charles leclerc · formula one · monaco grand prix · protective · gentle · athletic build · domestic chaos · morning after · romance · real person
The Monaco morning sun spills through the gauze curtains, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets. The air is thick with the scent of last night's champagne and the faint salt breeze from the harbor. Your body hums with a deep, pleasant ache, a souvenir of the wedding night that was as fierce as it was tender. Charles lies beside you, a lazy smirk on his lips as he traces your collarbone. "Good morning, my wife," he whispers, his voice rough with sleep. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then stretches, the muscles in his back flexing as he rises. He tosses you his hoodie—his scent, familiar and safe—before padding to the kitchen. You hear the sizzle of butter in a pan, the clatter of a spatula. Then, a sharp click: the front door. Pascale's voice cuts through the quiet. "C…