based on the fairytale by hans christian andersen | inspired by an old school project i found on my laptop … this took me forever so please give it some love <33
pairing: oscar piastri x leclerc!sister!reader summary: from the moment you were gifted your first ballet slippers, dance had been a constant in your life. a comfort in even the darkest times. but it becomes unhealthy the moment you are unable to take off the shoes.
the most worn out, old shoes in your collection dated all the way back to your fourth birthday. they had been a gift from your three brothers; a pair of red dance slippers for you to wear when you the following week participated in your very first ballet class.
it had been love at first sight for you. the moment you stepped into the studio, feeling the hardwood beneath your thin shoes, seeing yourself reflected in a mirror no matter what direction you looked in, you knew that it was where you wanted to spend the rest of your days. dance became your lifeline, the only thing keeping you going when everything else seemed dull.
when your brothers were off racing and your parents preoccupied themselves with the go-karts and helmets, you found solace in the simple act of ballet. lacing up your shoes, the familiar scent of the studio and the smoothness of the wooden floor always managed to calm you. when the music started, your world narrowed down to the rhythmic beating of the drum and the fluidity of your movements. there, in that sanctuary, nothing else mattered.
your first pair of shoes quickly became worn out, too ruined to be used, and your parents provided you with a new pair. a new pair that soon would be replaced as well.
when you were twenty, you were for the first time introduced to oscar. it was the italian grand prix, an event your entire family always attended in support of your older brother, and that year was no different. you had been wandering around in search of a familiar face when you ran into the mclaren driver. it had been love a first sight—something neither of you believed in, yet couldn’t deny—to put it simple, and the two years you had been together had been nothing short of incredible.
the australian was more than happy to contribute to your collection of shoes that only grew more and more as your training became harder, more challenging, more draining.
he worried. it wasn’t in his nature, not something he found himself doing often, but for you, for the growing dark circles under your eyes, for the weight you only seemed to loose and not gain, he worried.
you would never want him foreboding, never want him to feel the slightest unease, but as your days filled with more stress, your mind started closing up, leaving room for nothing but the new choreography.
each morning and each night, you stepped into the studio, the mirrored walls reflecting your resolve, as the music filled the air like a whisper of promise. each movement carved out a sanctuary, a space where the weight of the world faded to a distant hum.
your body became a vessel for the dance, each plié and tendu an escape from the noise outside. time drifted away, an endless stream of practice and precision and the pulse of the music guiding you deeper into this realm.
the world outside became a mere shadow, its demands and voices lost in the blur of your focus, where you were both lost and found. every ache was a testament to your commitment, every breath a surrender to the rhythm.
the only thing remaining clear was the shoes.
you had long since outgrown the pair your brothers had gifted you so thoughtfully, yet somehow, they stayed with you, not only in the physical sense, but in a way that felt deeper, more insidious. you couldn’t see it then, couldn’t know how easily the delicate line between passion and obsession could blur without you noticing.
your brothers had never fully understood, though they loved you all the same. their world was filled with the rush of engines, the thrill of speed. they were boys of the track, always chasing something fast, something tangible. when they handed you those shoes on your fourth birthday, they had no way of knowing they were giving you something you would chase for the rest of your life. a place you would carve out in the quiet, where the sound of your feet against the floor was all that mattered.
time went on so slow yet so fast. your brothers still called, though not as often as before. arthur’s voice always had an edge of command, as though even over the phone, he couldn’t help but lead you, the only person who would ever follow his command. “we’re all going to monaco this year. you’re coming, right?” his words held the weight of expectation, as though he couldn’t imagine you saying no. but when you hesitated, there was always that brief pause before he moved on, never pushing too hard.
charles’ calls were shorter, more distant, his voice lighter, floating through pictures and scattered texts from whatever corner of the world he happened to be racing through. he asked about the dance, though you both knew he didn’t really need the answer. to him, it was enough that you were still moving, still spinning through your world as he did through his.
and lorenzo—sweet, caring enzo—he called the most, his words gentle but filled with concern as he told you about your mother’s worry. about his own worry. “you sound tired,” he’d say, even when you laughed it off. he noticed things the others didn’t, sensed the exhaustion creeping into your voice, the hesitation between your words. but you reassured him, told him you were fine, always fine.
it wasn’t until oscar voiced the same worry that you began to feel the weight of it yourself. he wasn’t like your brothers—his concern was quieter, but it settled over you like a shadow. he’d watch you in the studio, even when he was busy and cramped by his ever growing career.
silent he was, his eyes tracing the movements of your body as it twisted and turned, as though trying to understand what it was you were chasing. he knew, even if you didn’t want to admit it yet, that something had shifted.
“i’m worried,” he had said one evening, after watching you move through another rehearsal, the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. “you don’t have to push so hard.”
his words were soft, but they lingered. you had brushed them aside at first because how could he understand?
the studio was your world. it was where everything made sense.
each day, the pull of the shoes grew stronger, though they were no longer on your feet. the new pairs you slipped on felt no different; they all seemed to carry the same curse, driving you forward even when your body begged to stop. the movements, once effortless, now felt like a compulsion, a promise you couldn’t break. you were chasing something. chasing a perfection that always seemed just out of reach.
it wasn’t until you stumbled—it just a small misstep, barely noticeable to anyone but you—that the truth started to crack open. you stood there, breath caught in your chest, staring at the mirrored walls surrounding you. your reflection looked back, but it didn’t feel like your own. there was something unfamiliar in the way your body moved, something hollow in your eyes. the girl in the mirror was still dancing, but you weren’t sure why anymore.
oscar was a magician in the way he immediately was there, his hand on your arm before you even realized it. “it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice steady, but his eyes told a completely different story. “you don’t have to keep doing this,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against yours as tenderly as if you were close to breaking. “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
you wanted to believe him, but you couldn’t. the shoes still called to you, still urged you forward. they were tied to something deeper than the dance itself, something you couldn’t quite name, but couldn’t quite let go of either.
your brothers called again, their voices distant but filled with love. “come to the race,” charles said. “we’ll all be there. we want to see you.”
and for a moment, you hesitated, the pull of family tugging against the pull of the enchanting movements. you thought of charles‘ steady voice, of arthur’s laughter, of lorenzo’s quiet concern and of your mothers worrying eyes. you thought of your first ever shoes, of the girl who had received them. the girl who danced because it was her joy, not her burden.
but as you tried to step out the shoes, you found that you couldn’t. they were stuck, grown unto your feet so tightly that not even the whispers of your adoring family and all too loving boyfriend could free them. the web had spun for years, and now, it was too late to escape.
hii!! could I please request another sister Leclerc fic?? I don’t mind the topic as all your writing is amazing 💞💞 hope you have a good day! xx
hi!! i love writing sibling relationships so thank you for your request 🫶🫶 i hope it’s what you wanted
october birthdays | leclerc sister
pairing: leclerc brothers x sister!reader
summary: a story of how you and your brothers have celebrated your birthdays together throughout the years.
content warnings: very cute siblings bc that is one of my comfort tropes
october was a special month for many reasons. it was then fall break happened, halloween came, and most importantly: the big birthday week fell in october.
growing up with three older brothers had always meant a whirlwind of energy and competition. the four of you were extremely close—your relationship was a value your parents had drilled into you from a young age—but the bond you shared with arthur and charles was something else. something unique, cemented by your consecutive birthdays on the 14th, 15th and 16th of october. your close birthdays were a running joke amongst your friends, something you had both loved and hated growing up. but no matter how much you wished that you had your own birthday week, you couldn’t deny that there was something special about sharing it with your brothers.
on october 14th, you wake up to the familiar hum of excitement that always accompanies mid-october in your house. the smell of pancakes wafts from the kitchen, mingling with the autumn air that sneaks through the open window. your mother is already up, her cheerful humming a comforting backdrop to the clatter of pots and pans.
arthur, the youngest of your brothers, turns 24 today. tomorrow, it’s your turn—21 at last. and the day after, charles will celebrate his 27th birthday. the tradition to celebrate together, one big party that perfectly captures the essence of your close-knit family, is still going strong, and arthur and charles have both managed to come home for the week, a rare occasion that fills you with joy and excitement.
you scarcely remember your birthday when you turned six. arthur turned nine, and charles was a proud twelve-year-old.
back then, the house was filled with the smell of your mother's homemade baking. she had worked tirelessly, baking three cakes—one for each of you. she joked that it was like running a small bakery for a week.
when you close your eyes, you can still hear the laughter that echoed through the house as the three of you ran around, arthur boasting about his new remote-controlled car, charles showing off his model f1 car, and you clutching your new doll, a gift from your three brothers.
in the middle of the living room, the three of you gathered around a small table, the cakes in front of you. charles had just taught you and arthur how to blow out the candles all at once, a tradition he said brought good luck. as the sun dipped below the horizon, you all blew out the candles together, your wishes mingling in the evening air.
as teenagers, the tradition shifted slightly but remained just as special. the living room parties turned into backyard barbecues, your friends mingling with theirs. you recall the year you turned sixteen, arthur nineteen, and charles twenty-two. you were all busier then, with school, friends and budding responsibilities, but your birthdays were non-negotiable. it was the first year both your brothers brought a girlfriend to the celebration. you had felt a pang of jealousy, worried the tradition might change, but it didn’t. instead, it only grew. and it only continued to grow in the following years.
now, at 21, you’re in your family home, the air filled with the familiar scent of birthday cakes baking in the oven.
you head downstairs as soon as you wake up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and delicious breakfast meeting you. your mum greets you with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek when you meet her in the kitchen.
soon after, you hear the front door open and arthur’s familiar voice fills the room.
“morning! look who i found wandering outside,” he exclaims, nudging your older brother in the ribs as they walk in.
charles walks a step behind arthur, looking more mature but with the same spark in his eyes. he’s 27 now, but in this house, time feels like it has stood still. he hugs you gently, a warmth in his smile that reminds you of your childhood and makes you feel as if he’s never been away.
“it’s good to be home,” he says softly, burrowing his nose in your hair as if to sniff up the essence of you—because for him, you equal home in a way nothing else does. “happy birthday, ma petite.”
your oldest brother, lorenzo, joins you soon after. he’s always been the steady one, the rock that keeps the family grounded. he’s 35 now, an old man in your eyes, working a regular job and supporting your mother as she manages the household, but his support for you never wavers. he watches over you all with a quiet pride that you wouldn’t trade for the world.
as the day progresses, it quickly disappears in a blur of laughter, stories, and nostalgic moments. you spend the morning catching up, the afternoon playing games in the yard like you used to do and the evening gathered around the dinner table. your mother has outdone herself with a feast, and of course, the three special cakes make their annual appearance. this year, they are red velvet for charles, lemon for arthur, and chocolate for you. you savour every bite and smile brightly as your mother makes you pose for a picture; charles in the middle with his two younger siblings leaning against him, while lorenzo stands behind you, arms around the three of you.
later, after the cake has been devoured and the dishes cleared, you find yourselves in the living room, flipping through old photo albums. there are pictures from every birthday, from the chaotic, frosting-smeared faces of your childhood to the more recent, slightly more sophisticated celebrations at racetracks and fancy restaurants.
arthur points to a photo of the three of you from years ago, standing in front of a go-kart track, each holding a trophy. “remember this day? when mum and dad let us all race together for the first time.”
you laugh, recalling how charles had tried to teach you both racing tactics while arthur had insisted on just having fun. surprisingly, arthur did end up winning with his questionable method, but it had been charles who scooped you up and twirled you around in victory when you managed to finish without spinning out.
“i was terrible,” you laugh.
“let’s be honest,” arthur states. “you’re still terrible.”
offended, you lay your face in a mask of fake outrage, turning to hit his side. your fist connects with his shoulder, but he barely flinches, only laughing at you. the rest of your family soon joins, and you can’t help but give in too. you really are terrible.
as the evening winds down, you sit on the porch with charles and arthur, the cool night air wrapping around you. as you stare out at the night sky, resting your head on arthur’s shoulder, you realize that no matter where life takes you, these moments will always bring you back together. the tradition, the love, and the shared birthdays are the threads that weave your family into a tapestry of unbreakable bonds. the stars are bright, and for a moment, everything is perfect.
perfect, because some things never change, and for that, you are eternally grateful.
hii, I don't know if you can and especially if you want to do this fic, but I just finished watching the Wimbledon final (I'm a Carlos Alcaraz girly) and I wanted to ask you if you could make a Leclerc sister! reader x Carlos Alcaraz (with the addition of Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo obviously) if you don't want to write it I apologize for the inconvenience, but if you do I thank you so much🫶🏼💕
(Sorry if My english Is not good, but Is not My native language)
hi! thank you so much for the request 🫶
i tried my best with this but i don’t know much about tennis and i’ve only watched like half the matches of wimbledon this year so i had to make my dad give me a quick break down of the finale… i know this is not as good as you probably expected but i hope you like it either way!!
wimbledon winner | carlos alcaraz
pairing: carlos alcaraz x leclerc sister!reader
warnings: very bad descriptions of tennis?
you can hardly contain your excitement as you guide your family through the bustling crowds of the wimbledon grounds. today is the day your boyfriend is competing in the final against none other than novak djokovic. the atmosphere is electric, and the excitement is palpable.
you had invited your entire family, wanting to share this special moment of your life with them and your brothers, charles and arthur, are just as—if not more—thrilled thrilled than you, though their enthusiasm is more subdued. your oldest brother, lorenzo, and his girlfriend, charlotte, are chatting animatedly, while your mother walks beside you, her eyes wide with awe at the grandeur of it all.
"i stilll can't believe we're here," arthur says, glancing around with a grin. "watching carlos in the final. it's incredible."
"he's going to do great," charles adds, giving you a reassuring smile. "he's worked so hard for this."
"i know," you reply, feeling a surge of pride for your boyfriend. "he's been training non-stop. he deserves this."
as you make your way to your seats, you can't help but feel a rush of nerves. the stadium is enormous, and the crowd's energy is almost overwhelming, but having your family here with you calms you a bit.
you find your seats and settle in, your heart pounding with anticipation. the match begins, and the tension is palpable. djokovic is a formidable opponent, but carlos is playing with a determination you've never seen before.
every point is a battle, and the crowd is on the edge of their seats. you find yourself gripping charles' hand, almost breaking his fingers, but he doesn’t mind. he’s unable to look away from the court as well, finding the match as exciting as you. carlos is moving with such grace and power, each shot more impressive than the last.
"he's incredible," charlotte whispers, her eyes wide with admiration. "i've never seen anyone play like this.”
"he's got this," lorenzo says confidently, sensing your nervousness. "you can see it in his eyes."
as the match progresses, carlos begins to pull ahead. his serves are precise, his volleys unstoppable. the crowd erupts with cheers, and you can't help but join in, your heart swelling with pride.
when the final point is won, and carlos emerges victorious, the stadium explodes with applause. you jump to your feet, tears of joy streaming down your face. your family is cheering just as loudly, their pride evident in their faces.
carlos looks up into the stands, his eyes searching for you. when he sees you, his face lights up with a radiant smile. he lifts his racket in triumph, and you blow him a kiss, your heart just about to burst.
"he did it!" you exclaim, turning to hug your mother. "he really did it!"
"we knew he could," she replies, her voice filled with emotion. "he's an incredible player."
as the celebrations continue, you make your way down to the court. carlos is surrounded by reporters and fans, but when he sees you, he breaks away and runs to you, scooping you up in his arms.
"you were amazing," you say, your voice choked with emotion. "i'm so proud of you."
"i couldn't have done it without you," he replies, his eyes shining with love. "having you here, knowing you were watching . . . it made all the difference."
you kiss him, the world fading away as you lose yourself in the moment.
your family joins you quickly after, and carlos is soon enveloped in hugs and congratulations.
"you were fantastic, mate," charles says, clapping carlos on the back. "absolutely incredible."
"thank you," carlos replies, his smile never wavering. "it means a lot to have you all here."
the rest of the day is a blur of celebrations and happiness. you can hardly believe it's real, that carlos has won the wimbledon final. but as you stand by his side, surrounded by your family, you know that this is just the beginning.
hii! i was wondering if u could do a fic about leclerc sister and carlos alcaraz once again? maybe they went to see her brothers race? :D
ferrari fan
pairing: leclerc sister!reader x carlos alcaraz note: had to do this after carlos was spotted in the alpine garage!! haven’t proofread this so i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes i’m sorry!! xx
sometimes it still feels surreal to be dating carlos—the young tennis superstar who’s swept the world by storm and somehow, amidst his packed schedule of grand slams and training sessions, found time for you. today, though, there’s a clash: carlos has been invited by alpine to the monza grand prix, and while he’s excited, you’re already committed to ferrari for the weekend. monza isn’t just any race—it’s the tifosi’s heart, and it means everything to your brother and the whole team. you’ve grown up surrounded by the red of ferrari, and skipping monza just isn’t an option.
you’re in your hotel room, getting ready for the day, when carlos walks in, holding two paddock passes—one from alpine, one from ferrari. his smile is cheeky, and you already know he’s gearing up for some playful teasing.
“so, ferrari or alpine?” he asks, waving the alpine pass in front of you with a mock-serious expression. “think you can survive a race not in red?”
you laugh, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. “oh, please. monza with alpine? i might get disowned,” you tease back, reaching for the ferrari pass and snatching it from his hand. “besides, if charles sees me in any color that isn’t red, i’m pretty sure he’ll never let me forget it.”
carlos grins, leaning closer, his eyes sparkling with that boyish charm that makes it impossible to resist him. “yeah, but imagine how much fun it would be to wind him up. ‘oh, charles, i’m just here with alpine, no big deal,’” he says, mimicking your voice dramatically, and you both burst into laughter.
“you’re so annoying,” you say, but there’s no heat in it, just affection. “look, if you want to go with alpine, i get it. but i’ve got to be with ferrari. it’s monza.”
he watches you for a moment, the playfulness softening into something warmer. “nah,” he says, his voice softer now, “i’ll go with you. wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see the italian grand prix through your eyes.”
you smile, touched by the gesture. “good choice. plus, you look way better in red,” you add, poking his chest lightly.
before long, you’re both at the circuit, dressed in your ferrari gear, surrounded by the roars of the crowd. you’re in the ferrari garage with charles’s girlfriend, alex, who’s always a comforting presence, and lorenzo and his girlfriend, charlotte. it’s a tight-knit group and carlos fits right in, trading jokes with charles, arthur and lorenzo like he’s been a part of this world forever.
as the race unfolds, cameras catch glimpses of you and carlos in the ferrari garage, cheering, reacting to the twists and turns on track. you’re leaning into carlos’s side, both of you engrossed in the action, and he’s got his arm around you, his other hand gesturing animatedly as he tries to keep up with the fast-paced energy of the pit wall.
you’re filmed laughing with alex during a particularly tense moment, then celebrating together as charles makes a great move on track. lorenzo and charlotte are nearby, sharing smiles and excitement, and the cameras keep circling back to your group, catching every genuine moment of joy. the tifosi love it—they love seeing the leclercs together, your little family surrounded by support, and they’re intrigued by carlos, the tennis champion who’s enthusiastically embraced ferrari red for the day.
social media explodes with clips and photos of the two of you, the shared intrigue between the racing world and tennis world creating a buzz. people can’t get enough of carlos’s easy fit with your family, of the way he stands next to you with that familiar, relaxed confidence, clearly enjoying every second. it’s rare to see him outside of his own sport, and fans are eating it up—there’s something so refreshing about seeing carlos, the world number one, just being a supportive boyfriend at a formula 1 race.
when the race ends, you’re all smiles, swept up in the post-race adrenaline. carlos wraps an arm around your shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as the cameras catch the moment. you glance up at him, your heart full, and he just grins down at you, both of you perfectly at ease in the whirlwind of it all.
“see?” you say, bumping his hip lightly. “told you monza was the way to go.”
he chuckles, nodding in agreement. “you were right. ferrari suits us.”
and in that moment, surrounded by your brother’s team, your family, and the roar of the ferrari fans, everything feels exactly as it should be.
her move to london was supposed to be her fresh start. an opportunity to find herself anew in a place where nobody knew her name. but just as she finds herself settling in, ollie bearman happens. and despite her reservations, he barrels past every one of her well-built walls and ruins her plans.
hii please could you do another leclerc sister! reader imagine where arthur gets dropped by ferrari or dosent get a seat and he’s upset and reader and charles comfort him? x
the weight of the world
pairing: leclerc sister!reader x leclerc brothers note: thank you for requesting!! as an older sister, this was very easy to write.
the news hit like a harsh punch to the gut. arthur had been dropped by the ferrari driver academy, and without a seat for the next f2 season, it felt like everything he had worked so hard for was slipping through his fingers.
your childhood house was eerily quiet as you entered, the rooms filled with the heavy silence of disappointment. arthur had withdrawn from everyone, retreating to the living room where he sat, slumped against the couch, his head buried in his hands.
you hovered near the doorway, watching him from afar. his shoulders were stiff, his body rigid with the weight of what had happened. arthur had always been resilient—he fought hard for everything, just like all of you had, but today, he looked fragile, like the world had finally caught up to him, and the cracks were starting to show.
you walked in quietly, lowering yourself onto the couch beside him. “arthur?” you called softly, careful not to startle him.
he didn’t respond. his hands stayed tangled in his hair, and his eyes were focused on the floor. his breathing was shallow, and you could tell he was trying to hold everything in, but his walls were crumbling, slowly but surely.
“i’ve failed,” he muttered, his voice rough and barely audible. “i’ve let everyone down.”
your heart clenched at the sound of his voice, raw and laced with pain. you reached out gently, placing a hand on his back, rubbing slow circles. "arthur, you haven’t let anyone down. this is just a setback.”
he shook his head, his jaw tight. “but i have. look at everything charles has done. he’s won in f2 and now he’s winning races in f1. and me? i can’t even secure a seat for next year. i’m nothing compared to him.”
the self-doubt, the frustration—it was all spilling out now, years of pressure building up, finally breaking through. arthur had always been chasing something, always pushing himself to live up to the expectations placed on him, the ones he thought came from others, but really, they came from inside him. he had built his entire career trying to prove that he belonged, not just to himself but to everyone watching. and now, with ferrari dropping him, it felt like confirmation of his worst fears.
“you are not a failure,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “you’re on your own journey, arthur. it doesn’t matter what charles is doing—this is your path, and one setback doesn’t change how talented you are.”
arthur glanced up at you then, his eyes rimmed red, glossy with unshed tears. the sight reminded you of the little boy who would come crying to you in the middle of the night because of a nightmare, and your heart clenched painfully. “but what if . . . what if i never make it?” his voice broke slightly, and it was like a punch to your chest, hearing him voice the fear that had clearly been gnawing at him for so long. “what if this is as far as i go?”
before you could respond, the door creaked open, and charles stepped into the room. you glanced at him briefly, noticing the concern etched across his face. he had rushed over the second he heard, but now, seeing arthur like this, he hesitated. charles wasn’t used to comforting people like this—he supported you in different ways, always the one who fought through his pain in silence, pushing forward no matter how bad things got.
he stepped forward cautiously, unsure of what to say, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. he looked at you, almost as if asking for guidance. this wasn’t a situation he could fix with strategy or motivation; this required something softer, something more emotional.
charles crouched in front of arthur, placing a hand on his knee. “arthur,” he began quietly, his voice tentative, “you haven’t let anyone down.” there was a small hesitation in his words, as though he was uncertain how to reach his brother in this moment. “i know it feels bad now, but this isn’t the end.”
arthur barely reacted. he didn’t lift his head, didn’t shift his position. it was as if the weight of the news had pinned him in place. charles was trying—he always did—but it was clear he wasn’t sure what to say, or how to truly reach your brother.
you moved closer to arthur, your heart breaking at how still and defeated he seemed. “arthur,” you whispered, your voice soft, coaxing him out of his shell. “come here.”
at first, he hesitated, but then the dam broke. he turned toward you slowly, collapsing into your arms as his body trembled with silent sobs. his grip was tight, desperate, like he was afraid you’d let go if he didn’t hold on hard enough. you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, holding him as he cried. your hand rested on the back of his head, and you gently ran your fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances.
charles watched, his face full of concern and helplessness. he stayed where he was, not quite knowing what to do next. comfort didn’t come naturally to him in moments like this. he was used to being the one who kept everything together, but seeing arthur like this—seeing him so vulnerable—made him unsure of himself.
you met charles’ eyes over arthur’s shoulder, giving him a small, encouraging nod. arthur wasn’t ready for advice or tough love right now. he just needed to feel like he wasn’t alone, and you understood that.
charles heart warmed as he watched you. the way you instinctively knew how to ease arthur’s pain, how you could make him feel safe with just your presence—it was something he wasn’t sure he could ever do as easily as you. charles cared deeply for his siblings, but watching you now, he realized how much of a rock you were for your younger brother—how much of a rock you were for him too. your patience, your quiet strength—it was something he admired more than he could put into words.
arthur clung to you like a lifeline, his body shaking with the effort of holding everything in for so long. “i’ve let you all down,” he choked out between shaky breaths. “i’ve failed, especially you, charles. you’ve done so much for me, and now . . . now i’ve ruined it.”
charles shifted, his brow furrowed. “arthur, you’ve never let me down. not once,” he said, his voice softening as he found the right words. “you’re not in competition with me. you’ve already accomplished so much, more than you give yourself credit for. i’ve never compared you to me, and neither should you.”
arthur shook his head against your shoulder, still clinging to you. “but you’re always so strong. i don’t know if i’m like that. i don’t know if i can come back from this.”
you held him tighter, rubbing his back soothingly. “you are strong,” you murmured. “you’re stronger than you realize, arthur. just because your path is different from charles’ doesn’t mean it’s over. it’s okay to feel lost, but we’re here. we’ll figure it out together.”
charles nodded, stepping forward and gently placing a hand on arthur’s back. “you don’t have to figure everything out right now,” he said, his voice calmer now, less unsure. “we’ll take it one step at a time. i believe in you, arthur, and so does everyone else.”
arthur sniffled, his grip on you loosening slightly as he pulled back to look at both you and charles, his eyes still filled with doubt, but there was a flicker of hope. “i just . . . i don’t want to disappoint you guys.”
“you haven’t,” you whispered, brushing a tear from his cheek. “and you never will. we’re proud of you no matter what—charles, lorenzo, mum and i are always proud of you. always.”
charles leaned in closer, his hand still on arthur’s back. “you’ve got so much more to give, arthur. this is just a bump in the road. you’re going to come back stronger, and when you do, we’ll be right here with you.”
as charles looked between you and arthur, something stirred inside him. it struck him how lucky arthur was to have you, and how lucky he was too. not everyone had a sister who could hold everything together like you did, especially when things fell apart. there was a strength in you that charles knew he could never replicate, and it made him admire you even more. he made a mental note to tell you later—how grateful he was, how much he admired how you cared for arthur, how you seemed to know exactly what he needed, even when he didn’t.
arthur leaned into you again, this time not out of desperation but for the comfort you were offering, knowing that no matter how hard things seemed right now, he wasn’t alone.
and he would never be alone. not as long as he had you.
