Leclerc’s P1. Everything moves fast, fast, fast—interviews, cheers, arms wrapped around him, worshipping him, fans screaming. Then it’s the media pen, questions over and over, then he’s packing up, tallying points, having debriefs.

He tugs off his helmet. Everything is fast, even in his moment of winning. Fast and quick and heavy. But he seeks something, something to make time slow—

And finds her, wearing a too-big Ferrari shirt (courtesy of Joris getting the sizing all wrong) in the crowd by the pit lane, beautiful as ever. You’re waving, your enthusiasm in your whoops of encouragement. You blow a kiss, and time is slow again. He watches you grip the front of the shirt and present it proudly, the big 1-6 embedded on it. He’s yours, yes, he is.

I love you, you mouth slowly. He nods back—it’s more than enough. Then you’re making a shoo motion with your hand, decorated with bracelets that match his. Go, you’re saying, go and be the winner, be the best driver. Later, you’ll be mine, just mine, just Charles.

He’s whisked away to do an interview, but his eyes are stuck on yours, excited and proud. You never usually like watching races, out of fear, but Charles insists you do, presses a kiss to your forehead and promises everything will be okay. You end up digressing almost every time.

“I’d imagine this win is the highlight of the week,” says the journalist smugly, then extends the mic to Charles’ lips.

He shakes his head a little. “Just one of them,” he responds, smiling. 

—

A necklace with an initial on it, a thin silver ring across your middle finger, a matching bracelet on your wrist.

“Who is that?” Charles asks dazedly, shoulder bumping Carlos’. An explanation is fed into his ear, someone who knows someone knows her and invited her to attend this dinner. It’s getting late in London, and he’d been prepared to get to his car and go to his hotel, but suddenly he’s distracted, stopped in his tracks.

It almost feels weird to have time slow so much like this.

Even when he’s in a racing car, or winning, or when a car careens off track and time seems to hang in the balance—nothing has made him feel this way before. He watches you laugh, play with the neckline of your black top and listens to your ring clink against your glass of champagne.

Your hair is tied into a loose bun, framing your face, your lips making animated conversation with someobody else. He wants to hear your voice, make you smile, see how you react to his own jokes. Time crawls when he thinks of you, moves like a turtle walking through honey.

So later, when he’s almost abandoned the idea of introducing himself, he finds you clicking your car keys on the sidewalk. He clicks his, watches the lights of his Ferrari blink open, and you turn to him, smiling coyly.

You open your mouth, and say: “So you’re the cute dickhead who can’t park?”

Again, time moves in slow motion, your bun coming undone as you turn, hair falling over your back, arms crossing over your torso. Your high heels click softly against the pavement as you listen to him stutter out an introduction, an apology for the shit parking. This is it, he thinks, the start of something absolutely beautiful.

If he’s looked at you now, he thinks, he can’t ever look away. He hopes he doesn’t ever have to.

Just an FYI you're a new follower, this is not a safe space for Verstappen fans.

Man's World - Masterlist & Synopsis

Pairing: Female!Leclerc reader x Carlos Sainz Jr

Warnings: slow burn, eventual Smut, enemies to lovers

Rating: Mature

AN: Thought I’d finally start my own F1 fanfic! I’ve seen so many amazing writers recently and I love all your stories so I wanted to try my hand at something too! :) Comments and love appreciated - but please enjoy! Yay!

Synopsis

Bugatti have entered the F1 world – as the 11th Formula 1 team. With a goal of bringing equality to formula 1, CEO and Team Principal Isabelle Binotto, wife of the famous Ferrari Principal Mattia Binotto, has decided to bring a predominantly female team to the paddock- including two female drivers. 

Georgia Leclerc, twin sister of Charles Leclerc, is an obvious choice. As Indy Car’s first female champion and a winner of the 24 hours of Le Mans, Georgia has her sights set on one thing – the WDC. With an incredibly strong start to the season and a fantastic car, Georgia is front runner to win the 2022 WDC in her rookie season. 

The only problem? The press and sponsors find her brash, boring, and the opposite of her charming brother Charles. Regardless of her racing ability, sponsors are looking for F1’s “golden girl” who is all smiles. 

Bugatti need to continue to bring in the right sponsors so they can keep funding the team and proving that women can be apart of this man’s world.

Carlos Sainz Jr., Ferrari’s #2 driver, is having a rough start to the season. He’s DNF’d in several races and his partying and lavish lifestyle has gotten him some bad press. 

With sponsorship money on the line, both teams come up with one solution – fake a relationship between Georgia and Carlos with the hopes that the Sponsors will see the drivers in a new light. An easy task – if the drivers didn’t hate each other.

Surely Carlos’ suave and charming personality will rub off on Georgia, and maybe Georgia’s straight laced personality will encourage Carlos to party less and work more. 

———

Chapter 1 - Grin It and Bear It - 3200 Words

Chapter 2 - A Cold Day In Hell - 4800 Words 

Chapter 3 - It’s In My Nature - 4600 Words

Chapter 4 - Heat? I Eat Chili’s Raw -4100 Words

Chapter 5 - No Pole, No Problem. -6000 Words

Chapter 6 - A Losing Deck of Cards, Please - 4000 Words

Chapter 7* - Boys, Am I Right? -4500 Words

Chapter 8 - Track Fights Lead to Late Nights - 5700 Words

Chapter 9 - Never Underestimate Georgia Leclerc - 6500 Words 

Chapter 10 - Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold - 5300 Words

Chapter 11 - Can I offer you a hamster? - 5600 Words 

Chapter 12* - Three’s a Crown - 8800 Words 

Chapter 13 - If Looks Could Kill - 5500 Words 

Chapter 14* - Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - 9000 Words

Chapter 15* - To Be or Not to Be - 6800 Words

Chapter 16 - Come Hell or High Water - 8700 Words

Chapter 17* - You Know What Happens When You Assume - 5000 Words 

Chapter 18 - The Lady Doth Protest Too Much - 4800 Words

Chapter 19* - I’d Like to Propose Something - 6000 Words

Chapter 20 - Curiosity Killed the Cat - 4900 Words 

Chapter 21 - Cat got your tongue?  

Chapter 22 - From Georgia, With Love - 5300 Words

Chapter 23 - Start of Something New (Finale!) - 5900 Words

Chapter 23 in case you can’t see the chapter link above due to community content settings changes in Tumblr

NEW: Epilogue - 6700 Words [10/4]

One Shots

NEW: I Am A Lion - Oct 11th - 4800 Words

Hear Me Roar - Part 2/2 - coming November! 

Mini blurb for 1k Sleepover -> LINK

Honeymoon stunts | CL16

― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.2k ― Warnings: not proofread; mentions of a wedding and public sex; graphic description of sex; p in v; breeding kink; +18 (minors DNI); ― Summary: Charles and Yn just got married, and although they know too much about one another, there's always something new to discover together, such as Charles' new breeding kink. ― A/n: Every piece I write here it’s a new experience, so your feedback, comments, and asks are more than welcome. *mwah* 🤍

⁕ I just got back from a shadowban so Tumblr is still a bit slow on delivering my stuff, that being said, it would be nice if you guys could not only like, but reblog this piece. Thank youuu!

Based on this request.

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

Charles loved the sea. He loved what it represented, its mysteries, and how it could be used for many interpretations of life. For example, he loved to think that life sometimes worked just like the sea: it had its highs and lows, sometimes the waves would reach the furthest part of the beach, and sometimes it would retract and crash almost around itself. He, like the sea, has had many setbacks the past few years, but, just like the sea, Charles too had his high tides. The most recent one being just the other day: his marriage.

Charles married Yn, and he considered this his high tide. The water reached the driest pieces of land in his heart. 

He have never been so happy the way he was with Yn by his side. 

And as if on cue, she appeared in front of him obstructing a bit of the sunlight reaching his face. Charles pinched his sunglasses at the point of his nose, leaving just enough space for Yn to see his eyes. 

“Hi, husband,” she grinned.

“Hey, wife.”

“I missed you in bed,” she confessed before straddling his lap, her hands firmly planted on his strong shoulders.

Charles mumbled a quick apology busying his lips with her ebony skin. He trailed kisses from her neck to her jawline and the corner of her lips, and then from her cheeks to her shoulders where he lowered the straps of her nightgown. Yn smiled and with a dashing attitude, she pushed the small piece of fabric enough to free one of her breasts. 

“Chérie,” Charles lets out a pained whisper as if trying to hold himself back.

“It’s a private beach.” Yn reminded.

“We’re going into the kinky public sex?” he teased lightening the mood and Yn threw her head back in laughter. The Monegasque watched how that position exposed so much for him. Just for him.

And what could Charles do if not take it?

One of his hands tightened on Yn’s waist, while his open palm found a home in the middle of her back bringing her body closer to his mouth. He kissed and licked over the places he knew he had left small lovebites the night prior. Yn whimpered and rocked her hips against his bulge, she was wearing nothing but the nightgown and Charles moaned when he felt her wetness against his trunks. He dipped one of his hands between their bodies, his skilled fingers were fast to find her sensitive bud and rub it teasingly. She bucked her hips harder and Charles groaned. 

It was her turn to kiss her way from his neck to his face. She took her time biting, sucking, and gently kissing his now-tanned skin. And she did it all while lazily rocking on top of him, which only drove Charles crazy. Yn, however, didn’t kiss his lips and he was about to protest when she got up, took off her nightgown threw it at his face, and covered her breasts with one of her arms. 

“Yn…” Charles warned and she giggled. The wind and the waves mixed themselves with her happy noises and Charles swore he found paradise again. 

“You want it?” she teased spinning her body for him. “Come get it!” she giggled again and took off to their cabin. Charles gripped her piece of clothing and laughed before sprinting right after her. He got to her just when she reached the door and it wasn’t long before they stumbled into the bed. Yn sitting on top of him again.

Charles gripped her neck and brought her face down to his, smashing his lips to hers in a messy and needy kiss that Yn reciprocated with the same amount of passion. She rocked against him again, and this time her fingers were the ones between their bodies, she pushed his trunks down freeing his hard cook. Their lips were still attached to the others when Yn started pumping his shaft, her thumbs finding his head every once in a while, and her mouth swallowing all the dirty noises coming out of her husband. 

“Fuck, mon amour, just- oh fuck,” Charles started but lost track of his words when Yn tightened her hand on his base. 

“Yes?” 

“Don’t tease me,” he whimpered and she smiles victorious. It was a wonderful feeling to have Charles under her begging and whimpering to have her. It felt powerful. He needed her just as much as she needed him. 

Yn kissed his collarbone one last time and got into a seating position grinding his dick against her lips, gathering just enough slick to help him slip inside her. Which Charles did in a single movement. It earned a loud moan from both of them. 

“Oh, fuck- you feel so good, chérie,” he breathed.

“Charls,” Yn moaned starting a sequence of rotational movements. She rocked and ground on top of him and Charles raked his short nails on her back and thighs. She repeated her movements and they felt the ecstasy that angle caused. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!” Yn almost screamed when Charles lifted his hips to find her moves. Her body shook with want. He felt bigger when she rode, and she could feel his pulsing dick so much better that way. It was fantastic. 

Charles gripped her breasts and took one nipple between his teeth teasing and playing with it while their bodies kept rutting against each other. Yn raked her fingers throw his brunette strands, gripping his face and directing his lips to her.

Her stomach tingled whilst Charles devoured her until her body started to tremble, “I’m coming,” Yn choked and Charles smirked lifting his lips again. His thrusts got sloppier and Yn knew from that fact that he wasn’t far behind her.

When the wave of pleasure washed over her, she let her body fall on top of his, her body dissolving into pleasure, but her hips still grinding waiting for Charles' turn. He grunts and moans and he’s about to pull out when Yn perches her body harder forcing them to stay in that position.

“Come inside me,” she pleads and lets out a string of curses in French. 

“You want me to let you have my seed?” Charles asks and Yn can only nod, her sensitive clit brushing against his pubic bone. “Huh? You want me to put a baby in you, mon amour?”

 Her eyes roll back and she cries feelings another orgasm approach, “Please, Charles!” 

“Tell me, chérie. Tell me you want me to stuff you full of my cum,” his voice is low, but his tone is set and straight, almost like an order and Yn obeys.

“Please, I want to- I want you to empty yourself inside me. I’ll have all your babies, love.” 

Charles bites her shoulders and sensually groaned on her ear when his orgasm finally came. It brought her second one along and they rode it together, gripping the other for dear life, moaning profanities, and love confessions. 

When the dizzy feeling of the orgasm started to fade, Yn sat up, a small smirk on her face, Charles was still buried inside her, she could feel their wetness mixing together between her legs, and the Monegasque could only smile blissfully at her. “So… a breeding kink, Charls?” 

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @formulakay3 @iloveyou3000morgan @fdl305 @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

⁕ I just got back from a shadowban so Tumblr is still a bit slow on delivering my stuff, that being said, it would be nice if you guys could not only like, but reblog this piece. Thank youuu!

Feel free to leave me a message or ask <3

Compress/Repress | Chapter 1: Sins of The Father

pairing: art donaldson x black!oc x patrick zweig, tashi duncan x black!oc (platonic)

summary: all was quiet at the Duncan household. The boys were safety tucked into bed, mom and dad lay side by side with their last argument buried under the pretense of peace. Meanwhile, Tashi finally had a moment alone—in front of the family computer, the one her parents had strictly forbidden her from using. But tonight, like many, she couldn't resist the pull of her secret Facebook account.

wordcount: 14k

warning(s): minor challengers spoilers (if any?), mild cursing, a non american writing americans, self edited and no beta.

masterlist | prev | next | wattpad | AO3

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA – September 27, 2005

The dining room radiates with a cosy warmth, emanating from the outdated light fixture that hangs low above the table. The yellowed glow gives the room an intimate feel, as if time has stopped and this moment is frozen in it. The walls are adorned with a collage of memories - photographs capturing moments of love and laughter, alongside colourful drawings etched into the plaster by tiny hands.

A mismatched collection of plates holds steaming dishes of homemade food, each one a gift from a distant family member. The utensils are a mismatched collection of spoons accumulated over the years, contributing to the quaint and disorganised ambiance. As everyone takes their assigned seats, the room hums with lively conversation and constant movement - a true reflection of this close-knit household.

Kevin, the patriarch of the family, sits at the head of the table with his wife, Chrystal, gracefully settled on his right-hand side. Across from her is their eldest son, Demetrius, who may only be thirteen years old but holds himself with a confidence beyond his years in the presence of his father.

Next to Demetrius is Kenan, the youngest of the family and the cause of their current laughter. He eagerly shares a story about an incident at school, causing raucous laughter among his relatives, showcasing the antics of middle schoolers.

Within arm's reach sits Tashi, the only daughter in the family. Her lanky frame slumps slightly over the table as she listens intently to her brother's story, a small smile playing on her lips as she attempts to immerse herself within the present moment.

The table buzzed with excited chatter as the family asked further questions, their voices overlapping in a symphony of confusion and amusement. But tonight, Tashi's mind was elsewhere, drifting between the infectious joy of her family and the alluring pull of Chandler Prescott's end of summer party.

The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the enticing possibility of what could have been. She could almost feel the pulsing beat of the music and see the glittering lights that awaited her at the party, pulling her towards them like a moth to a flame.

Despite the warm atmosphere and company of her family, Tashi couldn't shake off the longing for something more exciting and exhilarating. Tashi's eyes constantly darted around the room, taking in every detail with precision. Her gaze shifted from her brothers to her parents, her brows furrowed in deep thought.

How in the world am I going to make it to that party? She pondered, carefully weighing the consequences of each crazy idea that popped into her head.

‘I could try sneaking out, she contemplated,’ a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

‘My room is conveniently located on the other side of the house,’ Tashi pondered further.

‘Dad just fixed that stubborn window just in time for summer.’

Tashi let the idea simmer in her mind, savouring the thrill of rebellion. But as quickly as the excitement came, a flicker of concern crossed her features as she realised one crucial detail - ‘how the fuck am I gonna get there?’

Tashi's mind raced with possibilities, each one more outlandish than the last. She could bike there, but the party was on the other side of town, and she'd arrive sweaty and dishevelled. Maybe she could convince one of her friends to pick her up, but most of them weren't invited to the exclusive gathering anyways.

As she pondered her limited options, her fingers absently traced the delicate curves of the golden crucifix around her neck, a habit ingrained in her from countless hours spent at bible study. The smooth metal warmed against her skin, offering a sense of comfort and familiarity amidst the chaos of indecision.

The nickname "The Duncanator" echoed in her mind, a reminder of her prowess and her simultaneous struggle to fit in at school. Sure, she could serve an ace that would make even the toughest opponent’s quake in their tennis shoes, but that same intensity that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court seemed to intimidate her classmates.

The few friends she had were mostly fellow athletes who understood the dedication and drive required to excel in sports. But this party was different. It was hosted by Chandler Prescott, the most popular boy in school, and attending could be her chance to finally break into the inner circle of cool kids.

Tashi let out an exasperated sigh, her delicate fingers tracing the intricate details of her crucifix necklace. She glanced at the clock on the microwave, the red digital numbers flashing 7:15 PM. The party was supposed to start at 8 and she still had so much to do.

With her back pressed against the wall, Tashi was left with one last option, an idea that had already been exhausted at this point. Gathering the courage to voice her thoughts, Tashi mustered up the bravery to confront her father once again, maybe the presents of her mother can assist her this time. Her heart raced with adrenaline as she knew time was running out.

"Dad, I know your mind's made up, but this is the last party of—" As Tashi spoke, a loud clattering noise broke the silence. All eyes turned towards Mr. Duncan, whose spoon had slipped from his hand and landed with a loud clang on his plate. Tashi's heart sank in her chest, mirroring the sudden drop of the spoon. The room was now filled with tension and all attention was on Mr. Duncan as he nervously clasped his hands together in what seemed like a prayer.

Kevin's face contorted into a scowl as he fixed his gaze on his daughter. "Do we have to go through this again?" he exclaimed in frustration.

Tashi's voice was insistent, her eyes flashing with excitement. "It's the last party before summer break is over, Dad," she repeated, not wanting him to interrupt her declaration again.

Tashi's heart raced as she imagined all the fun she would have at the party, surrounded by loud music and non-stop dancing. She couldn't let her father spoil it for her. Mr. Duncan's voice was strained, his left hand pressed against his forehead in a futile attempt to ease the mounting frustration.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Tashi?" he asked wearily, as if he had repeated this same request countless times before.

The wrinkles on his brow deepened with each passing moment, a physical manifestation of his exasperation. The tension in the room was palpable, thick like molasses and just as sticky. Tashi sat across from him, head down and shoulders slumped, knowing she had disappointed him once again. She couldn't bear to meet his gaze, unable to shake off the feeling of defeat that washed over her at his words.

Mr. Duncan's voice rose with each word, the tone becoming more urgent as he spoke. "I will not allow my daughter to stumble home in a drunken state from some white kid's party". The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, emphasising the gravity of the situation.

The mood instantly shifted as silence fell over the table and every move made by his family was influenced by his authoritative voice. The clinking of silverware against plates sounded like scratches on a record as Kenan's giggles were drowned out by the tense atmosphere. Frowns appeared on the faces of the boys as they looked to their mother for an explanation.

"Who do you think the cops are going to target when they shut that damn thing down?" He continued, his stern tone silencing any possible objections from his daughter.

Tashi could feel her mind racing, searching for the right words to say. On one hand, she could appease her father with a response that she knew he wanted to hear. “You’re absolutely right, Dad. I should prioritise getting enough sleep for practice tomorrow.”

But deep down, she knew that would be dishonest and not truly reflective of her current state. Taking a deep breath, she made the difficult decision to be honest with her father and give him a piece of her mind. She squared her shoulders and let it out, "I doubt they would even catch me; I don’t think Officer Moores has been to the gym since the fucking—"

She’s cut off mid-sentence again, reminded of where exactly she was. This wasn't another afternoon with Jasmyn and Destiny, gallivanting about Oakland with nothing better to do then shit talk people from school. No, this was her father's house, and she had to abide by his rules. The air felt stifling and suffocating, like a cage closing in on her. She yearned for the carefree days spent with her friends, but she knew she had to play by her father's rules in his domain.

"Watch your language, young lady. How do you expect me to let you out of this house when you talk like that in front of me?" Mr. Duncan's authoritative voice straightens Tashi’s posture by the mere sound of it, further adding to her frustration and resentment. Tashi's eyes flashed with defiance, her grip tightening on the edge of the table.

"But Dad, you don't understand! This isn't just any party. It's the end-of-summer bash, and everyone who's anyone will be there.” Demetrius' brow furrows even deeper as he grasps the meaning behind Tashi's words. He remembers his sister's recent preoccupation with her overflowing wardrobe of not quite cute clothes. As a clueless teenage boy, he had brushed it off as typical big sister behaviour. Little did he realise that Tashi was planning to attend a party, which explained her sudden desire for the perfect outfit.

“I've worked so hard all year, both in school and on the court. Don't I deserve one night of fun?”

Tashi's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of a year's worth of hard work and sacrifice. Her mother's eyes filled with pride and understanding, gleaming like polished gems in the soft light of the room. On the other hand, her father's eyes were clouded with ignorance and disappointment, a storm brewing behind them as he sat stoically in his chair.

It was a familiar scene for the family, one that only added to Tashi's growing resentment towards her father's strict rules. She could feel the tension thickening between them, like a tightly coiled spring ready to snap at any moment. And yet, despite it all, she continued to prove herself as the strongest player in the state, her name quickly gaining traction in the tennis world. Her mother watched in awe and admiration, wishing her father could see and appreciate their daughter's undeniable talent and determination.

Despite Kevin's attempt to maintain a stoic facade, his clenched jaw and visibly tense muscles betrayed any sign of guilt. Mr. Duncan's expression was one of clear disappointment as he observed Tashi's childish behaviour at the dinner table. Kevin's knuckles turned almost white, a clear difference to his brown skin, as he braced himself to address Tashi's immature inclinations. The once jovial atmosphere now hung heavily with tension, the air thick and charged with unspoken words. It was a stark contrast to the pleasant atmosphere just moments before, a dramatic shift in mood that could not be ignored.

"Fun? You call hanging around a swarm of reckless, intoxicated teenagers, fun? I've seen the destruction and chaos these parties can bring, Tashi.”

The words emphasised dripped from Kevin's tongue with disdain as he raised his hands in exasperation. His gaze shot out the window, towards the direction of the Prescott's upscale neighbourhood. Tashi could see the anger and frustration etched on Kevin's face, his jaw clenched tightly as he spoke. The sound of his words cut through the air like a sharp blade, leaving no room for argument.

"Our family will not become gossip fodder simply because you sought a moment of fun."

His gaze bore into her with unwavering intensity, his protective nature surging forth. Kevin was resolute in ensuring his daughter's reputation remained untarnished, particularly with the scrutiny from giants like Nike and Adidas. After enduring numerous trials, the future seemed promising for the Duncans, and no stupid party would derail their progress.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Chrystal placed a gentle hand on her husband’s shoulder, attempting to soften his hard exterior. Kevin's muscles remained rigid under her touch; his jaw clenched tight as he stared out the window at the setting sun. The fading light cast long shadows across the living room, mirroring his hooded eyes as he laid with his thoughts post outburst.

Chrystal released a deep, shaky breath as she tried to navigate the tumultuous waves of emotions crashing within her in response to her husband's words. She glanced over at her daughter, who sat slumped and defeated, and made the decision. Mrs. Duncan knew that this could be the last summer they would have together before things became chaotic and out of their control. With determination in her heart, she would negotiate with her husband to give their daughter a chance at experiencing joy and freedom before the weight of a full-time athlete settled upon her shoulders.

"Darling," she began, her voice soft and melodious, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.

Crystal pleaded, her voice filled with longing and hope. "Perhaps we should reconsider," she said, her eyes focused on Kevin.

"Tashi is growing up so fast, and this party could be a wonderful opportunity for her to socialise with her classmates."

But Kevin's mind was already made up, his stubborn nature once again prevailing over reason. Chrystal could see the determination in his steely gaze and knew that there was no use arguing further. The disappointment weighed heavy on her heart as she resigned herself to another missed opportunity for their daughter.

"My decision is final, Tashi."

Mr. Duncan's voice echoed through the room, reaching every corner and piercing the silence that hung heavy in the air. His stern gaze shifted to Tashi, whose fidgeting hands had now stilled and were gripping tightly onto the hem of her skirt. The table, made of dark mahogany wood, seemed to creak under Mr. Duncan's weight as he leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Tashi's.

"I expect you in bed, getting enough rest for practice tomorrow," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Tashi could feel her heart pounding against her chest as she nodded, understanding his expectations. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on her shoulders as she realised the gravity of Mr. Duncan's words and the importance of Tashi maintaining her consistency.

Tashi nodded silently, her father's expectations bearing down on her like a heavy weight. In all her years living under the strict rules of Kevin Duncan, Tashi had never felt so suffocated. Her father, who had been her coach for many years, had ingrained in her that following the straight and narrow path both on the court and in real life would lead to success and reward. But as she stood there now, it was clear that this belief was nothing but a facade. Today, with crushing disappointment, Tashi realised that it was all just a load of bullshit.

“Now, you kids need to get ready for bed."

Kevin chimed in, his voice breaking through the tense atmosphere that had settled over the family. The dim lights in the living room cast shadows across his face as he leaned back in his chair, trying to diffuse the tension with a light-hearted tone.

"Kenan, I better hear some vigorous teeth brushing up in that bathroom. And Demetrius, don't forget to floss!"

His words were met with half-hearted groans and eye rolls from the two children, who reluctantly got up from their spots on the couch and headed towards the hallway.

“Yes, sir.”

The voices of the boys strained as they struggled to release the words, unsure if they should speak in that tense moment. This caused Kevin's expression to falter for a brief second, as he realised his impact on the family. Just moments before, they had all been laughing at the youngest member's tales from school, but now not even the most talkative person in the house could utter a single word. The atmosphere had shifted from one of lightness and joy to one of tension and unease.

The sounds of shuffling feet and murmured goodnights filled the air as the boys followed Tashi’s lead and headed upstairs to their rooms. The hallway was dimly lit, casting shadows along the walls as Tashi trudged towards her own room at the end of the hall. As they are about to reach their shared room, Demetrius and Kenan stalk at their door taking one last look at their sister. Tashi closes the door to her bedroom with a heavy sigh, throwing herself onto her bed.

Tashi’s room was a reflection of her disciplined but quietly personal world. The walls were painted a soft lavender, calming but with enough energy to keep her focused. Above her bed hung a large poster of Serena Williams in mid-swing, the fierce determination on her face a daily source of inspiration. Tashi admired Serena—her strength, her focus, her ability to balance success with the weight of expectation. The poster faded at the edges, a sign of how long it had been there, a constant in Tashi’s room and her life.

Her desk, positioned neatly under the window, was cluttered with tennis gear, notebooks, and textbooks, all piled in organised chaos. A calendar hung beside it, every square meticulously filled with her tight schedule—practices, study sessions, and tournaments. Each date was marked in different coloured ink, from practice drills to strategy meetings with her father. She was constantly balancing schoolwork and tennis training, and the calendar was her anchor in the whirlwind of her days.

Across from the desk, her bed was made with precision—crisp white sheets tucked neatly under a soft lilac duvet. Plush pillows were carefully arranged at the head of the bed, though the space wasn’t untouched by the subtle messiness of teenage life—a few clothes tossed on the chair, a pair of sneakers casually kicked off by the door.

Shelves lined the wall, filled with trophies, tennis balls, and framed photos of her with friends, her brothers, and, of course, her father. Her room was functional but still held onto a certain charm, with fairy lights strung along the headboard and a few stuffed animals from childhood tucked neatly into the corner of the bed—small reminders of a softer, less regimented time.

Though every inch of the room was curated to reflect Tashi’s commitment to tennis and her busy life, there were subtle touches of her own personality—the lavender scented candle on her nightstand, a few dog-eared novels she’d never had the time to finish, and the carefully framed picture of her mom, the quiet presence in her life. It was a room that felt like a mix of who she was and who she was becoming—structured yet still searching for balance.

As she stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing with frustration and disappointment, she thought about how she ended up in this predicament.

‘So much for making this the best summer ever.’

Why couldn't her dad just trust her? She was a responsible teenager, always on top of her schoolwork and dedicated to tennis. All Tashi wanted was one night to let loose and get to know some people before senior year next fall. Since freshman year, she had never quite fit in at her school.

With daily tennis practices and matches consuming most of her time on top of the already heavy workload, Tashi didn’t have much time to socialise with her classmates outside of school. And recently, as she watched groups of laughing teenagers splashing in the water and playing beach games on social media, she couldn't help but feel like an outsider once again.

It didn’t help that nobody seemed to care about tennis, except for Jasmyn and Destiny who were eager to learn all they could about the sport - especially when it came to the cute athletes.

Tonight's party held the promise of liberation for Tashi, a chance to shed her reputation as nothing more than 'the girl who fucks herself with a racket all day'. After publicly confronting Chandler Prescott for spreading that disgusting rumour, she had hoped to gain some sort of an apology. But those mindless idiots would blindly follow any order from the muscle-headed jock.

In a perfect world, her parents would have sent her to a prestigious boarding school, preferably one focused on tennis. But no, her father had insisted on being her coach. Tashi had endured years of relentless criticism and harsh training sessions from her father, his words driving her to relentlessly perfect her serve. There was even one night when they had missed dinner entirely, caught up in endless drills and corrections. By the time they returned home, Kenan and Demetrius were already fast asleep. And ‘Father of The Year goes to…’

Knock, knock, knock.

Startled from her thoughts, Tashi whips her head towards her bedroom door. Her initial assumption is that it's her mom, ready to give her a guilt-laden lecture about not being able to sway her father at dinner. But to her surprise, something much better awaits on the other side.

"Come in," She calls out from her bed, still fixated on the ceiling.

The door creaks open and she hears the pitter patter of tiny feet approaching. With a grin spreading across her face, Tashi finally abandons the popcorn-textured surface above and sits upright.

Like a little gremlin, Kenan's head is the first to pop out from behind his sister's door, followed closely by his older and taller brother Demetrius. Their mischievous smiles mirror each other as they enter the room, and Tashi can't help but feel a surge of joy and warmth in their presence.

“Hey, guys!”Tashi's cheerful voice echoed through the room as she greeted her brothers, her body quickly sitting up in bed. She adjusted her collection of stuffed animals and pillows, already anticipating the weight of her brothers collapsing onto the soft surface.

"What's going on?" Tashi asked, a wide smile spreading across her face as she watched her brothers make themselves comfortable on her bed. Kenan reached for her beloved Lilo and Stitch plushie, while Demetrius fluffed up a pillow and prepared to lounge. Their presence filled the room with warmth and comfort, like three puzzle pieces perfectly fitting together.

Demetrius rested his hands behind his head, stretching out his body and crossing his legs on Tashi's bed. His voice was smooth and confident as he spoke, "I know it's nowhere near the cool high school parties you're used to, but I promise this will be worth your while."

Kenan couldn't contain his excitement, bursting into giggles and exclaiming, "It's a super-duper ultra secret party, for Duncan siblings only!"

He playfully tossed a Stitch plushie into the air before it landed straight towards Tashi's head. The siblings erupted in laughter at Kenan's enthusiasm. In that moment, Tashi couldn't help but feel a twinge of warmth in her heart at her siblings' genuine excitement.

"A party, huh? What's the occasion?" Tashi asked with a raised eyebrow.

Kenan's mischievous grin grew wider. "We're celebrating the end of summer and because...um, because you're the best big sister ever!"

Demetrius rolled his eyes at Kenan's words but couldn't hide the small smile that tugged at his lips. Tashi chuckled at her brother's earnestness. Their wide-eyed and energetic natures never failed to bring a smile to her face.

They were her biggest supporters, always finding ways to lift her spirits even in her darkest moments. But tonight was different, the argument with their father had changed something within Tashi and she was determined not to back down. She would not be silenced or dismissed any longer.

Tashi chuckled, a bittersweet sound that held a hint of laughter and sadness. "That's sweet, you guys," she exclaimed, her voice carrying in the quiet night air.

"But I have to be up early for practice tomorrow," she reminded them, raising an eyebrow at Kenan playfully. She made a funny face at him, causing him to burst into laughter.

Demetrius' expression shifted, his face falling slightly as he realised their time together was limited. "It's just for one night," he pleaded, trying to find a solution. "You can sleep over in our room too." His eyes searched hers, silently begging her to just stay up for a little longer.

Tashi rose gracefully from her spot on the bed and lowered herself to the ground, kneeling next to her brothers. She placed a gentle hand on each of their shoulders, offering comfort in her touch. "I'm sorry I can't join you tonight," she said softly, her eyes filled with regret. "But I promise, we’ll get ice cream after practice tomorrow instead, okay?

“Just the three of us." Her voice held a hint of excitement at the thought of their special tradition and the bond they shared as siblings.

Kenan's bottom lip jutted out in a pout, but his eyes glimmered with anticipation at the thought of their special outing. Even without words, his eager nod showed his agreement. Demetrius, always one for adventure, grinned widely and eagerly joined in with a nod of his own. Their shared excitement for the promised treat radiated through the space between them and into the world around them, like beams of sunlight bursting through the clouds.

Tashi gently pressed her lips to each of their foreheads before ushering the boys back to their room. She couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia, remembering how her own mother used to tuck her into bed. Kenan was still young enough to be tucked in, his soft face peaceful as he settled under the covers. Demetrius, on the other hand, was growing too old for such gestures, and Tashi couldn't help but wonder if he missed being coddled like this. With the night light casting a warm glow over their shared room, Tashi made sure everything was in place before finally making her way back to her own room down the hall.

As she let out a sigh, Tashi climbed into bed and reached over to switch off the bedside lamp. As she pulled the covers up to her chin, she let out a contented sigh. For a while, she lay there in the darkness, listening intently to the sounds of the house settling for the night. The creaks and groans of old wood echoed through the walls, accompanied by the distant murmur of her parents' voices down the hall. It was a comforting sound, one that had been a constant in her life since childhood.

As time went on, even those familiar noises faded away, leaving behind complete silence. But Tashi couldn't seem to quiet her mind. Restlessness consumed her as her thoughts continued to buzz with everything she was missing out on. The party, the chance to let go and be just another carefree teenager, if only for a few hours. She knew she shouldn't care so much about fitting in, but she did. How could she not when it felt like she was constantly an outsider looking in?

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one weighed down by the oppressive stillness of the house. Tashi couldn't fight the temptation any longer - she had to know what was happening at the party, even if she couldn't be there. With a sense of defeat, she took matters into her own hands and turned to her last resort.

With her bunny slippers on, Tashi tiptoes down the creaky stairs, wincing at every small sound. The house seems to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional snore from her father's room. Moonlight spills through the windows, casting long shadows across the living room as Tashi makes her way to her target tucked away in the corner.

The family computer was strategically placed here for a reason, under the gazes of old photographs of distant family members and her technophobic mother. Tashi had been here a thousand times, but tonight, it felt different—like she was doing something forbidden. Her parents had made it clear that she wasn’t allowed to have a Facebook account, let alone use the computer without permission. But she needed this, needed to feel connected to her friends, even if it was just through a screen.

The ancient machine whirs to life, the fan sputtering like an old car engine. Tashi anxiously drums her fingers on the desk, willing the computer to boot up faster. Finally, the familiar chime of the dial-up connection fills the air, and Tashi quickly mutes the speakers, her heart racing at the thought of waking her parents.

As Tashi logged into Facebook, a flood of images and status updates assaulted her senses, pulling her from the quiet isolation of her room into the buzzing life of the party she was missing. The screen became a kaleidoscope of colour and emotion, each snapshot of the night hitting her like a wave crashing against the shore. Every post, every comment felt like a direct invitation to join in, and yet, she remained on the outside looking in. The party, which had taken on an almost mythic quality in her imagination, was now laid bare in front of her—an explosion of energy captured in still frames and carefully chosen words, all beckoning her to be part of the action she was forbidden to attend.

Tashi’s heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and longing as she scrolled through her newsfeed. There it was, the event she had been eagerly anticipating but couldn't attend—’Chandler Prescott’s party’. The photos filled the screen in a burst of vibrant colour and motion, documenting moments of pure joy and careless abandon. Red solo cups clutched in hands, the neon glow of lights bathing smiling faces in a bright, electric haze. The music, though silent on her screen, seemed to thrum through the images, the rhythm palpable in the dancing bodies and laughing faces.

Her eyes flicked over the photos, recognizing the faces that populated her everyday life but felt so distant tonight. Jessica, draped over her new boyfriend, her heartbreak from last week seemingly erased in the neon glow. Chandler himself, his wide grin as infectious as ever, stood in the centre of it all, arms slung around a group of friends, owning the night as if it were made for him. The photos seemed to pulse with life, and with each scroll, Tashi felt the tug of longing grow stronger, the pull to be there, to belong.

The vibrant colours of the party lit up her screen, the red of the cups and the swirl of light leaving Tashi feeling as though she were standing on the edge of something thrilling and untouchable. Her fingers, adorned with glittering nail polish and delicate rings, hovered over the keyboard, itching to click “like” or leave a comment—just something to remind everyone she was still part of the crowd, even though she wasn’t there.

But as quickly as excitement sparked, hesitation cooled it. What if someone asked why she wasn’t at the party? The unspoken question lurked in the back of her mind, casting a shadow over the bright photos. Tashi could already hear the judgments, the whispers about her absence. She wasn’t like the others—free to come and go as they pleased, slipping in and out of each other’s lives with no consequences. Her father’s strict rules dictated her every move, and the idea of telling anyone that she wasn’t allowed to go felt humiliating.

Her hand paused on the keyboard, the gentle hum of the computer filling the quiet, empty space of her room. The contrast between the quietness of her reality and the explosive energy of the party was stark, the divide almost too much to bear. The loneliness crept in, wrapping around her as she scrolled, trying to feel a part of it all without being there.

And then, amidst the constant stream of content, a new notification popped up on the screen—a friend request. It blinked at her like a neon sign in a dark alley, flashing with the promise of something new, something unexpected. Tashi’s pulse quickened, her fingers trembling slightly as her cursor hovered over the notification, curiosity bubbling up inside her.

Maya Pratt-Duncan.

Tashi's eyelids fluttered, her mind scrambling to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. ‘Duncan?’ The last name was unmistakable. Her heart raced, like it was trying to outrun the sudden reality pressing in on her. Could this be a coincidence, or was there something bigger at play? Her gaze locked onto the profile picture—Maya Pratt-Duncan. A girl, possibly her age, with lustrous dark hair and piercing brown eyes that felt almost unsettlingly familiar, like staring into a mirror warped by time and circumstance.

With a growing sense of unease, Tashi clicked on Maya’s profile, desperate to make sense of it all. The photos revealed a life both familiar and alien, a world that felt connected to hers in ways she didn’t yet understand. Pictures of Maya with an older couple—her grandparents, Tashi guessed—smiling in front of sprawling estates, on beaches, and in sunny parts of California. The girl's life seemed elegant, effortless, almost picturesque.

But one photo in particular made Tashi’s breath hitch and her fingers freeze. It was Maya, standing proudly beside a brand-new Mercedes Benz convertible, a beaming smile lighting up her face as she posed with balloons in hand. Happy Sweet 16, the caption read, the milestone dripping with wealth and privilege. The sight of the sparkling car and the girl’s seemingly perfect life stirred something deep within Tashi—a pang of envy, sure, but also confusion. This wasn’t just some random girl with the same last name.

Tashi’s fingers gripped the sides of her mouse, her mind racing. Who was Maya really? What did she want, reaching out now, in the dead of night? Tashi's instincts told her to log off; to shut the computer and pretend she had never seen the notification. But something deeper—a gnawing curiosity, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place—compelled her to stay. Her finger hesitated for only a moment before she clicked “Accept.”

Friend request accepted!

The quiet of the house pressed in around her, the only sound of the faint hum of her computer and her own shallow breathing. The air felt heavier now, as though the night itself had thickened with anticipation. Every second stretched into an eternity, her chest tightening as the weight of her decision sank in. What now? Was Maya going to say something? Tashi stared at the screen, her heart pounding in her ears, waiting for something to happen.

And then, just as Tashi was about to log off, a notification popped up at the bottom of the screen.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hi.

One simple word, but it might as well have been a grenade. Tashi stared at it, her breath caught in her throat. Hi? That was it? A single, casual greeting that felt completely at odds with the intensity of what was unfolding inside her. She didn’t know what she had expected—some grand explanation, perhaps, or an answer to the million questions racing through her mind—but instead, it was just hi.

Tashi’s fingers hovered above the keyboard, her thoughts swirling in every direction. What should I say? How did she even begin to respond? Her eyes flicked back to Maya’s profile picture, those familiar brown eyes staring back at her, waiting.

Against her better judgement, Tashi began to type.

Tashi Duncan: Hi... Do I know you?

BEL-AIR CALIFORNIA – Earlier That Evening

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the sprawling Bel-Air mansion, the only sound that could be heard was the soft click of high heels echoing against polished marble. It was a rhythmic heartbeat in a world of opulence, as if the very walls were pulsing with wealth and privilege.

The sound belonged to Maya Pratt-Duncan, heir to this legacy, gingerly making her way through the hallowed interior of her grandparents' walk-in closet. The room itself was a symphony of silence, each piece carefully chosen to exude taste and refinement. The scent of fine leather mingled with aged cedarwood, creating an intoxicating aroma that enveloped her senses.

In the full-length mirror, her reflection stared back at her—dark waves cascading over her shoulders, hazel eyes narrowed in concentration. She wore a sleek black silk dress that whispered against her skin, a perfect embodiment of Bel-Air glamour and sophistication. Yet despite her effortless appearance, there was a restlessness lurking beneath the surface.

Maya's delicate fingers traced the smooth, high-quality fabrics of blouses and tailored suits, each one exuding a faint scent of her grandmother's signature perfume—a blend of rose with a hint of amber. Tabitha and Winston's closet was like an enchanted treasure trove, filled with luxuriously crafted pieces that held stories and memories within their threads. Each item was carefully selected, like a chapter in the grand saga of her family's life of wealth and elegance. Maya's eyes roamed over the shelves, searching for the sleek Chanel purse she had lent Tabitha for last Sunday's church service.

She let out a heavy sigh, knowing it could be hidden anywhere in this labyrinth of a closet. Her mind couldn't help but wonder why she had offered to lend her grandmother the purse in the first place—Tabitha had always admired Maya's impeccable sense of style and would have no doubt appreciated any accessory loaned to her. In fact, during their shopping trip at the Chanel store, after hearing Tabitha gush about the purse, Maya insisted on buying one for herself as well. But her generous grandmother, always wanting to share, suggested that she simply borrow Maya's when she wasn't using it. Well, now none of us can use it, Gam Gam!

"Come on, where are you?" Frustration bubbled up in Maya's chest as she rummaged through hat boxes and garment bags, determined to find what she was looking for. She pulled out each box methodically, scanning its contents before placing it back with a huff. Chloé Fall 1997—nothing, Ralph Lauren Spring 2002—nothing, Saint Laurent Winter 1989—nothing! Each box accumulated to everything but her purse. Maya’s search continued; she couldn't help but feel like she was getting closer to the elusive item.

Finally, her eyes landed on a worn box hidden behind a row of perfectly aligned shoes. She hadn't noticed it before, but the faded logo on top made her heart skip a beat. Fendi. Maybe there would be something even better inside, she thought with a mischievous grin.

With eager anticipation, she lifted the lid.

But the sight that greeted her made her breath catch in her throat.

It wasn't Fendi.

As Maya lifted the lid of the delicate box, she was met with a collection of items that felt intimately personal. Her fingers delicately brushed over yellowed tissue paper, revealing treasures within. One item in particular caught her eye—a small, red Cartier box. She knew what it held before even opening it - an engraved Love bracelet bearing a name she knew all too well—Shayla Pratt. Her mother. A pang of emotion tightened Maya's chest as she slowly pulled out the bracelet and placed it around her wrist, admiring its timeless beauty. Beneath the larger Fendi box laid a stack of photographs that Maya had never seen before.

Each one captured a moment in her mother's life, from her 3rd birthday to her middle school portrait. But it was the photo of her mother at the bottom of a staircase in her prom dress that struck a chord with Maya. She stood next to a young man, presumably her date for the evening, with a wide smile and an air of youthful joy exuding from every inch of the frame. These photos were windows into moments of her mother's past that Maya had never known, and they filled her with a mix of longing for someone she never knew.

Maya had always been curious about her mother, but the stories she heard were always fragmented, like puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together. Tabitha and Winston rarely spoke of Shayla, their voices hushed and hesitant as if afraid to awaken old ghosts. But in this moment, as Maya sifted through her mother's belongings, she finally felt a connection to the woman she had never known. The scent of lavender and memories lingered in the air, drawing Maya deeper into the closet where secrets were hidden behind closed doors. She traced her fingers over old photographs and trinkets, trying to piece together the puzzle of her mother's life. Why had her grandparents kept these objects hidden from her? Why had they never shared these precious pieces of her mother’s life?

A loud, sudden knock at the closet door jolted Maya out of her deep thoughts. The sound echoed through the quiet space, causing her heart to skip a beat and her fingers to tremble on the delicate photographs in her hands. She had been completely absorbed in the world of her mother's past, so much so that she had almost forgotten where she was—or rather, where she wasn't supposed to be. A sense of panic washed over her as she realised the danger of getting caught exploring this forbidden part of her mother's life.

As the weight of her actions came crashing down, a wave of guilt washed over Maya. Yes, she had been granted permission to search through her grandparent's closet, but this box was clearly not meant for her eyes. It was carefully packed away and hidden deep within the closet, almost as if it held some dark secret. Maya's heart raced as she quickly and carefully placed the photographs back inside followed by the Cartier box, her hands trembling with both fear and excitement. She swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she hurriedly closed the lid, the forbidden nature of her exploration sinking in. The weight of her actions weighed heavily on her conscience as she quietly backed out of the closet, promising herself never to cross that line again.

She stood up just as the knock came again, this time followed by a soft voice.

“Miss Maya?”

It was Ettie, the Pratt’s housekeeper, her voice gentle but insistent through the door. Maya’s heart steadied, realising that she was in good company. Her presence offered a sense of comfort in her confused state. Frozen for a moment, Maya wasn't sure what to do with the information she had just discovered. Should I reveal it to Ettie? Would that put her in danger of her grandparents finding out? After all, Ettie was bound by her loyalty to them and Maya wouldn't want to jeopardise her job by keeping secrets.

Taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, Maya cleared her throat and composed herself. Her voice remained steady, portraying no hint of the turmoil going on inside her mind. "Yes, Ettie?" She responded calmly, ready to navigate this delicate situation.

The ancient wooden door creaked open, revealing Ettie's serene features and warm smile. She stood upright before Maya, her posture exuding grace and professionalism, her arms neatly tucked behind her back. With a gentle tone, she conveyed the message from Maya's grandparents. “The driver’s waiting out front.” Ettie's eyes sparkled with excitement as she spoke, she had assisted in Maya’s preparations for dinner tonight, meticulously pressing her dress earlier that day. "Your grandparents are eagerly waiting downstairs."

Maya nodded, flashing her a warm, grateful smile as she replied. “Thank you, Ettie. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Ettie hesitated, her sharp gaze flickering towards the boxes and racks of clothing, sensing that something was amiss. Her dark eyes were filled with a hint of concern. But she didn’t press further, instead offering a small smile of reassurance. “Very well, Miss Maya. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

With that, she gently closed the door behind her, leaving Maya alone once more in the dimly lit closet. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut, Maya exhaled deeply, her shoulders slumping as the tension in her chest loosened. She turned back to the box, her mind still reeling from the weight of what she had uncovered.

Her gaze lingered on the closed lid for a few seconds longer, tempted to dive back in and uncover more pieces of her mother’s hidden past. But the reminder of the waiting driver—and her grandparents’ inevitable impatience—pulled her back to the present. Not now, she told herself sternly, though every fibre of her being yearned to stay. Later. I’ll figure it out later. Maybe when there’s more time and less pressure. For now, duty called, and she couldn't afford to delay any longer. Giving it a final glance, Maya hastily snatched the nearest purse and made her way to the top of the stairs in a hurry.

In the grand foyer, Tabitha stood on her tiptoes beside Winston, her delicate fingers expertly adjusting his bowtie as he checked his watch. Winston, known for his stoic demeanour, remained unfazed by her ministrations, his determination focused on making it to their dinner reservation on time. Maya descended the spiral staircase with deliberate grace, her heels clicking against the polished marble steps in perfect rhythm. Her grandparents, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, turned towards her with warm smiles of approval. The chandelier above cast a brilliant glow over the scene, highlighting every elegant detail of Maya’s outfit.

Winston's voice softened as he took in the sight of Maya, standing before him in a breathtaking dress. "There's our girl," he said, his eyes shining with pride.

Tabitha let out a soft gasp as she took in her granddaughter 's appearance. "Valentino, of course," she exclaimed with a gleam in her eye, stepping back to admire Maya from head to toe. "You look stunning, my dear. Truly."

Maya's dress was a masterpiece of delicate silk clad in sparkling diamonds against her clavicle, hugging her figure perfectly and cascading down to her knees. The colour was a rich shade of black that complimented her skin tone and brought out the richness of her brown eyes. Not a single imperfection was present, Ettie meticulously had inspected the expensive fabric, ensuring that not a single trace of lint could be found.

Maya looked like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus. Her presence was striking, like a celestial being gracing the mortal world with her ethereal beauty. She exuded confidence and grace, her form draped in a stunning masterpiece that seemed to have been woven by the hands of divine beings. Her aura was radiating and regal, as if she had descended from the heavens above to bless the mundane earth with her divine presence.

Winston's heart swelled with pride and love as he gazed upon his granddaughter . She stood before him, a vision of beauty and grace, radiating an aura of elegance that captivated him. "You are truly remarkable, Maya," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration and awe at her presence. His eyes followed the gentle curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes, feeling grateful for every moment spent in her company.

Despite having heard these words from her grandparents before, Maya's heart swelled with warmth and happiness as she basked in the affirmations from her beloved grandparents. "Thank you, Gam Gam, Papa. I'm glad you like it," she beamed.

Tabitha, ever observant, tilted her head and studied Maya closely. The bag clad against Maya’s shoulder was indeed not Chanel, on the contrary it’s Louis Vuitton! Her piercing gaze made Maya feel as though her thoughts were being read like an open book. "Did you find your purse?" she asked.

For a moment, Maya hesitated, thinking about the box that lay hidden inside her grandparent’s closet—the bracelet, the photographs—and a lump formed in her throat. But ever the lady, Maya bottled everything in, now was not the time to open that door. Not yet.

"Oh, I...found something better," she said with a quiet but firm voice. Tabitha raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Maya's response, but she did not press further. Maya could sense the curiosity behind her grandmother's composed expression.

Winston stepped in, gesturing towards the door.

"Shall we? The driver's waiting," he said politely, breaking the tension in the air with his gentle tone.

The evening air was crisp, the breeze whispered through the door as they stepped outside, the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers tickling their noses. Two sleek and shiny black Mercedes-Benz S-Classes waited in the driveway, their engines humming softly.

Tabitha and Winston moved towards the first car with practised ease, their movements coordinated and fluid. Maya, on the other hand, was left to ride alone in the second car. Tabitha had made it clear that a lady must always ride in the back seat unless her suitor is behind the wheel. Maya climbed into the back seat of the luxurious vehicle, sinking into the plush leather seats as the door clicked shut behind her.

As the car glided smoothly down the long driveway, Maya's mind drifted back to the mysterious box she had discovered earlier that day. She couldn't help but wonder about her mother's past and what secrets it held. What kind of life had her mother lived before Maya was born? And why had her story been kept hidden for so many years. More importantly, why was her father's identity still shrouded in secrecy?

The questions swirled through Maya's mind as she gazed out at the passing trees and houses, lost in her own thoughts. The faint scent of leather mixed with a hint of expensive perfume filled the air, aiding in Maya’s thought process as she contemplated her next move within the car. With every mile travelled, Maya felt herself getting closer to unlocking the mysteries of her past.

The soft hum of the Mercedes-Benz came to a halt as the driver opened Maya's door. She stepped out gracefully, the cool evening air brushing against her skin, bringing with it the scent of fine dining and the distant murmur of city life. She stood for a moment, adjusting the folds of her dress, and glanced toward the other car, where her grandparents were already emerging with the practised elegance of people long accustomed to being in the public eye.

Tabitha stepped out first, her movements graceful and precise, as if she were still a young socialite descending a ballroom staircase. She wore a navy-blue floor-length dress accented with a ruffle faux-wrap skirt, tailored to perfection, her hair pinned back in a classic chignon that added to her air of timeless sophistication. Winston followed close behind, straightening the jacket of his black Armani three-piece suit as the driver helped him out of the car. Though age had softened his posture, there was still a commanding presence about him, his jaw set with purpose, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.

They met at the entrance of the restaurant, an upscale establishment known for its exclusivity and clientele that valued privacy as much as they did luxury. The restaurant's facade gleamed in the glow of well-placed lighting; its grand double doors made of rich mahogany with gold-plated handles. A valet rushed to collect the keys, but Winston waved him off with a curt nod, the gesture practised and swift.

Tabitha turned to Maya, her keen eyes sweeping over her granddaughter  as if seeing her for the first time that night. A glimmer of pride and mischief danced in her gaze as she spoke, her voice warm but controlled.

"You know, my dear, if you're lucky tonight, you may catch the eye of a suitor," she said in a hushed tone, her gaze lingering on Maya's figure dressed in the stunning gown. "That dress fits you like a glove. I wouldn't be surprised if every boy cracked their necks just to catch a glimpse of you."

Maya let out a polite laugh, hoping her hand would hold back the noise. "Oh my god, grandma! Can we please just enjoy one night without you trying to set me up?" She glanced around nervously, making sure no one had overheard their conversation. The music hummed in the background, punctuated by distant laughter and chatter from patrons. The warm mood lighting and scents of the restaurant surrounded them, adding to the serene atmosphere of the evening.

The family made their way into the restaurant, greeted by the Hostess standing within the entrance. The mere sight of Winston and Tabitha Pratt straightens her posture. Her bright smile widened in recognition as they stepped towards her, extending a hand to greet them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pratt, it’s wonderful to see you again,” she said with a professional warmth.

“Right this way, your table is ready.”

Winston nodded politely but remained reserved as the Hostess led them inside. The interior of the restaurant was dimly lit, designed to give each table a sense of privacy. The gentle clinking of silverware and murmurs of conversation filled the air, along with the rich aroma of aged wine and freshly prepared dishes. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the dark mahogany tables and velvet chairs. The ambiance was luxurious without being overly opulent, the kind of place where elegance spoke quietly but confidently.

The Hostess's eyes lit up at the sight of Maya, remembering the conversation she had with Mr. Pratt over the phone confirming his reservation. Her smile widened as she led them deeper into the elegant restaurant, weaving through tables and patrons with ease. "And congratulations to Miss Duncan," she said warmly, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

"I heard a rumour that it’s your senior year next fall, and as always you’re here for your pre-semester celebratory dinner." Maya offered a grateful smile, placing a hand over her heart in appreciation for the Hostess's thoughtfulness. She hadn't expected her to know about the occasion, but then again, their frequent visits to the restaurant made them familiar faces among the staff. "Thank you so much," she replied softly, her elegant voice barely audible above the gentle hum of conversation in the restaurant lounge.

As the Pratt-Duncan family were shown to their seats, the Hostess leaned in towards Maya with a hint of mischief. "Just so you know, we have something special for you in the back," she whispered conspiratorially. "Courtesy of the old man over there." She nodded towards Mr. Pratt, who was currently engaged in a playful dance with his eyebrows, trying to make Maya laugh. And it worked—she couldn't help but let out a giggle at his antics. The Hostess placed a finger over her lips, letting out a soft shushing sound before darting off to attend to other guests.

Winston, ever the gentleman, helped his wife into her seat before he took his own. With precise movements, he unfolded her chair, guided her carefully towards it and smoothly shifted her snugly against the table. Shortly after, Winston did the same for his granddaughter, taking the same amount of care he did for his wife.

He then joined them after, grabbing his spectacles from his hidden jacket pocket preparing to read what the restaurant had to offer. The attentive wait staff appeared almost instantly, presenting the trio with menus and pouring chilled water into their sparkling glasses. The soft clinking of silverware and hushed conversations filled the air as the couple perused the extensive wine list in search of the perfect pairing for their meal.

The first course arrived, heralded by a symphony of smells that wafted from the kitchen. A delicate salad of heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella was presented with a drizzle of bright green basil oil, each ingredient carefully placed like an artist's brushstrokes on a canvas. Maya's grandparents launched into their usual conversation about the restaurant's use of seasonal produce, but her mind was elsewhere.

She picked at the salad, her fork moving absently across the plate, as she tried to ground herself in the familiar conversation around her. But her thoughts were consumed by the events of earlier that evening, causing her to drift in and out of conversation, struggling to maintain a facade of normalcy in her off behaviour.

Winston took a sip of his wine and glanced at his granddaughter  over the rim of his glass. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight, Maya-Mia.” He remarked, his voice calm but observant. “Is something on your mind?”

Maya looked up, startled by the directness of the question. She set her fork down carefully, the metal clinking softly against the plate. “I’ve just... had a lot on my mind lately.”

Tabitha’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze sharp and knowing. “What could possibly be weighing so heavily on your mind, darling? You were so excited about tonight.”

Maya hesitated, feeling the tension coil tighter in her chest. She glanced down at her napkin, unsure of how to broach the topic. Her pulse quickened, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out.

“I found something in your closet earlier today,” she said, her voice softer than she intended but laden with unspoken meaning. “Something belonging to my mother.”

Tabitha stiffened, her perfectly composed expression faltering for a split second before hardening into something more controlled. Winston set his glass down slowly, his eyes flicking between his wife and granddaughter , sensing the shift in tone.

“Maya,” Tabitha began, her voice low and measured, “You shouldn’t have been going through my things.”

“I wasn’t snooping,” Maya said, her frustration bubbling up. “I was looking for my purse, but I found... I found a box. A box of Mom’s things.”

The atmosphere at the table became suffocating, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths that hung in the air like a leaden curtain. Maya's heartbeat wildly as she studied her grandmother's face, desperately searching for any sign of vulnerability or explanation. But all she could see was the same carefully crafted mask of control that Tabitha always wore so effortlessly. It was a barrier between them, a fortress built to keep Maya out and the truth hidden within. The tension in the room was palpable, like a storm brewing on the horizon, ready to erupt at any moment.

“And what exactly did you find in that box?” Tabitha asked, her tone sharp, almost daring Maya to continue.

“Photographs,” Maya said, her voice trembling slightly. “Especially the ones of her at prom... with a boy. He seemed to be a big part of her life, judging by how often he showed up in the other photos.”

Tabitha’s expression tightened, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if bracing herself for what was to come. The room suddenly felt heavier, the silence between them thick with unspoken truths.

“Why didn’t you ever show me any of this?” Maya asked, her voice softer now, almost pleading.

Winston shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he placed his hands flat on the table. “Maya, we didn’t think it was necessary. Your mother’s past—”

“Her past matters!” Maya interrupted, her emotions flaring now, unable to keep the frustration contained. “She was my mother, and I deserve to know about her. And about my father.”

The word hung in the air, charged with the tension of years of secrets and silence. Tabitha’s jaw tightened; her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Maya, this isn’t the time or place for such discussions,” Winston said, his voice suddenly stern, as if hoping to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “We’re here to celebrate—”

“I’m tired of waiting for the right time,” Maya cut him off, her voice firm. “I’ve waited my whole life to know who he is. And you’ve kept that from me.”

The table fell into a hush once more, the gentle clinking of silverware and murmurs of conversation serving as a backdrop to the tension brewing between them. Winston released a heavy sigh, stealing a quick glance at Tabitha for any sign of approval before daring to speak again. But before he could, Tabitha's voice cut through the quiet like a sharp knife, low but unwavering in its conviction. The air around them felt charged with unspoken words and unrelenting emotions, a storm on the brink of breaking.

“You are going to be a respectful young lady, and you’re going to enjoy this wonderful night your grandfather has prepared for you,” Tabitha said, her voice cold and unwavering, her eyes locked on Maya’s with an intensity that left no room for argument. The tension in the air was palpable, the unspoken command clear as her gaze bore into her granddaughter’s. “That’s all.”

Maya's breath caught in her throat, her hazel eyes darting towards the plate of food in front of her as she struggled to regain her composure. Her grandmother's words still echoed in her mind, sending a surge of emotions through her body. What Tabitha said left her feeling smaller than ever before. She had always been hard on Maya, pushing her to become a refined and sophisticated young woman, but this felt like something deeper, more damaging.

The wait staff appeared with dessert, a rich and indulgent chocolate torte that looked almost too beautiful to eat. Maya hesitated before taking a small bite, not wanting to seem ungrateful for her grandfather's efforts. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, but she couldn't fully savour it amidst the turmoil within her. She forced herself to take a few more bites, trying to push aside the memories and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

The rest of the meal passed in uneasy silence, but the night was far from over. Winston still had one trick up his sleeve, a surprise that would surely make Maya's heart skip a beat. With a sly smile, he waved the waiter over to their table and whispered his instructions. The waiter nodded eagerly and disappeared into the kitchen.

After a few moments, the waiter returned with a silver cloche in hand. He approached the Pratt's table and stood next to Maya, who looked both confused and excited at the same time. With a flourish, he placed the cloche in front of her and lifted the lid to reveal a small red box—a Cartier one, to be exact. Maya gasped in shock, her eyes widening as she took in the luxurious packaging. Without hesitation, she reached for it and eagerly pried open the package.

Inside was exactly what she had anticipated: a gleaming Cartier Love bracelet, the very same one she found in her grandmother’s closet. But this one was different, her name was engraved on it in delicate script—Maya Pratt-Duncan. Her heart swelled with emotion as she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and admired it in awe. Winston truly knew how to make a girl feel special.

A single tear slipped down Maya's cheek, her emotions threatening to burst through her usual composed manner. She cast a grateful glance at her grandparents, who shared a knowing look with her. Her heart overflowed with love and gratitude for their thoughtfulness.

Winston reached out a comforting hand to his granddaughter , his touch gentle, sensing the whirlwind of emotions she must be feeling upon receiving the gift. The delicate bracelet gleamed softly in the dim light, its intricate design mirroring the one they had given her mother on the eve of her senior year—a tradition quietly upheld. It was their way of passing down a piece of history, a symbol of their love and the legacy she carried.

“It’s beautiful, I love it! Thank you,” Maya said, her voice tinged with emotion as she ran her fingers over the cool metal, feeling the weight of the moment.

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” Winston replied, his soft smile warming the air between them. His eyes, filled with pride and tenderness, lingered on her face, knowing the significance of the gift was more than words could convey.

As the evening drew to a close, Winston reached for his wallet and carefully placed his black American Express card. He made sure to add a generous tip for their exceptional service. The family gracefully made their way through the crowded restaurant, exchanging pleasantries with the Hostess before stepping out into the crisp California night air.

The chauffeurs, now donning windbreakers to protect against the chill, stood patiently by their sleek black cars. The soft glow of the streetlights illuminated the bustling city streets as they climbed into their luxurious vehicles, bidding farewell to a tension filled, yet wonderful evening.

Tabitha insisted on riding back with Maya, her earlier tension softened only slightly. Winston, silent but composed as always, leaned down to kiss Tabitha and Maya's cheeks before giving his granddaughter  a brief but reassuring nod. He then strode towards his own car, the gravel crunching beneath his dress shoes as he jumped into the back seat.

The air was filled with a peaceful stillness, like a calm before the storm. Despite the tension that lingered between them, Maya and Tabitha remained outwardly cordial as they made their way to the car soon after. But beneath the surface, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hung heavily in the air.

Tabitha climbed into the passenger seat beside Maya, her movements sharp and controlled, as though she was holding back more than she let on. The silence between them was thick, oppressive, as if neither wanted to be the first to acknowledge the strain that had settled between them.

The city lights blurred outside the window, casting fleeting shadows across Tabitha’s face, her expression unreadable. Maya’s fingers fidgeted in her lap, but she didn’t dare break the quiet. It was the kind of silence that wrapped around you, uncomfortable and suffocating, where every second felt stretched too long, and every thought felt too loud.

Each mile passed with the tension growing heavier, filling the car until it seemed like the air itself was too thick to breathe. Maya glanced at her grandmother out of the corner of her eye, the tightness in Tabitha’s jaw, the way her hands clenched slightly in her lap—small tells of a woman who rarely let anything show.

Halfway through the drive, Tabitha finally spoke, her voice low and deliberate, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Everything we’ve done, Maya, has been to protect you.”

Maya’s heart pounded, her throat tightening as she waited for more, but Tabitha’s gaze remained fixed on the window, her reflection cold and distant, refusing to meet Maya’s eyes. The city lights flickered in and out of view, and for a brief moment, the shadows danced across Tabitha’s face, hardening her already stern features.

“I hope you understand that, at the very least,” Tabitha added, her tone layered with expectation and finality, as if she were handing down a decree rather than seeking any true understanding.

The estate gates loomed ahead, and as the car slowed, Tabitha finally turned to face Maya, her eyes softening just slightly, though the steel behind them remained.

“Your father, his name is Kevin…Kevin Duncan.” she repeated, as if weighing the words carefully. Her tone was more resigned now, less sharp, but still carrying an unmistakable finality. “He was... someone your mother loved, but he wasn’t right for her. Or for you.”

Maya’s breath hitched. She had always imagined this moment—hearing her father’s name for the first time—but now that it was here, it felt surreal. Kevin Duncan. The name reverberated in her mind, unfamiliar yet suddenly so significant. Who was he? Why had he been hidden from her all these years?

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about him?” Maya asked, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “All these years... I had no idea.”

Tabitha sighed, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly. “We thought it was best to shield you from him after your mother’s death. Your mother... She made certain choices, Maya. Your father felt the same way.”

Maya frowned, confusion swirling through her. Choices? What choices? The vague hints about her mother’s past only fuelled her frustration. “What do you mean?”

Tabitha’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “It’s not something you need to worry about now.”

Maya opened her mouth to protest, but the car had already come to a smooth stop in front of the estate’s grand entrance. The soft glow of the porch lights illuminated the sweeping driveway, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Tabitha straightened her posture and reached for the door, the conversation seemingly over.

Stepping out of the car, Maya was greeted by a chill in the air that seemed to seep into her bones. Despite the coolness, she couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocation—trapped in a tangled web of secrets spun by her grandparents, a burden she had carried for as long as she could remember. Tabitha's expression softened as she turned towards her granddaughter , though there was still a hint of authority in her voice. "Get some rest, love. I know tonight wasn't what you expected."

Maya nodded, her mind racing with thoughts and questions. She tried to calm herself, but the tension in her body was palpable. "Goodnight, Grandma," she said, her voice betraying her unease.

The night air whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, adding a touch of tranquillity to an otherwise tense situation. But for Maya, sleep would not come easily. She couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss. Tabitha gave her a brief, restrained smile before heading into the house, leaving Maya standing alone in the driveway for a moment. As she gazed up at the stars twinkling above, she couldn't help but feel small and insignificant in comparison.

Finally, she made her way into the house, the heavy door clicking shut behind her, sealing her in with the echoes of the night. The family portrait in the entrance hall seemed to watch her as she passed, the frozen smiles of her grandparents a stark contrast to the tension that had followed her home. The grand staircase loomed before her, its marble steps gleaming under the soft chandelier light, spiralling upward like a pathway to another world. Maya took each step slowly, her fingers trailing along the polished bannister, each movement deliberate, as if she could somehow delay the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Her room waited at the top—her sanctuary, untouched by time, a snapshot of a younger Maya’s dreams and desires. The door creaked open, revealing a world drenched in soft, romantic hues of pink and white, where everything had been meticulously chosen and arranged. The white lace curtains, slightly drawn, fluttered against the open window, a gentle breeze carrying in the scent of night jasmine.

Her vanity stood by the wall, framed by a gilded mirror that reflected the glow of her rose-coloured lampshade, casting the room in a dreamlike haze. The bed, draped in pale satin sheets and pillows edged with delicate ruffles, sat like a throne at the centre of it all—a place that had once brought her comfort, a cocoon of childhood fantasies and carefully curated innocence.

But tonight, the room felt too perfect, too still. It seemed to mock the storm brewing inside her. The soft pink walls, once a reminder of her younger self’s vision of femininity, now felt suffocating, as though they were closing in on her. The plush white rug beneath her feet offered no solace, only a reminder of the distance between the Maya who had carefully decorated this room and the one who now stood lost and uncertain.

She moved mechanically through her nighttime routine, washing her face with cold water that did little to cool the heat of confusion in her chest. Her brush moved rhythmically through her hair, each stroke steady but absent-minded as her thoughts spiralled. Kevin Duncan. The name buzzed in her head like a low hum, impossible to shake, growing louder with every passing second.

Who was he? And why did his name weigh so heavily in her grandmother’s voice, as though it held the power to unravel everything? She tossed the brush onto the vanity, her reflection staring back at her—eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and unease.

The room, with its dreamy, fairy-tale quality, felt distant from the reality pressing down on her. The white vintage vanity, the plush armchair by the window, the shelves filled with trinkets and framed photos of ballet recitals—all of it seemed like a relic from a life she no longer recognized.

Maya sat on the edge of her bed, the cool satin sheets slipping beneath her fingers. The glow of her bedside lamp flickered, casting long shadows across the room, as if even the light couldn’t decide whether to stay or leave. Her heart raced, her mind buzzing with questions she knew wouldn’t let her rest. She glanced toward the window, where the moonlight spilled through, painting the room in silver and soft shadows.

Kevin Duncan.

There would be no sleep tonight—not until she found out who he really was.

Unable to bear the weight of not knowing any longer, Maya rose from her bed and made her way toward the desk tucked into the corner of her room. Her fingers traced the familiar edges of the chair before she sank into it, the leather creaking softly beneath her. The room, cloaked in shadows, felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for her to act.

She powered on her iMac G3, the soft glow of the screen flickering to life, spilling its pale light across the room. The gentle hum of the machine filled the silence, a steady presence in the dark. Her face, bathed in the glow of the screen, looked as though it belonged to someone else, her features drawn and tense, eyes wide with anticipation. The light danced across her skin, deepening the shadows around her, making the room feel even smaller, more claustrophobic.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling slightly as they prepared to unlock the mystery that had haunted her since dinner.

Kevin Duncan.

The name echoed in her mind, filling the room like an unspoken promise. She typed it slowly, deliberately, as if each letter would bring her closer to the answers she sought. The soft click of the keys was the only sound, mingling with the beating of her heart, which pounded faster with every letter.

She hesitated for a brief second before pressing enter, a wave of anticipation washing over her, tightening her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart raced like an alarm bell, the sound loud in her ears. The screen flickered for a moment before loading, and as the search results began to populate, Maya leaned in closer, her eyes scanning the screen with desperate eagerness.

Kevin Duncan.

The truth—whatever it was—felt closer now, almost within reach, hovering just out of sight, ready to be unearthed.

Instantly, the screen filled with a flurry of results. Articles, profiles, and images, each tied to the name Kevin Duncan. Maya’s pulse quickened as her eyes darted over the links, each one containing pieces of a puzzle she had never even realised existed. Her fingers hovered over the mouse, hesitating for only a second before she clicked on the first link. As the page loaded, her breath hitched.

A photograph appeared, cantered at the top of the page: a middle-aged man with a square jawline, a large head shaved clean, and deep-set eyes that seemed to hold a quiet intensity. Her breath caught in her throat as she studied him more closely. His eyes—they were dark, piercing, and unmistakably familiar. They mirrored her own in a way that sent a shiver through her. The resemblance was undeniable. The shape of his face, the way his brow furrowed slightly, even the confident, guarded expression on his face—it all echoed something she recognized within herself.

Her heart raced, pounding so loudly she could almost hear it. This is him. Her father. The man she had been kept from all her life. The man whose name had lingered like a ghost on her grandmother’s lips.

Maya’s gaze shifted downward to the text beneath the photograph, her eyes widening as she read the words. Kevin Duncan—tennis coach. The air in the room seemed to still, the soft hum of the computer fading into the background as the weight of that revelation sank in. He wasn’t just any coach; he was a self-regulated tennis coach with a reputation that stretched across the sports world.

Maya's fingers twitched as she scrolled down further, her eyes scanning the page in disbelief. And then, one name stood out like a lightning bolt—Tashi Duncan. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she saw the name repeated over and over in articles, captions, interviews. Tashi Duncan, the up-and-coming tennis star he was training. A girl about her own age, a girl who appeared in photo after photo, her poised smile and athletic grace splashed across the page like a rising celebrity.

Her stomach tightened, confusion swirling in her chest. Tashi Duncan—her father's protégé, but... her half-sister? The revelation hit her with the force of a tidal wave. The resemblance between them became clearer with every glance at Tashi's photos, the shared features, the same dark eyes, the high cheekbones.

Her head spun as she leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at the screen. The familiar comfort of her room seemed to vanish, replaced by the overwhelming rush of this new truth.

Tashi Duncan.

A sister she never knew she had. A sister who was living a life so closely intertwined with their father’s—while Maya had been left in the dark, her existence a secret, hidden away behind closed doors.

The name buzzed in her mind, louder and louder, a truth too big to ignore. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. Everything she thought she knew about her family, her identity, crumbled beneath the weight of this discovery. The world she had grown up in, the carefully crafted bubble of her grandparents’ home, now felt miles away, like a distant dream.

And in its place was a reality she was only just beginning to uncover.

Time seemed to slip through Maya’s fingers as she delved deeper into Tashi’s Facebook profile, her eyes tracing every photo, every post, as if they were clues to a life she had been excluded from for so long. Each image offered a new window into a world that felt both connected and impossibly distant—a life that was hers, yet entirely not.

She scrolled through photos of Tashi with her friends, their laughter forever preserved in freeze-frame moments as they clutched Sonic cups, the slushies as vibrant as the carefree smiles on their faces. Tashi’s world seemed so... normal, yet infinitely richer than Maya’s in ways that had nothing to do with wealth.

It was a strange thing, peering into the life of someone who had no idea you even existed. The more she clicked, the more Maya felt like an intruder, an outsider looking in on something private. But she couldn’t stop. Each post drew her in further, the thread of her curiosity pulling tighter with every new image she uncovered.

And then one photo caught her eye—a snapshot that stood out among the rest. Tashi, smiling radiantly beside a man Maya now recognized as Kevin Duncan. Her father. The easy closeness between them was unmistakable, a bond Maya had never known.

Her breath hitched as she took in the rest of the image: a woman with kind eyes and dark hair, standing close to Kevin—Tashi’s mother, no doubt—and two younger boys, their wide grins mirroring their father’s. They looked like a picture-perfect family, the golden sunlight casting a warm glow across their faces, their happiness captured effortlessly by the camera’s lens.

Maya’s chest tightened as she stared at the photo, her heart twisting with emotions she couldn’t quite name. Jealousy, anger, and sadness all churned together, threatening to overwhelm her. This is the life I never had, she thought bitterly. A father who was present, a family who looked whole, unbroken.

Her eyes lingered on Kevin’s face—the same strong features she’d seen in her own reflection, now softened by the love and warmth in his expression as he stood with his other family. His real family, it seemed. The weight of that truth pressed down on her, suffocating in its simplicity. He had been there for Tashi, coaching her, guiding her, sharing moments like this one—moments Maya would never have.

She felt a lump form in her throat, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. They look so happy, she thought, an ache blooming in her chest. The photo radiated warmth, a snapshot of a life that had continued without her, a life that had no space for her existence.

What stung the most was the ease of it all. Tashi had a father, a mother, and brothers who adored her. She had friends, laughter, and the carefree glow of a life lived without the burden of saving face in front of the vulture-like housewives of Bel-Air. Meanwhile, Maya had been raised in a gilded cage, with the expectations to marry wealthy and a family portrait that always felt incomplete.

Maya's fingers trembled as they hovered over her mouse, the cursor hesitantly searching for the "Add Friend" button. Should she take the plunge and click it? Make the first attempt at communicating with her long-lost sister? Her mind raced with questions. Did Tashi know about Maya's existence? Would she even want to be friends?

The pounding of her heart drowned out any rational thoughts as she finally made her decision. With a deep inhale and exhale, Maya clicked her mouse, the sound echoing through the quiet room like a gunshot. It was a small but significant step towards reconnecting with her sister after so many years apart.

Your friend request was successfully sent!

The damage was done.

To her shock, it was accepted almost instantly. Maya’s stomach flipped with nervous excitement. She stared at the screen, unsure of what to do next. But something inside urged her forward, pushed her to make the first move. It was as if a spark had been ignited within her, crackling and sizzling with anticipation. Her heart raced like a wild horse, galloping towards a long-awaited finish line. Every fibre of her being tingled with nervous energy, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the keyboard.

She braced herself to begin typing, the urge to type something, anything, burning inside her. But what would she even say? ‘Hello, Tashi. We have the same father. Surprise!’ It sounded ridiculous in her head, and the thought of disrupting Tashi’s seemingly perfect life with this revelation made her stomach churn.

But she couldn’t go back now. She had seen too much, learned too much. The truth was out there, and it was too big to ignore. As she stared at the screen, Maya felt the familiar surge of curiosity and pain bubbling up inside her. This was her chance to connect with the family she never knew, the life she had been denied. But it would also mean breaking the fragile facade that had kept her world intact.

She clicked on the "Message" button, her heart pounding in her chest. The blank chat window popped up, the cursor blinking at her, waiting for her to make a move. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed the first words, feeling the weight of what was to come.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hey, Tashi. I’m not sure if you know who I am, but...

Her mind raced, unsure of how to even begin explaining the connection that tied them together. How could she condense a lifetime of unanswered questions, secrets, and longing into a few simple words? She stared at the screen, biting her lip, her thoughts a chaotic mess. And yet, somehow, it felt like this was the moment she had been waiting for—her chance to finally uncover the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.

With a heavy sigh, she let go of her initial words and instead chose to play it safe, opting for a simple and nondescript message that revealed nothing of her inner turmoil. With a shaky breath, she erased the words, clearing a path for a simpler, safer message.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hi

Maya sat in the soft glow of her iMac, her fingers trembling slightly as she stared at the chat box. She had never felt this nervous before—like the weight of every move she was about to make had the potential to shatter something fragile. The whole night had led up to this moment, and now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to begin. Hi. It felt so small, so insignificant for what she was about to reveal, but she didn’t know what else to say.

She waited, her heart pounding in her chest as the seconds stretched on. The screen remained still, the only sound in the room was her uneven breathing. What if she doesn’t reply? The thought gnawed at her, but before she could spiral, the typing indicator appeared.

Tashi Duncan: Hi... Do I know you?

Maya’s stomach flipped. She had been preparing herself for this, but seeing Tashi’s message—those four little words—made it real in a way she wasn’t ready for. Do I know you? Maya’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, her pulse quickening. How do you tell someone something that will change their life?

Her mind raced through a thousand different possibilities, a thousand ways to soften the blow, to ease into the conversation. But there was no softening this. No way to sugarcoat the truth she had been holding on to for all of about an hour. Tashi had been living one version of reality, and Maya—Maya had no fucking clue she existed till tonight.

Her chest tightened. This was the moment that would open a door neither of them could close again. She took a deep breath, fingers steadying themselves against the tension coiling in her body. It was time. There was no more hiding.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Tashi, we have the same father.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, her breath catching in her throat as the words disappeared into the void. The truth, now laid bare, hung between them in the quiet of the night. The silence that followed felt oppressive, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the fallout.

Maya stared at the screen, every muscle in her body tense. What now?

author's note: after three months of brainstorming, plotting and planning, I can finally say that my Challengers fic is officially out! It's been a long time coming, the early versions of this were completely different, but it turned into something I am very proud of. I wanted to write something that was cinematic and told a new kind of story in the sea of thousands of other fics out there. I encourage everyone to flood my inbox with your thoughts, opinions and questions. I am dying to read what you guys think, but before that, I'd like you have your say on this poll.

need any f1 writers to write a challengers inspired fic im so serious preferably for charles🧐

The Winner Takes It All||Challengers

AN: So, I finally I got to see Challengers yesterday and boy do I have thoughts that may or may not be weaved into the story, things still might be ooc or wrong. Also, I'm warning y'all now, I know absolutely nothing about tennis/college and partook in half ass research on how the sport functions.

Based this fic off the most gut wrenching ABBA song because it fits so well with the story. I hope you all enjoy this mini series, don't know if I did it justice from translating this from my head onto Tumblr, but we move. And hopefully there aren't any spelling or grammar errors, but if there are, we die like men.

A playlist for this series is coming soon!

Word Count: 3.5k

Trigger Warnings: mentions of colorism and racism

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kailkailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everydayimagineer @pnkstalli @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey

I tried to tag everyone who commented, but tumblr is being weird so I don't know if you'll get the notification.

Part One: Sugar & Spice

With her arms folded across her chest, Gianna's eyes were glued to the TV screen in front of her as two male sports analysts began to discuss their pick for match of the day.

"Oh man, this right here was my favorite today!" one analyst stated excitedly.

"For sure! It was the match to watch as the tennis world bore witness to the next up-and-coming tennis star," the other commentator agreed.

The camera cut away from the men and to the highlights of the mixed doubles championship match.

"Out the gate Gianna Langdon, ranked number five in girls singles, set the the tone for the day with a powerful ace to start the match,"

A clip of the opening minute of the match is put on the screen with Gianna throwing the ball high in the air for the first, and perfectly executed serve, followed by her pumping her fist in triumph with a grin.

"From there, she and her partner, Max Sullivan, kept their opponents, Roy Christians and Marie Riviera on the back foot for what seemed like the entire match,"

Gianna studied the way she nimbly moved around on the grass court, her swift volleys, sharp serves, and effortless backhands left no room for doubt that she was a force to be reckoned with.

"Play of the match goes to none other than Gianna Langdon, with this volley to put the nail in the coffin of this championship," the analyst reported, as the final moments of the match popped up on the screen.

With a powerful strike, the tennis ball was slammed back over the net by Roy onto Gianna's side of the court. Roy's hit lifted the ball high into the air forcing Gianna to reposition herself and backpedal to the spot to return it. Leaping up, Gianna smashed the ball down with force, out of reach from both Marie and Roy, the game winning hit. The clip replayed, but only this time in slow motion, so viewers at home could properly admire the athleticism on display. ESPN then did a jump cut of Gianna and Max both dropping their rackets simultaneously before rushing towards each other to embrace. Max even lifted up her a bit, twirling them around as they celebrated their victory.

The camera panned back to the two commentators who were wrapping up their coverage of the tournament.

"Honestly, Gianna Langdon just dominates the tennis field for her age group whether it's single or doubles," the commentator complimented, gathering his papers up in his hands and tapping it against the desk.

Gianna's lips lifted at the praise, its rare she gets her flowers as a tennis player.

"She's a force to be reckoned with, no doubt about that. If she keeps playing like she is now, she can easily break into the top three, but she's no Tashi Duncan," the other commentator corrected.

At this, her smile instantly fell off her face. Since freshman year of high school, Gianna has forever lived under the inescapable shadow of the phenomenal, powerhouse that is Tashi Duncan. Because Tashi wasn't just some athlete, she was the athlete. The next Serena Williams, as some people taken to calling her. Gianna might as well been chopped liver.

The girls have been thick as thieves since Gianna moved to the same school as Tashi and was paired up by their coach to be doubles partners. The duo were unstoppable on the court, as Gianna was a tennis prodigy in her own right, but often was relegated to just being known as Tashi Duncan's partner. A repeated slight which didn't go unnoticed by her two strongest supporters, her parents. They made it their mission to drill Gianna with an unshakable sense of self confidence in not only her skills with a tennis racket, but also her appearance.

"Don't you ever let the media or naysayers play in your face about your talents, Gianna," her father's words echoing in her head. "You already know, you have to work twice as hard to get half the recognition compared to others," he went on.

Gianna recalled the exact day, he gave her this speech. She was probably fifteen and won a match against some Eastern European girl, it was an upset, and boy did everyone make it a point to tell her so. It ranged from backhanded compliments to outright slurs lobbed at her.

"Oh, so when Tashi pulverizes her opponent on the court who's ranked higher than her it's admirable, but when I do it's a problem!" she complained.

"Competing against Tashi, you need to be prepared that narratives are going to be formed and pushed from factors beyond your control," her father warned. "She's lighter, you're darker. She's thin, you have curves. You're both confident, but only one of you is going to be labeled as arrogant," he listed.

"It's a shame we didn't get to see Duncan and Langdon compete together in girls doubles this year," the analyst said, snapping Gianna out her thoughts.

"Agreed, the best girl duo in juniors we've seen in years,"

Images of Gianna and Tashi materialized on the screen, some were from the last two Junior US Open Championships; both of the, proudly beaming and holding their trophies high above their heads and kissing each other's cheek. But, the one picture that stood out the most to Gianna was their cover on Tennis. Both of them had their arms folded and their game faces on with the headline emblazoned below them.

“Sugar & Spice”

~~~x~~~

Rounding the corner of the hallway, the doors where Tashi's party was being held outside came into Gianna's view. Music and the low murmur of voices floated out of the room, bouncing off the walls as she drew closer. From the corner of Gianna's eyes, she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror promoting her to stop. A pair of eyes, identical to color of rich, molasses stared back at her. Carefully, Gianna studied herself in the mirror from every angle. The healthy glow of her golden, deep brown skin made the light dusting of freckles decorating her upper cheeks and nose more prominent.

"She's no Tashi Duncan,"

It only took those four, little words to dampen Gianna's cheery demeanor and leave her brooding since the afternoon.

Lips pursed, she shook her head slightly, "No, no, no," she whispered to herself. "You're still a champion, Gianna. Fuck that ESPN analyst," she said lowly, smoothing out the pale yellow halter dress she wore.

Letting a lopsided grin grow on her lips, Gianna moved away from the mirror and entered into the ballroom where the party was in full swing. She weaved her way through the crowd to find Tashi, but found herself stopping repeatedly to smile and shake hands as people crowded round her to congratulate her on her match. Gianna couldn't help but feel smug. For once, people were basking in her presence and enjoying the chance to meet a future tennis star in person. It boosted Gianna's ego—a pure, bone-deep satisfaction that something in the air was beginning to shift.

She was starting to be seen as a standout player, not just an extension to Tashi.

Thanking her last well wisher, Gianna's eyes met Tashi's who was a few feet from where she stood. A flicker of recognition flittered across her face and she smiled a tiny smile. Tashi was not alone though, two boys were standing in front her and seemed to be having a very lively conversation.

"What's this I see?" Gianna wondered aloud, brushing past one of the boys. "I'm gone for a minute and you're already making new friends without me," she joked, dropping into the empty chair next to Tashi.

Across from her, both boys were slack jawed and unable to tear their eyes away Gianna. Pride simmered in her chest, Gianna already knew that she was beautiful, but it was nice to be reminded of that fact every now and then. Especially, when there's two boys ogling at her looks and treating her like a divine being.

"You boys gonna stop staring and introduce yourselves, or what?" Gianna questioned, her words flavored with a lulling Louisiana drawl and the boys snapped from their stupor.

"Let me, these two seem to be malfunctioning," Tashi cut in, with a smirk.

"They keep on drooling any longer, they'll catch flies," Gianna quipped, her nude colored lips curling upwards.

Tashi motioned to the dark haired boy with sharp features, "This is Patrick Zweig," she introduced, as Gianna's eyes met Patrick's gray ones, holding her stare and grinning widely. Confidence that bordered on cockiness practically radiated off him. "And this is Art Donaldson," Tashi continued, gesturing to the boy next to Patrick.

Art only allowed himself a small, shy, smile when her eyes shifted over to him. Unabashedly, Gianna let her eyes roam over Art's features. Those blond curls, those blue eyes.

God, they're both gorgeous.

Tashi placed her hand on Gianna's knee, "Patrick and Art, this is my best friend—" she started.

"Gianna Langdon," Patrick and Art interjected simultaneously, causing a Cheshire grin to form on Gianna's lips.

"Well, well, my fan club only continues to grow this tournament," Gianna joked, playing with the curly ends of her pick and drop braids.

"Deservedly so, you were absolutely amazing this tournament," Art complimented, a breathy chuckle leaving him.

"That play when you landed a split after playing a return," Patrick mentioned, beaming at her. "And you still got the point, fucking incredible!" he praised, shaking his head.

She smiled, "Oh, so you two have been avidly watching my matches then?" Gianna questioned, playfulness in her voice while slightly leaning forward in her seat.

"Ashamedly, not initially," Art admitted, and Gianna quirked brow. "But after your storybook comeback in Round 4, we knew there was no way we couldn’t stop watching you," he added quickly.

"Singles or doubles," Patrick chimed in.

"Did you by chance watch any of our matches, Gianna?" Art asked timidly, staring at her with hopeful eyes.

She smirked, "Singles or doubles?" Gianna asked back, smoothly echoing Patrick's words.

"Either," Patrick responded, his eyes drinking her in.

They both seemed mesmerized. Leaning in closer, as if they were going to learn her with their close proximity. Gianna hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair and raising a finger to her chin to mull over the question. She glanced over to Tashi, who was already watching her with an amused expression. Embarrassingly, Gianna kind of forgot her best friend was literally sitting next to her, she had become too engrossed in her conversation with the newcomers.

"No, can't say that I have," Gianna answered finally, with a shrug.

Art deflated, his face falling as the tips of his ears went fiery red, while Patrick's shoulders sagged a little.

"O-Oh," Art breathed.

There was a silence. Gianna looked off to her side again to see a ghost of a grin threatening to appear on Tashi's face. When the two girls' eyes connected with each other, they burst out laughing at the same time. Both boys looked at each other wordlessly, both speechless by this.

"Gia's just fucking with you two," Tashi explained, in between laughter.

Relief couldn't have been written across their faces more clearly.

"Yeah, I actually watched your championship match while I was in the recovery room," Gianna informed, her giggles subsiding. "Your between the legs shot was very inspired, Patrick," she remarked, with a smile.

At this, Patrick puffed out his chest a bit.

"You know, they're playing against each other tomorrow in the boys singles championship match," Tashi mentioned, her eyes bouncing between the boys.

"Are they now?" Gianna responded, an intrigued smirk gracing her face while crossing one leg over the other.

"We are!" Art blurted out, almost too eagerly.

"You both should come and watch," Patrick suggested.

Gianna cocked her head to the side, "Hmm, maybe," she answered, having a little fun toying with them.

Tashi rose from her chair, reaching her hand out for Gianna's.

"Come on, my dad is waving me over to come take pictures," Tashi informed.

"This is a group activity?" Gianna questioned, her brows furrowing.

"No, but the demand for Gianna Langdon is ever growing," she reminded, her eyes filled with mirth.

"It sure is," Gianna agreed, taking her hand as her friend helped her to her feet. Gianna looked over to Patrick and Art. "Well, ciao. It was nice meeting y'all," Gianna said, waving goodbye as Tashi led her away.

"Goodbye?" Patrick jokingly scoffed. "We'll be here all night!" he called out after her.

~~~x~~~

True to their word, Patrick and Art were in the same spot where Gianna and Tashi had left them earlier and they were more than willing to continue hanging out with the girls. Which is how the group of four found themselves on the beach, slowly treading along the sand, the dark blue sky and millions of stars above them. Naturally, Tashi had found herself in the middle of the group with Patrick flanking on her left and Art on her right.

Gianna was next to Art and as they walked, their arms would accidentally brush against each other every now and then. Both of them exchanging shy smiles at the fleeting contact that sent butterflies fluttering in Gianna's stomach. She secretly relished the contact from Art, he radiated warmth similar to that of a dryer-warm blanket; a nice contrast to the cool sand between her toes.

"You know earlier, Tashi asked us who was fire and who was ice," Patrick spoke, looking over to Gianna. "I figured I should return the favor, between the two of you, who's sugar and who's spice?" he asked, his eyes bouncing from Tashi to her.

"Tashi, is definitely 'spice'," Gianna answered, and Tashi rolled her eyes with a smile. "She's more fiery than me and has a more aggressive play style than I do," she explained.

"Making you 'sugar', of course," Art reasoned, the two staring at one another. "You are the perfect mix of deadly grace and effortless balance on the court," he described, going in an almost dreamlike trance.

"Why, thank you Art," Gianna said, bumping her arm into his.

"If Tashi is 'spice' and your 'sugar', why does the media switch it around?" Patrick wondered.

"Preconceived notions, methinks," Gianna replied, simply shrugging her shoulders.

They wandered along until they settled on a spot to hang out at. Art and Patrick both sat in deck chairs while Tashi and Gianna perched themselves on a large rock. Conversation flowed between all them on a myriad of topics ranging from college, life in general, and of course tennis.

"So Gianna," Patrick began, a small curious and mischievous glint in his eyes. "Your doubles partner Bryce—"

"It's Max," Gianna corrected flatly, with a laugh.

He smirked, "I was in the ballpark," Patrick argued, throwing his hands up. "Anyways, you and Max, you two a thing?" he asked curiously, before taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Eww, no!" Tashi exclaimed, her nose twisting in disgust. "You think Gia has such low standards?" she asked back, clearly offended on Gianna's behalf.

"Tashi, come on, Max is not that bad of a person," Gianna stated, lifting her hand up to tell her to calm down.

"Honestly, I don't know how she does it," Tashi went on. "It's a miracle she can still walk after carrying Max through this entire tournament," she sneered.

"Look, Max is not someone who I would consider as an ideal mixed doubles partner," Gianna conceded, her gaze meeting everyone's. "He's mediocre actually," she said bluntly, making Patrick and Art both snicker. "However, Max as an individual and not as an athlete, he's a wonderful guy," she said, with a slight shrug. "Us dating has never once crossed my mind," she finished, waving her hand dismissively.

"So it sounds like you'll be in need of a new partner soon," Patrick hinted, a hunger in his stare.

"Hmm, I guess I will," Gianna agreed, letting a coy smile grow on her lips. "You know anybody?" she asked, tilting her head a little.

"I can think of two people off the top of my head," Art responded, taking a drag of his own cigarette and blowing it out slowly.

"Oh, is that so? And who just—" Gianna started.

Suddenly, Gianna's phone began noisily vibrating in her lap, putting an end to the playful between the boys and Gianna. She picked up her phone and flipped it open before exhaling heavily, it was her dad texting her.

"Shit, fun's over guys," Gianna announced, with another sigh. "My dad wants me back in my room," she explained, unfolding her legs.

"Your won a championship today, and you're father won't let you stay up late to celebrate?" Patrick asked in disbelief, leaning forward in his chair.

"Obviously, you don't know my father if you think a single championship win is going to get him to loosen his reins on his regimented schedule for me," Gianna stated, grabbing her sandals and letting them dangle from her fingers.

"You're about to be off to Stanford, it's insane your dad is giving you a curfew," Art chimed in.

"Well, I'm not at Stanford yet," Gianna pointed out. "And also..." she trailed off, turning to Tashi who had a knowing look on her face. "His roof, his rules," they both said in unison, after hearing those words countlessly over the years.

Finally standing up from the rock, the boys followed suit. Both of their gazes traveled the length of Gianna yet again, as if they needed to commit her to memory.

"I can walk you back to the ferry and to your hotel," Art offered kindly.

"We both could," Patrick volunteered.

"As much as I am flattered that both of you want to walk me back, I can manage just fine," Gianna assured. "Plus, we're all going to be playing an unwanted game of 21 questions if my dad sees two, random white boys walking me to my room," she remarked, with a chuckle.

Tashi pushed herself up onto her feet, "I'll come with you, Gia,"

"No, no stay, Tashi," Gianna encouraged. "Don't end the fun on my account," she insisted. "Another time will come about for all of us to hang out again, right?" she questioned.

A toothy grin broke out on Patrick's face, "There's gonna be another time?" he asked

"I don't see why not," she answered, mirroring his expression. "The three of us are going to be at Stanford together, and I'm sure you come visit from time to time. It all works out so well!" Gianna said excitedly.

Art opened his mouth to speak, but the shrill ringing of Gianna's phone silenced him. Looking down at the phone, she grimaced slightly.

"Shit, I really have to go, my dad is calling now," Gianna stressed.

"Then get going," Tashi prompted, playfully swatting her bottom.

A surprised whoop escaped Gianna's lips before morphing into a giggle as she began to half-walk, half-jog away from the group. She spun around to face them, continuing to walk backwards.

"This was really fun y'all, we should do this again, yeah?" she yelled.

"I look forward to it!" Art yelled back.

"Me too!" Patrick shouted.

Laughing, Gianna spun around and jogged away, all too aware of the three pair of eyes boring into her back.

~~~x~~~

Propped up against the hotel bed headboard, Gianna was tucked underneath the blankets with a well-worn copy of Baking with Julia in her hands. If tennis was her first love, then baking was her second. There was nothing more relaxing than to Gianna than being able to slow down and just allowing herself to focus on precision, without any of the heightened stakes that came with tennis. Not to mention, beating eggs or whisking a cake were great ways to rid herself of any frustration she may be feeling.

A series of rhythmic knocks on her door pulled Gianna from her musings. She didn't even have to ask who it was, she could tell by the pattern of the familiar knock.

"Just use the card I gave you, Tashi," Gianna called, her voice just loud enough for her to hear.

There's a quiet click of the door unlocking before the door opened a crack and Tashi's head popped into her room, a shit eating grin on her face.

"Hurry up and get in here, before my dad sees!" Gianna ordered, with a laugh.

Closing the door behind her, Tashi pranced over to Gianna and sat beside her on the floor on the edge of her bed.

"Tell me everything! What happened after I left?" Gianna asked, a smile of her own on her face.

"They invited me to come up to their room,"

"And you went?"

"I did," Tashi answered, a smirk on her lips.

Gianna landed a playful hit on Tashi's arm, "No fucking way!" she whispered, her eyes wide. "You hooked up with both of them?"

"I didn't sleep with them," Tashi corrected. "We only made out, and then they made out," she added, smirking proudly.

Gianna raised an eyebrow, "They made out? Patrick and Art?" she questioned.

"Yep," Tashi grinned.

"On their own or did they have some help?" Gianna asked, arching a brow.

Wordlessly, Tashi plucked Gianna's book from her hands and she straddled her, resting each leg on either side of Gianna.

"They did most of the heavy lifting, I just gave them the push they needed," Tashi explained, looping her arms around her friend's neck.

"Now, I'm a little jealous. I missed out on all the fun," Gianna complained, sticking out her lower lip in a mock pout.

"Gia babe, don't worry, I did not forget about you," Tashi reassured, as Gianna hands came to rest on Tashi's thighs. "Remember their match tomorrow?" she reminded.

"Yeah,"

"Winner gets my number…." Tashi trailed off, removing her right arm from around Gianna's neck. "And yours," she finished, lightly tapping the tip of her nose.

A slow smile spread across Gianna's lips as Tashi's words sunk in. She knew exactly what her friend was up to, especially if it meant Tashi could watch some "real fuckin' tennis".

"Tashi Duncan, the girl that you are," Gianna praised, letting out a chuckle.

Leaning forward, Gianna planted a soft kiss on Tashi's lips. It was only meant to be a quick peck, but as Gianna went to pull away, Tashi held her face, keeping their lips connected.

Tashi withdrew herself from Gianna, "Tomorrow is gonna be so fucking good," she grinned, her eyes twinkling at the thought. "And guess what is the best part about all of this, Gia?" she questioned, their forehead resting against each others.

"What?'

"We already have them wrapped our fingers, without even trying," Tashi answered, sending the girls into a fit of giggles.