Show & Tell
One Nice Bug Per Day
Kiana Khansmith
Claire Keane
Sweet Seals For You, Always
hello vonnie
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
h
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
izzy's playlists!
AnasAbdin
No title available
tannertan36
ellievsbear
Love Begins
dirt enthusiast
No title available
No title available
Kaledo Art
Not today Justin
seen from Greece
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Israel
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from Greece
seen from Germany
seen from Switzerland
seen from Türkiye
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye
seen from France
seen from United States
@stiles-banshees
stiles-banshees masterlist
this is my side blog where I’ll post all of my writing!
click here to send in requests :)
Julie and the Phantoms Cast
Charlie:
Not Your Average Movie Night
Owen:
Mornings With You
Savannah:
Self-care Saturdays
5 Seconds of Summer
Luke: In the Same Way ❊ lrh (on wattpad & ongoing)
Calum:
Michael:
Ashton:
Miscellaneous
Jess Mariano:
Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin: Good Things Come in Threes
he's so nosy <3
pictures of you pictures of me hung upon the wall for the world to see
𐙚 evan ‘buck’ buckley masterlist 𐙚
✮ = smut
last updated: 10/01/25
drabbles
nsfw alphabet ✮
sfw alphabet
crop top!buck
his muse ✮
buck loves plus size people!! (thoughts)
rancher’s daughter ✮
random buck headcanons
bug girl
being buck's neighbour
roommates with s1 buck ✮
down bad loser!buck ✮
love bites ✮
body worship ✮
sleepy morning sex ✮
accidental i love you ✮
meeting buck at the club ✮
gamer girl ✮
public sex ✮
marathon ✮
quickies ✮
friends with benefits ✮
sex with your ex ✮
lightning
comforting sex ✮
texting // texting pt 2 // texting pt 3
camping ✮
keep it cool
spa day
love notes
can't stop talking about you
teaching you to surf
fics
return the favour
eager to please ✮
good for me ✮
roommates (buddie x reader) ✮
protect you, always
all yours ✮
cherry // the prequel ✮
tummy ✮
close to you ✮
what’s good for you
stop moving ✮
bad thing turned good ✮
bad thing turned even better (part two)
is she mine?
cookies
big feelings
series
good luck charm
thirteen crows (buddie x reader)
twelve days of christmas
through the window (ongoing)
spooktober
THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY 3.11, “At Last”
If the right way is too hard, fuck it. Do it the wrong way.
Folding clothes keeps you from getting the laundry done? Stop folding clothes. Put a basket in your room and throw your unfolded clean stuff into it right out of the dryer, it's fine.
Rinsing dishes off keeps you from loading the dishwasher? Load them dirty and run it twice.
Chopping onions keeps you from making yourself dinner? Buy the freezer bags of chopped onions.
You forget to take your meds and don't want to get out of bed to get them? Start putting them next to the bed.
Can't keep up with the dishes? Get paper plates. Worried about environment impact? Order biodegradable ones online if your local store doesn't have one.
Make the task easier. Put things where you use them instead of where they "go." Eliminate the steps that keep you from finishing the task. Eliminate the task that is stressing you out.
Do it the "wrong" way. It's literally fine.
I'm a simple bitch. i believe the purpose of government should be to improve the lives of its citizens and protect its most vulnerable members. unfortunately i live in a day and age where this gets me labeled an enemy of the state
Hello 👋,
I hope this message finds you well. My name is Aziz, and I’m reaching out with a heartfelt plea to help my family find safety and reunite with our mother. 😞
The ongoing war in Gaza has torn my family apart. My mother and newborn sister are stranded in Egypt, while I, along with the rest of my sex family members, am trapped in the midst of the genocide in Gaza. We have not only been separated but have also lost our home and are enduring unimaginable hardships. 💔
Your support can make a difference. Whether by reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign with others, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊
Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your kindness, compassion, and solidarity during this difficult time. ❤🍉
https://gofund.me/58268669 🔗
please reblog or donate if you can!!
deal - cl16 (42/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: The new bed is here! And Joris isn't happy about it!
Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex), fluff
Word Count: 3.3k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: LETS GOOOOOOOO!!! FORZA FERRARI!!!
“It was really nice of you to take the photos for Enzo and Charlotte,” Charles says as you both get into the car in the afternoon. He buckles up and starts the engine.
“It's my job, after all,” you smile and make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat.
Charles steers the car out of the driveway. "Well, actually it's your job to take pictures of me, not of my brother's engagement," he corrects you, for which you gently punch him on the shoulder.
“I still enjoyed doing it,” you say. "I'm very happy for Enzo and Charlotte. They seem like the perfect couple.”
Charles purses his lips and nods. "They've been together for a long time. We were all wondering when he would finally pop the question. But I didn't think he'd actually do it during Christmas.”
You look at him. ”Why not?”
“I don't know,“ he replies, shrugging his shoulders. "I would have thought he would have done it in the summer, after a nice day on the boat and then maybe at dinner.”
You look at him. "Maybe he wanted to combine it with something nice – and Christmas is a celebration of love.” You can't help but grin. “And he didn't have to buy her a Christmas present, just a ring.”
Your roommate laughs. “Should I do the same to you next year? Just propose to you so I don't have to get you a gift?”
You know it's a joke, but when the words leave his mouth, you feel warm. You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. “Absolutely not.”
The Monegasque steers the car through the streets of his home country. “And how should I propose then? Do you want a trip in a hot air balloon? At Times Square, where everyone is watching? Or at a Taylor Swift concert while she sings Love Story?”
You can't suppress a giggle. ”None of that, please.”
“Then tell me.” He reaches out and grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.
“Mmm. I've never really thought about it much. But I think I'd rather have a moment that's just for the two of us. Where no one else is watching, where we're on our own. No onlookers, no one to talk about it. Just the two of us – I think that would be perfect.”
Charles squeezes your hand twice. “Good to know.” He smiles at you briefly before looking back at the road. “By the way, I asked Pierre and Kika if they wanted to go to Lando's party with us tonight. I hope that was okay.”
“Absolutely. I feel like I haven't seen Kika in ages. But it was only – what – four days ago?”
“I think so. They want to come around seven, so you two can get ready together and maybe have a drink.”
Without thinking about it, you lean over and kiss his cheek. "You're the best, Charles." You can see the blush rising in his face, but you let it go uncommented.
“I know,” he says with a grin as he turns into the underground parking garage. When the car comes to a stop, you both get out and you press the elevator button while Charles takes your bags out of the trunk.
“What are the parties like in Monaco?” you ask him as you both enter the elevator. ‘Do you have to dress particularly chic or does it depend on the club? How much money do I need to take with me? Is my ID card enough or do I need to take anything else?’ you bombard him with questions.
Charles has to laugh. ”Haven't you ever been out partying?”
You shake your head and press the button for your floor. “Not in Monaco, no.”
The elevator doors close and you feel it transport you upwards. The Monegasque looks down at you. “The club where Lando's friend performs is chic, but not super chic. If you like –”
“Where the fuck have you been?” an angry Joris bellows at you as the elevator door opens.
You almost have a heart attack from the shock, but Charles just looks at his best friend in confusion.
“Since when did you stop checking your cell phones? I've tried to reach you ten thousand times!” Joris's face is as red as a tomato as he snarls at you angrily and you get out of the elevator without saying a word. ”I was still asleep! And I didn't even get to eat breakfast!”
Charles puts your two bags down next to the apartment door. "And a good morning to you, Joris. How can I help you?” He walks past him, deeper into the apartment, Joris follows him, seething. You follow them in silence.
“How you can help me?” Joris asks snappishly, leaning on the kitchen worktop with his hands, before pointing at a few sheets in front of him with his index finger. “Next time you order furniture, at least be home when it's delivered, or leave your own cell phone number so they can call you if they ring the doorbell and you don't open it.”
Charles opens his eyes wide. ”Our bed.”
Joris sneers. “This shitty bed has cost me valuable hours of sleep. And I certainly shouldn't have driven here.”
Charles can hardly keep a grin off his face as he turns around and opens the fridge. "How many bottles of wine did you drink yesterday?", he asks, placing eggs, vegetables and bacon on the counter in front of him.
“Two.”
Your roommate gets a bowl and a pan out of a drawer before he starts to crack the eggs into them. “Did you throw up in your front yard?”
Joris rolls his eyes and watches as Charles prepares his hangover breakfast. "No.”
“Then congratulations,’ Charles grins. ”Then you had a successful Christmas.”
The omelette tastes so good that Joris's anger disappears with the first bite. He talks about Christmas dinner with his parents and his brother and the family vacation planned for next year, while he shovels the omelette into himself like a bulldozer. In between, Charles slides him coffee across the counter in a cup, but doesn't dare get closer to his hungry and hungover friend.
“By the way, the bed is very nice,” Joris finally says, pushing the empty plate away. ‘You could have at least warned me.”
“I'm sorry,’ Charles apologizes with pursed lips. ”Are we friends again?”
Joris sighs. “Of course,” he smiles, getting up from his chair to embrace his oldest friend. They both pat each other on the back before letting go. “I have to go now. By the way, I gave the delivery man a €150 tip for kindly setting up the bed. Thank God you had some money lying around.”
Charles watches his friend go in the direction of the apartment door with confusion. “The setup was already included in the price.“
The photographer purses his lips. "At least they got a nice tip," he finally says, before leaving the apartment and leaving you two alone.
Without saying a word, you take the dirty dishes and wash them in the sink while Charles puts your bags in the bedroom. When he returns, he stands directly behind you. You can feel the warmth of his skin through your clothes.
“We also have a dishwasher, you know?” he whispers, laying his chin on your shoulder. His arms wrap around your middle, his chest pressing against your back.
You nod and lean against him. “But we don't need to run the dishwasher for that,” you reply, breathing in as his hand slowly slides under your sweater. “It was very nice of you to make Joris breakfast, even though it's already afternoon.”
“Mm-hmm,” Charles hums softly. "It was the least I could do. It was really nice of him to come here to take delivery of the bed. I'd completely forgotten that I put down his cell phone number."
“Joris is a good friend.”
“He is,” he murmurs and kisses your cheek. ‘But I prefer to have you lying in my new bed." He gently pulls you out of the kitchen towards the bedroom where the new bed is. Joris was even kind enough to make the bed; dark gray sheets are smoothly stretched over the mattress and you would love to snuggle up in them.
“It looks incredibly cozy,“ you smile.
“Come on.” Charles gently pushes you towards the bed. “I told you I wanted you in it.” He watches you with eagle eyes as you slowly crawl onto the bed and slip under the covers, putting your cell phone on the nightstand. As if you've been conditioned, you have to yawn.
“The bed was definitely the right decision,” you smile and stretch your arms to fold them behind your head. "But it was definitely the wrong decision to trick me to get into it.”
“Why?’ your roommate chuckles. ”Too comfortable?”
“Definitely. I'd love to stay here forever.” You tap the empty side of the bed next to you. ”Come and try it out.”
Without wasting another moment, Charles circles the bed and lies down next to you. His arm wraps around your middle again and pulls you towards him so that your chests are touching. “I see your point. It is pretty comfortable.” His hand slides up your back under your sweater until it finds its place between your shoulder blades.
You close your eyes and breathe out. “Do we have to go out partying tonight? I mean, can't we just order take-out and stay in?”
“Of course we could do that,” he smiles. 'But I highly doubt you want to cancel on Kika and Lando.”
You sigh. ‘We could invite everyone here," you suggest. ”The bed is big enough for all of us and –”
“Absolutely not,” he interrupts you and shakes his head vehemently. ‘The only ones allowed in this bed are already in it. Nobody else is allowed to snuggle up in the covers. Besides, I don't like the thought of you lying in a bed with Lando.”
You raise your hand and gently run your fingers through his brown curls. "Are you jealous?”
A deep growl escapes Charles' throat. “Maybe.”
You lean forward and kiss his stubbled cheek. ”You do know that Lando is the reason we're friends again, right? Because he called you when you were in Italy?”
“I am aware,“ he mumbles, pressing you closer. "Doesn't mean you have to share a bed, though.’
“You don't have to worry about that,” you grin. “There's only one man I want to share a bed with.” He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Don't worry, Charlie. You're the one I mean, of course.”
“Perfect.”
You lie in bed for a while, legs tangled and snuggled together. You gently run your fingers through his hair while his fingertips caress your back. Lying here with him feels so normal, so familiar, that you don't ever want to be in a bed without him again.
“You still haven't answered my questions about tonight,” you say eventually, and your hand gently caresses the soft skin at the nape of his neck.
Charles almost moans, his eyes closed. "I'll pay for you.”
“But I can pay for myself," you smile, even though he's not looking at you.
“Doesn't matter.” Your fingers pause in their movement. Charles fidgets a little, wanting for you to continue.
“You're about to fall asleep, Charlie," you giggle, but comply with his silent request.
He moves closer to you and cuddles his face into the hollow between your jaw and your shoulder before taking a deep breath. “I'm not,” he replies softly. “But lying here with you is so comfortable.” He leisurely pulls at your sweater to reveal the skin on your neck and places feather-light kisses where your pulse is beating. Goosebumps spread across your body.
“Charles...”
“Let's cancel on everyone,” he whispers, and his hand moves to your thigh to drape your leg over his hip so that you are literally pressed against each other, body to body. You feel his hardness against your clothed core.
You sigh. “But you just said that we can't cancel,” you reply. “Besides, you already said yes to Lando and invited Pierre and Kika.”
“I don't care,” he breathes. “Let's be crappy friends and cancel at the last minute. I'm sure the others will understand.”
“What will they understand, hm? That the bed is so comfortable that we don't want to leave it?“ you ask him quietly.
“That I'd rather be here in bed with you than standing in a crowded club.” His breath caresses your neck gently. “That I'd rather test out the new bed with you than yell at you over the loud music just to be able to talk to you.”
His words make your face heat up. You hope he doesn't notice. “Then we'd be very bad friends.”
“Then let's be very bad friends,” he grins against your neck before pressing a final kiss on your pulse. “We can make it up to them sometime. Just not today. Today I want you all to myself. Now that I finally have you back with me.”
You feel him press his boner against you and you absentmindedly tighten your leg around his waist. Your fingers gently press into his neck muscles and his breathy moans reach your ears. You can feel your arousal pool in your panties and you want to give in so bad.
You want to stay home with him. In this bed. You want to repeat last night at his mom’s house, but this time the both of you would be able to show how much pleasure you give each other. You desperately want to hear him groan again, but now without the barrier of your hand on his mouth. You want to feel his cock against your pussy, sliding through your folds and gathering your juices.
God, you want to repeat last night but without any clothes on. His cock nudging against your clit, sending jolts of electricity through your veins. His hands grabbing your ass and moving you over his length. You want to feel the the tip of his dick catching in your entrance before finally sliding in, stretching you deliciously.
You want to fuck him so bad that it’s making you dizzy.
“What are you thinking about, mon amour?” Charles asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.
Before you can answer him – which you don't really want to do anyway – your cell phone rings. The Monegasque reaches for it without hesitation, answers the call and puts the person on speakerphone.
“Allo?”
“Hello, you two,“ Kika's voice sounds from your cell phone. ‘How are you? What are you doing?”
“We're testing my new bed,’ Charles replies with a grin, and you hide your face in the duvet.
“You can't say that,” you say, reaching for your cell phone, but your roommate extends his arm so you can't get to it.
“Why?“ Charles asks hypocritically. "It's true, isn't it?”
“Charles!”
Kika laughs loudly. "Should I call back in a minute? I don't want to disturb you guys doing whatever it is you're doing.”
“It's fine,” you call to her, although she would have understood you even if you had spoken normally. “What can I do for you?”
The Portuguese woman giggles. “I just wanted to ask what you would like to drink and what you are going to wear.”
You open your eyes wide. "Um, I have no idea. What do people wear in the clubs here?" You repeat the question you've already asked your roommate.
“How about this?” She begins. "Pierre and I will come a little earlier and go through your closet together? The guys can play video games or something. And we'll get ready in peace and quiet."
You like her suggestion. ”That would be great.”
“Great. Pierre and I are going out for a quick shopping trip and want to buy some wine. You drink sweet, right? Then I'll bring you something.”
“Thanks!” you reply and with a big stretch you finally get to your phone in Charles's hand. "See you in a bit!" You hang up and put the phone back on the bedside table. When you turn to your friend, he's pouting. ”What's wrong?”
He turns on his back and crosses his arms over his chest, which is a little difficult considering your leg is still wrapped around his waist. “I was kind of hoping you'd cancel on them.”
A smile spreads across your face. You slide closer to him again and reach for his arms to separate them before you roll onto him. Your knees are next to his hips on the mattress and instinctively, his big hands find your ass.
“I'm sorry, Charles,” you whisper, leaning down so that you are completely on top of him. Your elbows are next to his shoulders and your hands are finding their way into his hair again. ”We don't have to stay long.”
The Monegasque exhales. “As long as you promise me that we'll stay in bed tomorrow, that's okay with me.” When you purse your lips, he groans in annoyance and pushes his head back into the pillow. “Do I have to go to camp with Andrea tomorrow?”
You nod slightly. ”I'm afraid so.”
“That's terrible,” he complains, wrapping his arms around you. ”Then we won't see each other again until New Year's Eve! What will I do without you during that time?”
You don't want to think about spending the next few days without him, which is why you change the subject back to tonight.
“How about this: Kika and Pierre are coming over soon and we'll party later with Lando and his DJ friend,” you begin your suggestion.
Charles raises an eyebrow. ”I don't see any compromise I'm willing to make.”
You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. “Just let me finish. So - we're all going out to party in a bit, and when we get back home we can make ourselves comfortable in bed here, watch another movie and not get out of bed until noon tomorrow.”
“Do we have to be dressed to watch the movie?” he asks mischievously, and as you move to roll away from him, he turns you both so that he is now on top of you. He grabs your thighs and puts your legs back around his waist, and as he nestles against you, almost crushing you under his weight – which feels better than you care to admit. You feel his boner between your legs.
“Charles,“ you moan softly as his cock softly nudges against your clothed clit.
“Do we have to be dressed?” he repeats his question and slides his hand under your sweater, his fingers spreading over your sides.
You breathe in his scent and bask in his warmth. “We don't have to,” you reply without giving a thought to what it means for you. But you couldn't care less about that right now.
Charles's lips breathe light kisses on your neck. “Then it's a deal,” he whispers before withdrawing completely – leaving you high and dry. “Come on. Our friends will be here soon. And I doubt you'll want to be in our bed then. No matter how comfortable it is,“ he grins and leaves the bedroom. But as he walks through the door, you can still see him put his hand in his sweatpants to fix his erection.
Somehow you're glad you have the same effect on him as he does on you.
Hot blood courses through your veins when you think about how the evening will end. You would love to pull Charles back into bed, rip his clothes off and let him ravish you until you can't walk anymore.
That will have to wait.
But anticipation is half the fun.
i love them so
Austin Grand Prix, 2024
deal - cl16 (40/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: Who knew this Christmas breakfast would be this exciting?
Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex, creampie and oral), fluff, minimal angst (because it wouldn't be my story without a tiny bit of angst)
Word Count: 3.5k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: feedback is appreciated. love you.
The touch of Charles' hand on your naked skin draws you out of a restful sleep, slowly and comfortably.
You feel his chest against your back, nestling more snugly against your spine with each of his breaths. His arm lies heavily on your side, reassuringly and relaxed around your middle, as if he never wants to let you go again.
As if you would ever want that.
His embrace feels like a warm blanket that you want to snuggle up in forever and never let go of. Soft and gentle, he surrounds you, holds you tight and presses you to him; body to body, skin to skin.
You breathe out quietly.
You would love to turn around and wake Charles with feather-light kisses on his warm skin, to continue where you left off last night. But for a moment, you want to enjoy his closeness, on this quiet morning after Christmas, before you have to return to reality and everyday life.
You slide closer to him, press yourself against him and breathe in his scent. His warm breath gently caresses your neck as he cuddles his face into the curve between your head and your shoulder. His lips ghost gently over the soft skin there before he absentmindedly and as if it were the most natural thing in the world presses a kiss on the spot on your neck.
His hand, which was still resting on the bed sheet, lies flat on your stomach to press you tightly against him before it searches for the warmth of your body. Hesitantly, it slides under your shirt before finding its firm place on your naked skin. Although he is sleeping, Charles spreads his fingers so that some of his fingertips gently slide under the hem of your shorts and remain there.
You have to suppress a deep sigh to avoid waking Charles, although there is nothing else you would rather do.
His words almost repeat themselves in your thoughts in your thoughts – “You have a few holes I can fill to keep me occupied” – and the mere thought of it makes you have to press your thighs together.
How it would feel to have him pressed against you. His weight on yours. How it would feel to fall apart on his cock, drunk on pleasure and his lips on your heated skin as he uses you as he pleases. Filling your pussy again and again and again, maybe even your –
You feel your arousal pooling in your shorts and decide to get out of bed before you jump Charles' bones, not wanting to wake him up for sex – or something remotely close to it.
Carefully and slowly, you slide his arm off your heated body and gently lay it on the mattress so you can get up without waking him. You immediately miss the feeling of his warm skin on yours and you would love to snuggle back under the covers, kiss his chest and let him touch you until you see stars. But when you look at him, his eyes closed and a faint smile on his face, you decide to let him sleep.
He would be leaving for training camp soon and you wouldn't see each other for a few days. He will surely need all the sleep he can get before Andrea will be demanding and exhausting him to the bone there.
In the bathroom, you quietly slip into a pair of leggings and a large turtleneck sweater, then leave the room on your tiptoes, but not without looking back at Charles. He is now lying on your side of the bed, on his back and with one arm behind his head. His other hand is on his naked chest. He has kicked the blanket away, so it is lying at his feet – and you can see a dark spot on his gray boxer shorts. Right where it stretches over his boner.
You quickly look away, slip out of the bedroom and quietly close the door behind you. You tiptoe through the house, not knowing whether the rest of the Leclerc family is still asleep or already up and about, and make your way down the stairs towards the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Pascale smiles at you as you enter the room. She is standing at the humming coffee machine, a dark red cup is under it. "Did you sleep well?”
You smile back at her. “Yes, thank you,” you reply. You don't mention that you slept well because her son gave you a mindblowing orgasm for Christmas and called you “his good girl.”
The coffee machine stops humming and Pascale reaches for the coffee cup. “I'm glad. The bed is quite old and I was a little worried that it might be too uncomfortable.” She takes a sip of the hot coffee before looking at you. “I hope you enjoyed our Christmas.”
You can't hide a broad smile. “It was perfect.”
Pascale smiles sadly. “Well, it hasn't been perfect for a long time,” she replies quietly, and even without her saying it, you know that she misses her husband very much. She looks into her cup and clutches it with her fingers as if it were the last straw. Mama Leclerc takes a deep breath. “But with each year it becomes more bearable. And now that you're here and Charles is finally smiling again –” she gently lays her hand on your cheek, "- it's getting easier for me, too."
You see the tears in her eyes and before you can stop yourself, you hug her so hard she almost spills her coffee. "Thank you, Pascale," you whisper. ”For taking me in.”
She puts her free arm around you. “You don't have to thank me for that, cherié. You make Charles happy – I can't thank you enough for that.” As you pull away from each other, she smiles gently. “This home is now yours too. No matter what may come.” She presses a fleeting kiss on your cheek. “I wanted to start breakfast right away. Would you like to help me? I just have to take care of something, but you can prepare the dough for the pancakes. You can find the recipe in the cookbook over there. I'll be right back – make yourself at home.” And without saying another word, she leaves the kitchen, leaving you in silence.
Without hesitation, you open cupboards and drawers, looking for all the necessary utensils and ingredients to prepare the dough for the pancakes. Pascale's cookbook is in French, but you understand it well enough to start preparing the meal without any problems.
As you weigh the flour and pour it into a large bowl, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn around and see Charles standing in the doorway. His hair is standing on end in all directions and when his eyes meet yours, he seems to breathe a sigh of relief.
“Good morning,“ you smile at him and turn back to the bowl to add the sugar to the flour. "Did you sleep well?"
You hear his soft steps and then feel his arms wrap around your middle to press you against his chest. ”Very well,“ he whispers. "But to be honest, I missed you when I woke up.”
Goosebumps spread across your skin as he gently and slowly slides his hands under your sweater. “I didn't want to wake you.”
His fingers dig briefly into your sides as he turns you towards him. “I thought for a moment – you were –” He takes a deep breath. “I was afraid that you had disappeared. That last night was just – I don't know – that I imagined it.”
You smile at him and put your hands on his chest. “You didn't. Don't worry.”
Charles returns your smile. “Thank God,” he replies. “I couldn't bear it if we weren't friends anymore.”
Friends. Friends. Friends.
The word repeats itself in your thoughts like a broken record – but that's okay, you think. You take what you can get from him. Even if it's only physical and it ultimately breaks your heart.
You'd rather have some of him than none at all.
You raise your hand and let your fingertips gently glide over his cheekbone. “Don't you ever worry your pretty head about that. I promised you I'm not going anywhere.”
He reaches for your hand and kisses your knuckles. “You better not,” he smiles against your fingers. “And even if you did go, I'd follow you anywhere.” He leans his forehead against yours and his warm breath caresses your face. The palm of his hand, which was just on your back, slides down under the hem of your leggings and grabs your ass. “And there's nothing that can stop me.”
"There's no way I have to close my eyes every time I enter a room,” complains Arthur, holding his hand in front of his eyes.
Charles rolls his eyes before he digs his fingers briefly into your butt and then moves away from you a little. “Don't act like you're all innocent,” grins the middle Leclerc and winks at you before he goes to wash his hands in the sink.
Arthur purses his lips. “At least I'm not doing it in the middle of the kitchen.”
“Who's doing it in the middle of the kitchen?” Pascale asks, returning to the kitchen with a large basket. She glances around briefly before placing the basket on the counter. Then she puts her hands on her hips, as if waiting for an answer.
“No one, Maman. No one would dare do that here,” Charles smiles and hugs his mother before giving her a fleeting kiss on the cheek. He glances into the basket. ”Did you really prepare croissants?”
Mama-Leclerc rolls her eyes and gently pushes her son away. “I have. They just need to go in the oven and then we can have breakfast.” She looks at you. “How are you doing with the dough for the pancakes, cherié?”
“Not very well,” Arthur grins and takes a cup out of the cupboard to put it under the coffee machine. "I think she was quite distracted."
Charles gives his little brother a weak slap on the back of the head. "We'll take care of everything, Maman.”
Pascale raises an eyebrow. “Very well. The croissants need to be in the oven for twenty minutes. In that time, you two take care of the pancakes and Arthur, please set the table,” she orders before disappearing back out the door.
Arthur sighs. “Where are Charlotte and Enzo, anyway? Why aren't they helping?”
Your roommate shrugs and takes the milk out of the fridge and pours it into a measuring cup before pouring it over the flour and sugar. “I don't know. But it's not the first time that Enzo has shirked.”
While the brothers are complaining about where the oldest Leclerc son and his girlfriend are, you prepare the dough. Charles puts the croissants on the baking sheet and slides them into the oven, and Arthur puts the dishes on the table, along with Nutella and jam, before disappearing to change.
You flip a pancake in the hot pan. “It's been a long time since I enjoyed Christmas,” you suddenly confess, even surprised by your honesty.
Charles takes a plate out of the cupboard and puts it next to the stove so that you can put the finished pancakes on it straight away. “What do you mean?” He leans against the worktop and looks at you, his fingers curved around the edge.
You hesitantly place the spatula on the pancake and press it onto the bottom of the pan. “My parents were never the kind of people who thought Christmas was important,” you explain. “They were always at work, so I was always home alone on those days.”
The Monegasque tilts his head. “Did you at least have a Christmas tree? Or presents?”
You purse your lips and shake your head before you take the finished pancake out of the pan and heat up another dollop of dough. “A Christmas tree, yes, but it was made of metal and therefore not particularly Christmassy. There were presents, but I think only so that they wouldn't feel guilty about not being there.”
It is the first time that you have spoken openly about your parents. Somewhere inside you, there is a nagging feeling that it is not right to speak badly of the people who raised you, but putting them in a good light would not be the truth. And there is no one in this world whom you trust as much as the man watching you carefully turn the pancake.
“Sounds pretty lonely."
You nod slightly. ”It was. With lawyers as parents, it was never easy. You can imagine the path in life they had planned for me. And how disappointed they were when I wanted to do a creative job. They wanted a small, perfect law student – and they got an unemployed photographer.”
Charles apparently senses how difficult it is for you to talk about your parents, because he takes the spatula out of your hand and puts it aside to pull you close. He gently combs his fingers through your hair until his fingertips rest on the back of your neck and he lifts your head so you look at him.
“First of all, you're no longer unemployed. Remember?” he smiles. His fingertips gently press into the muscles in the back of your neck. ‘Besides, you're perfect just the way you are. There's nothing I would change about you.’ His gaze wanders from your eyes down to your lips and further down to your turtleneck sweater. ”Except for the clothes, maybe.”
You look down at yourself in puzzlement. “Why? Do I look that bad?”
“Not necessarily bad,” he suddenly whispers. “But I think I'd like you better without clothes.” His voice has dropped an octave and goes through your skin and bones, vibrating inside you and making your panties suddenly stick to you. Charles puts his thumb under your chin and gently caresses your jaw. “I would love to carry you upstairs and repeat last night – but this time without clothes.” He leans forward a little and kisses your forehead before pulling back a little and meeting your eyes again. ‘You are absolutely perfect,’ he repeats emphatically. ”And you'll never have to spend another Christmas alone. Not as long as I'm around. My family is your family now, too.”
He lets go of you and reaches for the pan, preventing the pancake from burning behind you. You can only watch him silently, with the skill with which he swings the pan. The veins in his forearm and hand are bulging, and even if you wanted to, you definitely couldn't take your eyes off him.
How did he manage to turn a conversation about your parents into one where you want to drop to your knees in front of him and –
“How much longer for the croissants?” Pascale asks as she re-enters the kitchen, bowls of fruit in her hands.
“Not much longer,” Charles replies, placing the last pancake on the stack before setting it on the dining table. He pulls out a chair and smiles at you. ”Why don't you sit down, mon amour? I'll take care of the rest.”
A few minutes later, the whole room is filled with the aroma of warm pastries and coffee, and most of the Leclerc family gathers at the table. Charles, who is not forced to sit on the uncomfortable stool due to the absence of his older brother, takes a seat next to you and slides so close to you that he almost sits on your chair. His knee presses comfortably against yours and he gently places his hand on your thigh.
But there is nothing sexual about the touch. It is comforting, soothing, and warm. An assurance that you are not alone – and never have to be alone again.
When Arthur puts the first pancake on his plate, Charlotte and Enzo join them.
“I'm sorry, Maman,” he apologizes and kisses her briefly on the forehead. ‘We didn't mean to be rude.’ He sits down on the uncomfortable stool across from you – but not without giving Charles a dirty look – and Charlotte sits down across from you. A broad smile is painted on her face.
She is also wearing a dark red turtleneck with a beautiful bow. The sleeves are pulled up over her hands and on her left ring finger is... a ring?
You open your eyes wide and Charlotte catches your glance. Her grin extends almost from ear to ear.
“But we have a good reason for being late,” Enzo interrupts your train of thought and looks at the woman next to him with a look that is dripping with love and happiness. He grabs her hand before raising it to his lips and kissing her knuckles so that everyone can see the diamond on her finger.
Pascale jumps up from her chair as if stung by an adder. “Oh my goodness!” she almost screams, causing Arthur to drop his fork in shock.
“We're engaged,” Charlotte announces, showing off the rock on her finger.
Suddenly there is alot of noise, everyone gets up from their seats and congratulates the happy couple. You first embrace Enzo and then Charlotte, who squeezes you tightly.
“I'm so happy for you,” you smile and examine the ring, which suits her perfectly.
“Thank you,” she replies, unable to contain her joy. She fidgets from one foot to the other like a little kid. "I never would have thought that he would ask me to marry him on Christmas of all days." She hugs you again. "This is going to be so great! I can't wait to start planning!" You glance over at Enzo, who playfully rolls his eyes. Charlotte kisses her fiancé on the cheek. “Don't pretend. You asked me voluntarily!”
“I did,” he smiles at her. “And I don't regret it for a second.”
Pascale, trying to hide the tears in her eyes, claps her hands. “I wish your father was here to see this,” she smiles. “He would have been very happy for you.”
“Thank you, Maman.“ Enzo kisses his mother on the cheek before he wants to sit down again.
”You certainly won't sit on the stool,” Mama-Leclerc replies, glancing over at Charles, who is trying to hide behind you. ”Charles! Swap your chair with the groom! I want them to be as comfortable as possible today!”
“But Maman –” the Monegasque tries to change her mind, but when he catches the loving and tearful look in his mother's eyes, he falls silent. Without another word, he and his big brother swap chairs, so that in the end he is sitting on the stool again. He puts his hand back on your thigh as if this were its rightful place.
“Tell me! When did you ask her? How did you ask her? Have you already talked about a date? Would you rather have it in summer or winter?“ Pascale's questions come thick and fast, making the whole table laugh.
”Now don't bombard them like that,” Arthur laughs, just managing to duck before his mother can catch him with the napkin. ”Just let them - you know - talk.”
But Pascale isn't paying any attention to her youngest son. She rests her elbow on the table, puts her chin in the palm of her hand, and looks at the newly engaged couple. “Well? At what point did you realize you wanted to ask her?”
Enzo grabs the hand of his fiancée and looks at her, smiling. “It was actually a very mundane moment,” he begins to tell the story, but you are not listening.
You feel Charles's warm and loving gaze on you, and when you look at him, he smiles at you. You hear Enzo's voice as if through cotton wool, telling of a movie night and how he had told an incredibly bad joke that Charlotte found so awful that she had to laugh at it for twenty minutes.
Your focus is on Charles, his warm gaze, his heavy hand on your thigh. You smile at him and a sparkle flashes in his eyes.
“There is no one in this world that I love more than her,” Enzo finally says.
There is no one in this world that I love more than you, Charles.
And as if he were interpreting your gaze, as if he knew what was written in your thoughts, he gently squeezes your thigh. Twice.
they’re so precious oh my god
deal - cl16 (40/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: Everything about him is addicting.
Warnings: 18+ (dry humping, mentions of sex and cum play, breeding kink (if you squint)), fluff, fluff and more fluff, swear words
Word Count: 3.2k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: the last two weeks have been very tiring. hope you like it still. feedback is appreciated! love ya.
Before you know it, Charles turns his hand over to intertwine his fingers with yours. With a gentle tug, he pulls you against him.
„Come here“, he breathes as his other hand slides over your bare leg, stopping at the back of your knee. He pulls you on top of him so that you’re straddling his lap. He kisses your knuckles before he lets go, his hands gripping your thighs as his eyes roam over your face.
As he lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, you place your hands on his shoulders. „Charles –", you whisper, but he just shakes his head.
„Don‘t“, he simply says, his hands gliding over the soft skin of your thighs. „Don’t think, please. Let me just –", he says softly, his breath fanning over your face. His leans his head forward, bringing his lips to your neck, peppering it with soft kisses.
Your fingers tangle in his curls as you tilt your head to the side absentmindedly, allowing him more space. „Oh.“
He continues planting soft kisses on your skin, his hands gliding from your thighs to your ass, pulling you right against him. His body pressed against yours, your breathing coming out as faint noises as his tongue occasionally licks on your flesh. „I missed you“, he groans, sucking on that sweet spot right above your pulse, surely leaving a mark.
But you don’t care. All you can think about his him – and that you want more.
You press his face harder into your neck, his stubble scratching your already red skin. „Please“, you beg, even though you don’t know what for. For more of his lips, more of his skin on yours – just more of him.
His tongue moves up your neck, tracing along the underside of your jaw before he pulls back to look at your neck where he had left a small mark, not purple per se, but noticable if you pay attention to it. „You look so beautiful“, he mutters, his voice gruff. „So beautiful – all for me.“ His hands leave your butt, resting on your thighs and an involuntary whine leaves your mouth, already missing his touch. „Oh, cherié. Don’t whine“, he breathes, sliding his hands under the seam of your shorts. You feel his fingertips on the back of your thighs before they find their place on your bare ass, gripping your cheeks and pulling you flush against him.
„Oh fuck“, you moan as his clothed cock nudges against your clit. One of your hands wander from his hair to his shirt, fisting it in your palm as a jolt of elictricity runs through your body at the movement. You feel your shorts wetten between your legs, coating your inner thighs in your arousal as Charles rocks you back and forth on his boner.
„I got you“, he groans, his mouth finding your neck again, licking and sucking gently. His fingernails dig into the flesh of your ass, but you couldn’t care less about any marks he leaves on your body. „I got you, cherié.“ His words come out breathlessly against your skin.
The way your hips rock against him, his dick pressing against you as you move on his lap sends sparks racing through your body, straight to your pussy, clouding your mind with need. The need to feel him, to have him, to be his.
Your head lulls against his shoulder, too hazy and lost in pleasure to pull up the strength to look at him. Your lips find his neck on their own, kissing and licking at the sweat on his skin.
„Shit“, he groans and you can feel him vibrate against your lips. „Do – do that again, please“, he breathes, his fingers sliding dangerously close to the space between your thighs beneath your shorts, barely grazing your bare pussy. „I need – fuck – please, cherié.“
Your lips ghost over his neck, your tongue occasionally darting out to lick the soft skin before sucking on this sensitive part of his body. His hips buck up against yours, the tip of his cock prodding against your clit and drawing out a long and loud moan from you. One of his hands leaves your ass to pull your face from his neck. „Shh – shh“, he growns lowly and places his hand on your mouth carefully. „Shit, cherié – you can’t –.“ You can see in his face that it takes all of his willpower to finish his sentence. „You can’t be too loud, okay?“, he breathes.
You nod quickly, but another moan escapes your lips as his clothed cock glides along your soaked shorts, between your drenched folds. Charles hands stays where it is, not risking anything.
His body against yours feels perfect, hips and chests molding into each other. You wish all those clothes were gone, that you could really feel him, but even this right here – dry humping like horny teenagers – is sending your mind into overdrive. You can’t even think about what it would feel like to have his cock inside of you, splitting you in half and filling you up oh so nicely.
„Charles“, you moan from beneath his hand, tightening your legs around his waist to have him as close as possible. The way he feels against you is driving you crazy.
„I know“, he moans softly, his hand gripping your ass tighter, his rock-hard dick still sliding between your folds, both of your underwear drenched in your arousal and his pre-cum that you can feel the ridges of his cock on your pussy. His mushroom tip nudging your clit, rubbing delicously against that sweet stop that has you reeling. As you move your hips to meet his, his cock sliding further, catching against your clothed hole.
„Oh fuck“, Charles moans loudly and before he can do anything, you place your hand on his mouth, just as he did to you a few minutes ago. „Sorry, sorry“, he breathes against your palm, his breath hot and erratic on your skin. „You just – tu te sens si parfait.“ you feel so perfect.
You stare into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as you slide along his dick, your mouths covered to keep the noise down. You lean your head back slightly, lost in pleasure he gives you. „Please“, you beg him, warmth pooling in your lower belly as he keeps you firmly on his dick.
„Come on“, he groans. „Let me feel you. And don’t you dare not look at me.“ His voice is raspy and deep and so hot that you immediately look at him. „That’s my good girl – my girl“, he moans as your pussy clenches around nothing, but he can still feel the movement on his cock. „Oh fuck – you’re killing me here. Wish I was in this pussy.“ He talks without thinking, turning you on even more, pushing you closer to the edge. „My girl – my perfect girl. Come for me“, he rasps, his hand on your ass grinding you harder and faster on his dick. White spots start to cloud your vision as you fall apart on him. „There you go, pretty girl. Come for me – come for –„
He stops in the middle of the sentence as pleasure consumes him. Your hips keep moving against his, his hand guiding you over him as the both of you come, his cum painting the inside of his shorts and spilling out and coating your inner thighs. His gazes fixates on yours as you moan into his hand, not caring about anything except for the pleasure his cock brings you.
„Fuck fuck fuck“, he cusses, his dick twitching between your folds as he empties himself out into his clothes for half a minute, eyebrows furrowed and sweat rolling down his forehead. His hips stutter against yours as he comes and you desperately wish that it was your insides he was coating with his spent.
The thought alone of him filling you up, his dick shoved inside of you and hitting all the right spots has you twitching in his hold, pussy clenching around nothing but his tip thats still wedged between your folds as you come for him – and him alone. His hand slides from your mouth to your chin, making you look at him.
„My girl, my girl and mine only“, he breathes as you calm down, your breathing uneven against his face. You lower your hand as well, running through his hair and gently grasping the soft curls in the nape of his neck. He leans his head against your forehead. „Are you okay? Did – did I hurt you?“, he asks softly and gazes at the mark he left on your neck.
You try to get your breathing under control. „I –", you start, but decide to just shake your head. You don’t know what to say to him, to the man who made you come from dry humping, to the man you love.
He gently places his hands on your face, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. He smiles shyly, like he didn’t just gave you the best orgasm in your life so far – and without even really touching you. „You would tell me if I did something wrong, no? If I – I don’t know –„
You nuzzle your face against his hand and kiss his palm. „I’m absolutely perfect, Charles“, you smile and lick your lips.
He nods slowly. „Good“, he whispers and lowers his hands to rest them on your thighs, feeling his sticky cum on your soft skin. „Oh god, I’m so sorry“, he says, blood rushing into his cheeks. „I didn’t – I didn’t know it was this much.“ He looks down to his crotch, both of your shorts a few shades darker than original, coated in both your arousal and spent. As your eyes follow his, you can see his cum staining your thighs.
You have to bite back a moan and your lips to stop you from pleading him to gather it on his fingers, only to push it right where it belongs.
„I – we should get cleaned up“, he finally says and his hands slide back under your ass, holding on to you as he carefully stands up from the bed, your legs still around his waist and trying hard to not let any of your cum touch the bedsheets. When he’s sure that you’re both alright, he kisses your cheek before settling you down onto your feet. „I got you“, he smiles as your knees wobble slightly, his arm around your hips, holding you up.
„Sorry“, you say as heat rises into your face. You feel your shorts stick to your thighs as you step from one foot to the other.
Charles kisses your forehead before letting go. He walks over to his bag and pulls out a pair of shorts that he gives you. „I always have spare ones with me“, he explains, nervously scratching his neck as you take the clothes from him. „You don’t have to wear them – I just – because your shorts are – you know…“
„Thank you“, you say softly. „Is it okay if I shower first?“
„Yes, of course“, your roommate smiles, not being able to hide the way his eyes dart down to your thighs and his cum on your skin. You see him swallow. „There’s a fresh towel on the rack that you can use.“
You nod. „Thank you.“ Without looking back you leave him standing there and enter the en-suite bathroom, closing the door behind you. With a wide smile on your face you step out of your clothes and under the warm water of the shower, the cum stained shorts lying in the sink right in your vision.
You don’t know what happened, what has brought you to the point where his touch ignites a fire in you that makes you fall apart on him without actually having sex. And you don’t know what happened between the both of you between not sharing a bed and having his cum on your thighs.
His words echo in your head, that he craves you, that you’re the first person he thinks of in the morning. That you’re his best friend – but so much more.
He wants you – God, he wants you. A fact that you can’t ignore, don’t want to ignore. The man you love wants you more than you expected, wants you on him, wants to be buried inside you. This is definitely not just best friends talking – or moaning – that’s defnitely more than you dared to hope for when you came on his thigh two nights ago and then fled the bed because you thought that friendship was the only thing he wanted from you.
You lather some shower gel in your hands before you rub your palms along your thighs, cleaning your skin off his sticky cum.
Whatever he wants from you – you’d give it to him, no questions asked. You’re addicted to him, his touch, the feeling of his skin on yours, that no matter what your head says about protecting your heart – you can’t help but push those thoughts aside.
But you don’t care. He wants you as more than just as his best friend, whatever this means. You’re willing to give him everything, to give yourself to him, but that’s okay. You’re in for the ride, wherever it may take you.
You dry yourself off with a fresh towel before slipping into Charles‘ spare shorts and your shirt, the dirty shorts still lying in the sink. You pick them up and hold them under the cold water from the tap, trying to clean them with soap and draping them on the rack to let them dry during the night. As you step out of the bathroom, Charles is still standing in the middle of the room. „Are you okay?“
His eyes drift over to you, shortly gazing to his shorts covering your thighs before looking back into your eyes. „Uhm – yeah. I just didn’t want to sit down with – you know“, he blushes and gestures to his shorts, white spots painting the cloth. „I’ll just hop into the shower and get right back to you“, he smiles before walking over to you, kissing your cheek again before slipping into the bathroom. „Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be there in five minutes“, he says before closing the door behind him.
With a bright smile you slip under the covers, patiently waiting for his return. You press your face into his pillow, smelling him on the sheets. You inhale deeply.
It’s insane how much can happen in such a short time. Losing your job, getting a roomate, making new friends, moving into a new apartment and celebrating Christmas with your roomates family – and falling in love.
You’ve read book about it, watched tv shows – hell, you thought you experienced it with Raphael – but nothing could’ve prepared you for the real thing. The way your heart stutters in your chest when he touches you. How words get stuck in your throat when he look at you in a certain way. How your brain goes fuzzy as he calls you his „good girl“.
His good girl. Not a good girl. His.
You can’t help it but kick your feet under the covers as you hear his voice in your head, his words replaying in your mind.
His good girl. His perfect girl. His girl – and his girl only.
As Charles walks out of the bathroom, fresh boxer briefs on his body and hair still wet from the shower, you smile at him. How is possible for a man to be this handsome?
„Is it okay if I sleep without a shirt?“, he asks as he approaches the bed, cheeks flushed pink.
„Of course“, you say and watch him as he slips under the covers. Without hesitation his hands reach out and grab your hips, pulling you flush against him, hooking your leg around his waist to have you as close as possible.
He reaches behind him to turn off the little lamp, the room now only being luminated by moonshine. You’re still able to see him, his pretty face, his pillowy lips that you miss on your neck. His hand finds his place in your hair, gently running through the strands. „I missed you – so much“, he whispers into the night.
You lift your hand and let your fingers run over his bare collarbone, spreading goosebumps on his soft skin. „I missed you, too“, you confess.
Charles swallows. „I thought I lost you. That you – you didn’t want me as your friend anymore“, he breathes, his fingers gently scratching your scalp. He looks at you hopefully. „I guess I was wrong.“
You melt into his embrace, nodding slightly. „I told you already – I’m not going anywhere“, you repeat your words from the boat, his hand sliding to your neck, pulling your face closer to him.
„Thank god“, he whispers, his warm breath caressing your skin. „I mean what I said, you know? That you’re perfect. My perfect girl.“ He leans in, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. „My best friend, my girl. My everything.“
You close your eyes, relishing the feeling of having him so close. You curl your leg even more around his hips, needing him as close as possible. You softly moan as his hand slides from your neck to your waist, but only to lift the shirt to glide under the seam. His warm fingers dance across your bare skin, down your back and up your sides. You feel him spread them on your ribs, his thumb grazing the swell of your breast.
God, you love him.
You feel his cock stir in his briefs, already growing with arousal against your waiting core. „Sorry“, he smiles. „It always happens when I’m with you“, he confesses shyly. „But we have all the time in the world. We don’t need to rush anything.“
You can’t tell him that you long for him, crave him in ways that would put all those fanfiction writers Charlotte talked about to shame. Desperately. Feverishly. All-consumingly.
„Thank you“, you whisper back and let him pull you half on top of him as he lays down on his back. Your leg draped over his waist, your face in his neck. You kiss his neck once without a second thought and hear him moan beneath you, his dick growing again against your leg. „Sorry.“
„It’s okay“, he replies and pulls you even closer to him. „Maybe I’ll get used to this, to the affect you have on me.“
You giggle. „And what if you don’t?“
He kisses your forehead, thinking about his answer before finally responding. „Then you have a few holes I can fill to keep me occupied“, he grins against your head.
Heat rushed to your cheeks as you slap his bare chest slightly. „You’re the absolute worst“, you mumble against his neck.
He grabs your hand and lifts it up to his mouth, gently kissing your knuckles. „And I’m yours“, he promises. „You have me, mon amour. In this world. And all the other small worlds.“
FINALLY YES
deal - cl16 (39/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: Addicted is the only word to describe Charles.
Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex, male masturbation, cunniligus, breeding kink and choking (if you squint)), angst and fluff
Word Count: 3.8k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: tbh, I'd be on my knees for this Charles in a heartbeat. feedback is appreciated!
Your fingertips on Charles' naked thigh make his brain short-circuit.
Your unexpected, gentle touch shoots like lightning through his skin like lightning and then through his veins until the heat spreads throughout his body and his muscles are on fire. His heart is beating so hard that he fears it will break his bones and jump out of his chest. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears, goosebumps are spreading across his skin – but when he looks at you, he can no longer think clearly.
He never would have expected you to be so close again. He could never have dreamt of it.
After the night before yesterday, he no longer believed that he would be able to feel your touch again.
The memory of you fleeing from the bed is as deeply ingrained in his thoughts as your touch and your expression when you came on his thigh.
He had to hold back the whole evening the day before. To be honest, he had struggled with himself and forced himself to behave normally, even though all he could think about was you sitting on his lap and him rubbing you over his bulge until his damn phone rang. And even though he jerked off in the shower after his workout, it definitely wasn't enough to satisfy his craving for you. His hand is not you – and by God, he's addicted to your touch.
When you touched his hand in the car on the way to dinner with his family and played with his fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, it had taken him an incredible amount of strength and willpower to keep the car in the lane and not to pull over to the nearest lay-by or parking lot and rearrange your guts.
He is extremely embarrassed by how much like a horny teenager he acts as soon as you are around.
Since you first shared a bed and you unconsciously pressed against him in your sleep, he can no longer get the feeling of your body against his out of his head. The way you snuggled up against him, how your curves perfectly matched his. And you still had your pajamas on then.
He feels very ashamed of how good you felt when you lay in his arms and cried. How soft your skin was on his, how warm you were – how perfect. He would have liked to give himself a slap or two because your dilemma had been so profitable for him personally. That he could hold you and protect you. That he could feel you.
And your touch hasn't stopped since. Your fingertips on his bare shoulder, your palm on his stubbled cheek when he told you he was jealous of Lando and your friendship, even though that was never entirely true, of course. Your legs between his, your hand on his chest and your lips on his neck as you poured your hearts out at dawn and purple skies.
But even though he is addicted to your closeness and the feeling you evoke in him like a drug addict, it's not as if he actively or consciously sought your touch. Like two magnets, you hadn't been able to separate after the night, whether it was at breakfast or when you were in his embrace when he told you how good your touch felt and that you shouldn't stop.
And as if his prayers had been answered – you definitely hadn't stopped. You had intertwined your fingers, felt his heartbeat under your hand. And for a moment he had enjoyed it and let himself be carried away.
His hands on your hips, his palms on your cheeks and his nose on yours. None of his touches had been conscious, but the result of his desire, which he suppressed so as not to jeopardize your friendship. How can a simple touch make his cock so painfully hard that he has to arrange his erection in his pants so that it is not visible to everyone?
He can't even imagine what would have happened if Pierre and Kika hadn't entered your apartment without getting a raging boner.
It would definitely be smarter if he at least made a reasonable effort to stay away from you a little and not look for your touch every second. But even when you were sitting in the car with Kika and Pierre, he had longed for you. And it had taken about three turns in Pierre's SUV before he had reached out for you and wrapped his long fingers around a calf. Thank heavens you even held out your leg so that he could grab it better.
From that moment on, he became more shameless around you, even though he cringed inwardly every time. For example, when you were standing in front of the bed in the furniture store and he whispered to you that you should lie down on the bed so that he could see what you looked like in it before he bought it. And that he insists that you continue to share the bed. Of course, only under the pretext that you can sleep better if you fall asleep snuggled up together.
He didn't hesitate for a moment to lift you off the couch and onto Jori's terrace, only to lie down on it himself so that he could then pull you onto him with your full weight. He had seen the insecurity in your face, the way you shifted from one foot to the other, but he had also seen a sparkle in your eyes – desire perhaps? – and nothing in this world could have stopped him from feeling your weight on him.
You felt perfect on top of him when he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him so hard that there was a chance you might leave an imprint of your head on his chest if you ever got up again. His lips found their place on the crown of your head and his hand found your bare skin under your shirt as you snuggled up to him and giggled that he was very comfortable despite his muscles.
What went through his mind when he offered you that he could lie on top of you, he doesn't know himself. But something about being able to burn all the things that have caused him so much pain in the last few weeks had made him brave and maybe a little crazy. His hand in your hair, the other under your sweater on your spine. His lips on your nose and forehead.
Then let's stay here. On this couch. It's not as comfortable as our bed, but at least I'll have you lying on top of me.
Charles fears he is losing his mind.
He lost his mind when he asked you if you would snuggle with him and his heart skipped a beat when you assured him that friends can snuggle too. When he put your leg over his hip. When you pressed your face against his neck and inhaled his scent. He had to move your leg down onto his legs, otherwise you would have felt his hard-on. And all because you touched his neck.
He didn't even know how sensitive his muscular neck was until you brushed your lips over the soft skin there. And as if there was a switch in his body, blood shoots to his cock every time you come anywhere near his neck. As if his body were programmed to react to your gentle touch. Just as his heart reacts to your closeness.
He couldn't wait to introduce you to his family. The fact that his maman had already taken you into her heart had only encouraged him more to keep you close to him – in whatever way. Be it as a friend, as it was unspokenly agreed, or as more – as his family now saw you.
Another crucial point that made him more bold. Because if you didn't want to address the matter and clarify it, then surely you have no problem with him leaning far out of the window and demanding your closeness?
Are you a good girl, mon amour?
He is so happy that you get along so well with his family and that they have apparently adopted you outright. The way they have taken you into their midst – even if it meant that he had to sit on that damn stool all evening. But every time he looked at your beaming face, it was worth the back pain.
He would do anything to see you happy. And he definitely wasn't lying when he told his mom that you're “the absolute best thing that could have happened to him.”
He has never felt so good or so loved by anyone else, even if you only consider him your best friend. This is a fact that he tries to ignore, but it is repeatedly brought to his attention whether he likes it or not.
Every time he looks at you, he hears Joris voice in his head, whispering best friend to him, along with the question of whether he loves you, which he has left unanswered. He can't answer the question, he doesn't want to answer the question, because if he were to answer it in the affirmative, then – then –
Your hands on his naked back, your ass on the back of his thighs, your palms on his chest.
If you only see him as your best friend, how come you looked so indescribably divine when you came on his leg? Why do you assure him that nothing changes when he touches you intimately, when his whole world is shaken by the way you cling to him and moan when he runs his tongue along your neck?
He would have liked to throw you on your back and rip your shirt open to get to your naked skin faster. He would have sucked, licked, bitten, if you had let him. He would have pushed his face between your thighs and tasted you on his tongue until you came for him several times, burying your hands in his dark hair and moaning his name.
But you weren't ready yet. And he definitely wasn't going to risk everything.
Look at me, mon amour. Look at me when you come for me.
Even if he suffered a severe concussion in the next race, he would never be able to forget the look on your face. What his hand looked like on your throat. How your ass felt in his hand.
How you left the bed because you felt uncomfortable because of him.
He doesn't know where it all went wrong. One moment you were moaning his name, his fingertips had felt the curve of your boobs and you had snuggled up to him – and then you were gone, unreachable and distant. He didn't buy the excuse that you weren't tired for a second. But why would you leave him?
Had he crossed a line? Did you feel pushed when he rocked you back and forth on his thigh to make you feel pleasure? What happened in the few minutes you were lying in bed cuddling that you found his closeness so unbearable that you had to flee the bed?
Was he too forward? Too – too non-platonic, that he frightened you with his behavior? Did you feel so uncomfortable about his touch, his comments, that you saw no other way out than to create an insurmountable physical distance that unconsciously shattered his heart?
He had sworn to himself that he would do everything to maintain this friendship. And if that meant giving you this space, not touching you anymore, not calling you mon amour, then he would do so without hesitation, even if it hurt him more than he would ever admit.
Calling you mon ami felt strange and forced. Your cheek burned on his palm as he touched you one last time. A selfish move he couldn't suppress, that he had to claim for himself before moving away from you so that you wouldn't give up on this friendship.
The night on the couch had been hell – and not just because the cushion was uncomfortable. Charles had barely been able to get any sleep because his thoughts revolved only around you, the look in your eyes and the tears that had rolled down your cheeks.
He would keep his distance, as little as possible and as much as necessary, so that you would continue to tolerate him around you. He would do anything to save this friendship, even if it meant swallowing his feelings.
He didn't know what was happening to him when you brought him breakfast the next morning. Apparently, the night on the couch had been the right direction, the first right step to keep you around, which is why he invited you to his boat as a makeshift solution – under the pretext of having to take photos for his Instagram profile – but had forwarded the tickets he had booked for the two of you to Pierre so that they would at least not expire.
There would be time to visit Paris during Christmas. Hopefully.
The day on the boat went much better than he had imagined. Although he held back and didn't touch you under any circumstances, you had been as close emotionally as friends could be, which was certainly due in part to the alcohol. Or maybe it was his honesty when he called to you over the roar of the ocean that he was afraid that things between you would never be the same again. That he would lose you.
And you looked so beautiful lying next to him on the sun bed. So carefree, as if nothing had ever happened between you. As if you had never been anything but friends. And when you assured him that you would like to work with him, he would have liked to kiss you until there was no air left in his lungs.
You would work with him. Spend time with him – voluntarily. You would travel the world with him, see the most beautiful places and get to know different cultures – with him. And maybe, just maybe, you would fall in love with him at some point during your journey together, give yourself to him, just like you did once before.
An imagination he clung to as he touched himself in the shower a short time later. How your lips would feel on his. Your mouth on his cock, your tongue on the soft underside of his dick.
He imagined you lying on the bed in front of him – his new bed – face down, ass up, while he slowly and deeply pushed into you, knocking you over the edge. How your skin would feel, naked and warm as he filled you up with his load, how it would run sticky and hot down your thighs, only for him to catch it with the tip of his tongue and lap it up and stuff it back inside you until you were crying with pleasure and overstimulation.
He sincerely hopes that the walls of the boat were thick enough.
What he had hoped for, but couldn't have imagined, was the moment when you smiled at him the next morning. After he had confessed to you, without thinking about what boundaries he would cross or what ocean he would cross, that he couldn't be without you anymore – and you had replied that you couldn't live without him either.
Another step in the right direction.
Another step when his mother told you that she had prepared your bed – singular – for you – and you didn't instinctively refuse to share the room with him. You could have gone home, you could have asked Charles to sleep on the couch or to get another room.
But even when he looked at you and promised you that he would do everything in his power to fix this friendship and to keep you from turning away from him completely, you didn't push him away. He had laid his heart open to you as much as he could without having to answer in the affirmative to that lingering question.
You are the first thing he thinks about in the morning. You are the person he looks forward to seeing most when he comes home.
And even when he revealed to you that he couldn't stop thinking about how you feel, you didn't back down. When he confessed to you that you may be his best friend, but you're also so much more and that he craves you.
You didn't leave.
Quite the opposite.
The thought that he carried around with him for a whole day, that you feel uncomfortable around him, that the distance between you is the right thing, is swept away with just one touch. Erased. Non-existent.
He wants to kiss you, feel your skin against his, claim you for himself. But all he can do is stare at your hand lying on his. He doesn't even feel the tears of joy rolling down his cheeks. All he feels is your hand on his.
He can't answer the question Joris asked him with words, without risking losing his heart to you forever, but the Monegasque can squeeze your hand. Twice.
Your fingertips on Charles' thigh make his brain short-circuit, as your hand squeezes his.
Twice.
oh my god they make me crazy
deal - cl16 (38/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: Merry Christmas - *narrator voice* and there was only one bed.
Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex
Word Count: 3.2k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: HE WON IN MONACO - HE WINS IN MONZA. CHARLES LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX!!!
You purse your lips. “Bed - singular. Indeed.”
Charles and you stand in the doorway of his room. On the left wall next to a chest of drawers is a door that leads into a small bathroom, while on the right wall is a double bed, freshly made up. Several pillows are neatly arranged at the headboard, the bedside tables have been dusted and the room generally looks very tidy and well-kept. At the foot of the bed are your bags, which Pascale has just put there. Your bags - because you have to share the bed tonight.
“Yep,” replies Charles, who is standing behind you.
You nod slightly before entering the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “What makes your mom think we're sharing a bed?”
Your roommate shrugs. “Do you remember the first morning in our apartment? When mom surprised us and invited us over for dinner?” He raises one of his arms, puts his hand on the upper door frame and leans against it.
You nod. “I remember.”
“And do you also remember Maman saying that, as my new girlfriend, you get to choose what's for dinner?” When you look at him with wide eyes, he purses his lips into a thin line. "I'm afraid we never set the record straight. Not even when Arthur called you my girlfriend.”
He's right. There have been several opportunities to clear this up. Charles could have called his mother or spoken to her at dinner. And you could have cleared things up too - but neither of you actually did.
You push the thought that you didn't clear it up because you inwardly wish that you were actually Charles' girlfriend to the back of your mind.
“Shouldn't we tell her?” you ask hesitantly. “After all, we're lying to your family.”
Charles shrugs his shoulders. “We certainly should,” he replies, but he doesn't sound convincing. “But not today. Not at Christmas. Maman loves you so much that I don't want to do this to her at Christmas. If that's all right with you.”
Pretending you two are a happy couple is certainly the last thing you should do - after all, being affectionate in such close quarters isn't particularly conducive to keeping your feelings in check. But you have no choice - after all, you don't want to spoil Pascale's Christmas.
“I'll sleep on the floor,” Charles snaps you out of your thoughts and points to the space between the foot of the bed and the dresser facing the bed. “I'll just take a few pillows off the bed and one of the thick blankets from the wardrobe and that should be enough for one night.”
You shake your head. “Absolutely not. You're going to training camp soon and you certainly can't go there with back pain,” you remind him, planning his days ahead. “I think Andrea would kill you if you didn't show up in top shape.”
The Monegasque sighs. “And how are we supposed to handle this?”
The look on his face is the same as when you were standing opposite each other in the living room. When he said that he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable around him. When he suggested you go back to being friends.
You miss him so much that it hurts. You'd love to get up and wrap your arms around him and never let go, but that's where the problem lies. His “mon ami” draws a clear line between what you want and what he wants. And you have to accept that, even if it breaks your heart.
But that doesn't mean he has to pull his back out just because he thinks his closeness makes you uncomfortable.
“We could share the bed,” you suggest as nonchalantly as possible. When he gives you a puzzled look, you shrug. “It's only for one night. And the bed is big enough for both of us. Then nobody has to sleep on the floor and Andrea won't kill you because you're going to camp with back pain.”
Charles raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?” He takes his hand off the doorframe and walks towards you to sit on the edge of the bed next to you. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I really don't mind sleeping on the floor.”
You smile at him. “It's okay,” you reply, "we're adults. We can share a bed quite reasonably. And it's only for one night. We should be able to manage that.” You look down at your hands in your lap before looking your roommate in the eye again. “I would have rather expected that we'd still have to sleep in separate rooms, even though your mom thinks we're a couple.”
Charles leans backwards, propping himself up on the bed with his elbows. “Why is that?”
“Well - some moms don't like their sons' girlfriends because they're afraid they'll take them away from them. Their little boy.” You can't suppress a grin. “And I don't think many would want their little boy to share a bed with their girlfriend either - even if they're all grown up.”
“That would imply that my maman can't stand you,” he replies and tilts his head back. As he swallows, his Adam's apple bounces up and down. “Besides, even if we were really together, I wouldn't have sex with you in my maman's house. I have that much decency - for now,” he grins and looks at you again. “And she knows that too. That's why she allows us to share a bed.”
As he talks about sex with you, heat shoots up your face and your hands get sweaty. Hopefully he doesn't notice you wiping them on your dress. “I like your mom,” you deflect from the topic.
“She likes you too,” he replies and sits up straight again. “Then let's not keep her and the others waiting any longer. After all, Christmas is a family holiday." He slowly gets up from the bed and turns to face you as he stands in the doorway. “Let's go, mon ami. Otherwise we'll get into trouble because she'll think we're getting it on like two teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other."
Thank God he leaves the room so that you can wave your hand in your face. His words make your pulse quicken so that you can almost hear your heart beating in your ears. Images appear in your head of his hands gliding over your body and his lips kissing your neck.
Before your thoughts take over, you jump up from the bed and smooth down your dress to follow your roommate back downstairs, where the rest of the family is already waiting for you. You enter the living room, where the youngest Leclerc puts his arm around your shoulder.
“Listen, when we play Monopoly later, the others will insist that you take the bank,” Arthur whispers in your ear. “If you'd be kind enough to slip me more money than I'm entitled from time to time, then -”
“Arthur! Are you trying to bribe my girl?” Charles calls over to you from the kitchen. The 'my girl' makes your knees go weak.
“I would never do that,” Arthur tries to defend himself and pulls you a little closer to him. “I'm just talking about how nice it is that your girlfriend is spending Christmas with us.”
“You're a bad liar,” Charles grins, leaning against the worktop. “Besides - do you really think she should help you cheat if I'm playing as well?”
“No one cheats at Monopoly here, otherwise I'll throw the game away and we'll never play it again,” Pascale interjects. “I don't want my sons to get nasty again just because they can't behave in a board game.” She joins her middle child in the kitchen to take two bottles of wine from the fridge and put them in his hand.
“Hey!” Arthur lets his arm slide off your shoulder to embrace his mom. He rests his cheek against the top of her head. “You're acting like we're cavemen.”
Pascale rolls her eyes. “Then don't act like one just because you can't keep it together in a board game. Now set the table, dinner will be ready soon.”
Together, you place plates and cutlery on the dining table as Enzo and Charlotte join you. The young woman hugs you tightly, while the eldest of the Leclerc brothers waves hello.
“It's nice to see you again,” she smiles and hugs you tightly. “You'll be the bank later - and my partner in crime, yes?” she whispers, before letting you go again.
Charles laughs out loud. “I heard that, Charlotte,” he warns her with a grin and stands next to you. “I think it's funny that you all think she'd associate with you when she's my girl.”
Charlotte winks at you. “It was worth a try.”
As you all sit together at the table and eat, you look around the room. There are Christmas decorations everywhere that weren't there a few days ago. There's even a Christmas tree in the living room, but there are no presents underneath it. When Pascale notices your gaze, she smiles at you and puts her hand on yours.
“We don't give each other presents at Christmas anymore,” she says, looking around. “Since -” Charles clears his throat as she swallows hard.
“After my father died, we decided that there would be no more presents at Christmas because family is the greatest gift you can get,” he explains, pursing his lips. “Dad always gave the best presents and when he was gone, it was different for us.”
You smile at him before squeezing Pascale's hand. “Thank you for letting me be here. It really means a lot to me.”
“You're always welcome here,” she replies. “I'm glad Charles met you. You can almost see how good you are for him and how much he loves you.”
“Maman.” Charles rolls his eyes and a blush shoots into his cheeks. “This is totally embarrassing.”
“I'm just telling it like it is,” she smiles, leaning over to whisper something in your ear while the others continue to talk. “But don't you dare help him with Monopoly later. After all, I invited you here and cooked the meal. I guess I deserve a few extra bucks,” she winks, before turning her attention back to the others' conversation.
You look at Charles, who smiles at you expectantly. “Everything all right?” he asks you. His hand, which is resting on his leg, twitches as if he wants to reach for yours.
You look around for a moment, watching the family members interacting lovingly and celebrating Christmas together, before turning back to him. “It couldn't be better.”
-
“You're taking the piss,” Arthur complains, jumping up from his chair with such a jerk that it tips backwards. “You'll never have enough money to buy the fourth station from Charlotte!”
You raise an eyebrow and hand Charlotte the banknotes as she slides the playing card over to you. "Do you really think I'd cheat on you guys? This is my first time playing with you!”
Pascale shakes her head. “Think about it, Arthur. She's simply done well. Look at how many streets - “ she starts to defend you, but falls silent before looking at you with her head tilted back. “Where did you get the money to afford so many streets?”
“Maman!” Charles interjects. “You can't just accuse my girlfriend of stealing money from the bank just because you're losing. That's not nice. Especially not at Christmas.”
Enzo rolls his eyes. “You're only saying that because she's your girlfriend. Love has made you blind, little brother.”
Charles smiles lovingly at you. “I guess it has. But that's okay. I don't mind losing to you.”
You return his smile sweetly. “That's good,” you reply and take a look at the pitch. “Because I've won.”
The Leclercs stare at the table, puzzled and amazed, as if you've shown them a magic trick. But really - there's no way they could beat you now.
Charlotte laughs. “I didn't even know you could actually win Monopoly. I thought it was a myth.”
Enzo takes a sip of his wine and nods at her. “You usually stop the game after three hours because you either don't feel like playing anymore or someone knocks over the board.”
“And it's usually you,” laughs Pascale and gets up from the table. “Very well. I declare the evening over for me. I'll see you in the morning,” she smiles at you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I'm very glad you're here.”
“Me too,” you smile at her and look after her as she leaves the room.
The five of you tidy up the room and put everything neatly away in the cupboards before you say goodbye to each other as well. In the bathroom of your room, Charles and you get ready for bed and change into your sleeping clothes before standing in front of the bed that you have to share.
“Is it really okay for you if I sleep in the bed too?” Charles asks uncertainly as you sit down on the bed and slip under the covers.
“I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't,” you smile, patting his side of the bed. “We're both adults. And as long as it's okay for you, it's okay for me.”
Charles nods and scratches the back of his neck. “I really wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor.”
“I do.”
He can't say anything in reply. He slowly walks around the bed and slips under the covers as well. He turns off the light and lies down on his back.
The silence between you is strange and the physical distance doesn't make it any better. You can feel Charles' body heat through your shirt and shorts and it almost feels like the last few days haven't happened. You'd love to snuggle up to him and fall asleep by his side.
“Be honest,” Charles breaks the silence. “Did you steal money from the bank in Monopoly?”
You giggle briefly. “I did.”
Your roommate's laughter booms through the room. “I knew it! Oh my God!” You feel him turn to his side. “Welcome to the family. You're a real Leclerc now!” he laughs, barely able to contain himself.
“Psht!” you hiss at him. “Stop laughing! Otherwise you'll give me away and I'll lose my honorable Monopoly victory!”
“Honorable?” he asks and continues to snort. “You cheated!”
“And your family asked me to take money out of the bank for them so they could win,” you grin. “They're the worst family when it comes to Monopoly!”
Charles slowly gets himself under control again. “But otherwise we're a nice family, aren't we? Otherwise you wouldn't have spent Christmas with us.”
You nod, even though he can't see you. “I love your family.”
“And they love you. Especially Maman.”
You turn on your side too, in his direction. Apparently you're closer together than you expected, because you can feel his breath on your face.
“Is everything okay?” Charles asks quietly. “I mean - I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I - I can still sleep on the floor if you want.”
“Charles,” you exhale, but before you can say anything, he continues speaking.
“I meant what I said to you on the boat. I can't be without you anymore and I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't turn your back on me. Nothing in this world is as important to me as you.” He takes a deep breath and exhales. “I can't describe it. You're my best friend - but so much more.”
As he moves, you feel the blanket slip over your body. You want to reach for his hand, to reassure him that you will never turn your back on him, but the words stick in your throat. Not because they're not true, but because they don't cover the whole truth that's inside you.
You love him. With every fiber of your being.
“You're the person I think of first thing in the morning. The person I look forward to the most when I get home. When you're with me, it's - I don't know - like we're permanently out on the open sea and the sun is shining down on us,” he confesses, without even thinking about what that might do to you.
“And I can't stop thinking about how you felt. How warm your skin is, how soft you feel under my hands. How the heat spreads through me when you touch me. It's like touching the sun and burning myself - but I can't stop thinking about how good it feels. You're my best friend,” he breathes out. “But fuck - if I said I didn't actually crave you, that would be an outright lie.”
You can feel the arousal gathering in your shorts, goosebumps spreading across your skin and heat rising in your face. When Charles suddenly moves and turns on the little light on the bedside table, you look at him.
“I can't share the bed with you if - if you -” he stammers, before taking a deep breath to sort out his thoughts. The comforter that was covering you a moment ago has slipped so far down due to his movements that it's below his hips - revealing his shorts and the bulge underneath.
“Charles,” you breathe, but you don't know how to answer him without telling him directly that you love him. You have to pull yourself together.
“I can't just lie next to you because it's tearing me up inside that I can't touch you, because I make you feel so uncomfortable that you don't want to share a bed with me in our apartment anymore.” His voice trembles, as does his hand, which is resting on his thigh.
You don't know what makes you do it, but apparently your brain goes blank and throws all doubts overboard as you lean over to him. His eyes are glued to you as you carefully place your hand on his and your fingertips touch the soft skin of his thigh. A lightning bolt twitches through your veins at the touch - nothing has ever felt as good as he does at this moment. “I never said I was uncomfortable, Charles.” You shake your head slightly. “Quite the opposite.”
Charles looks into your eyes, trying to see anything in them, hesitation or uncertainty, but the only thing he sees is warmth and a longing he knows all too well.
He squeezes your hand twice, and when you return his squeeze and squeeze his hand twice too - he snaps.
JUST WHAT I NEEDED AFTER TODAY
heard ppl were shipping us.. shipping us? to where?
deal - cl16 (37/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: The night on the boat comes to an end.
Warnings: 18+ (female masturbation (vaginal fingering), light voyerism (auralism), mentions of: sex, oral, choking, cream pie, free use (if you squint you'll miss it)), fluff
Word Count: 4k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: happy Lando win everyone!!! feedback is appreciated! love ya.
“I think it's fantastic that you want to work with me,” Charles mumbles into the mirror as you brush your teeth in the tiny bathroom of the boat.
It's now one o'clock in the morning, the cocktail glasses and shot glasses have been rinsed and are halfway tidily stowed away - the alcohol has put a spanner in the works when Charles accidentally dropped a glass.
“I thought so,” you reply with a grin. “Otherwise you wouldn't have given me the contract for Christmas.” You spit the toothpaste foam into the sink and wash your mouth out with water. “But I'm also glad that you want to work with me. It really means a lot to me.”
Charles smiles at you. “Of course I want to work with you,” he replies and rinses his mouth out too. “Did you really think I'd bring someone else onto my team when my best friend is perfect for the job?”
You look at him incredulously. “You didn't know if I was perfect for the job.”
Charles' cheeks flush a little. “Okay, you got me,” he admits. “I only knew the pictures you took for the magazine. And the pictures from Kika. But my gut told me it was the right decision.” He smiles lovingly at you. “Just like it was the right decision to share our first apartment.”
Warmth shoots into your face. Touched by his words, you look down. “I agree.”
When you look at him again, he smiles fondly. “Best deal I've ever made.” He puts his toothbrush in his pocket and doesn't even realize how much his words touch you. “Are you looking forward to spending so much time with me?”
“Of course,” you reply, ”after all, thanks to you, I can travel the world and earn money at the same time.”
Charles rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. “Isn't my company enough for you? Isn't that enough of a reward?” he teases you and leans against the doorframe while you brush your hair.
“That, my dear, is an incredibly nice perk.”
“Of course,” Charles grins and follows you back into the bedroom.
You stop in front of the large bed before turning to your roommate. “Who's sleeping where?”
“You can have the big bed. I usually use it when I go out on the boat in the summer, but you're welcome to take it. I'll just take one of the small ones,” he offers.
You shake your head vehemently, only to regret it for a moment - the alcohol has affected you a little more than you thought. “But it's your boat and your bed. You should have it.” You purse your lips. “Besides, you've had a lot more to drink than I have. You'll definitely need the whole place to sober up.” You can barely suppress the grin on your face.
“It was maybe two or three shots more. And only because you just poured them without me being able to resist,” he defends himself. “A small bed is enough for me. Take the big one, please.”
You remember the two of you standing in front of the bed in your first apartment after spending the evening at Kika's. How you agreed to share the bed so that he wouldn't get a sore back. And you're only too happy to offer to share the bed in front of you again - but with the ulterior motive that there are still several beds actually free and you want to maintain a healthy distance between you, you can't suggest sharing the bed without it seeming strange.
“All right,” you finally concede and smile at him. “Thanks.” You rummage through your bag looking for your sleeping clothes until you realize you've left them at home. “Shit.”
“What is it?” your friend asks, pulling a shirt out of his backpack.
You rub your forehead with your hand. “I forgot my sleeping clothes.”
Charles laughs. “I told you there was a chance we could spend the night here.” He shakes his head with a smile and tosses you the shirt in his hand. “Here. I've got a second one with me.”
Without having to move much, you catch the shirt. The fabric is soft and warm in your hand. “Are you sure? I don't want you to -”
“Don't worry,” he interrupts you before pulling something else out of his pocket and throwing it in your direction. They are short sports shorts. “I don't have any more shorts with me, but I can sleep in a shirt and boxer shorts if you don't mind.”
You're glad that the lights inside the boat are dimmed - at least he can't see you swallowing hard to get rid of the frog in your throat. “All good,” you smile tightly and put your shirt and shorts on the bed behind you, ”thanks.”
“Not an issue,” he returns your smile and his gaze falls briefly to his clothes on your bed before he looks you in the eye again. “I - um - I just need to take a shower. I hope you don't mind.”
“Go on.” You sit down on the edge of the bed. “I don't think I'm going to fall asleep within the next few minutes. Besides, there are still a few things upstairs. I can just go and get them. Then you'll have a little more privacy.”
“Okay,” he says. “See you in a bit.” He disappears around the corner, where he then enters the bathroom. When you hear the door close behind him and the water running, you get up from the bed to change. You take off your sweater, shirt and bra and quickly slip Charles' shirt on. As his scent envelops you, you lift the collar to your nose like a woman possessed and breathe in the scent.
You miss his closeness, the feel of his skin on yours. You long for his warmth, the pressure of his embrace. But you can't tell him that without making a fool of yourself, so you silently take in his scent and let the soft fabric fall back onto your body. It almost feels like one of his hugs - but only almost.
You quickly change into his shorts before folding your clothes neatly and placing them next to your bag on the couch. On bare feet, you walk up the stairs and towards the sun bed. You carefully put the bottles of schnapps and wine back in the basket and try to carry them as carefully as possible. As you walk down the stairs - almost staggering from the alcohol - you can't suppress the clinking. You put the basket down in the kitchen before going back upstairs to get the cushions.
As you step onto the last step with the cushions in your hands, you stand frozen.
“Oh fuck” - "just like that’"- ”you - fuck - your mouth feels so good”
Shocked, you stand still on the stairs as if you've been superglued there, your fingers digging into the cushions.
“You can take it” - "I know, mon amour, I know" - “You're so tight, mon amour”
From where you are, you can hear the water from the shower pattering on the floor. The click of a shower gel bottle being closed. And Charles' voice, panting, echoing through the rooms.
“So good for me” - "My good little girl" - ”All this just for me”
Heat rises to your face and the blood pulses in your ears as Charles - what? Touching himself in the shower? Doesn't he know you're down here? And is the bathroom door so thin that you can hear him?
You should go upstairs, give him his space and not listen to him pleasuring himself and moaning. But you can't move - you stand rooted to the spot on the last step of the stairs and can do nothing but stare towards the bathroom door. You hear him panting, cursing and the water splashing until your heart is pounding so hard you can almost hear it.
“Want to stay in your pussy forever,” Charles moans. Is he thinking of someone in particular? Or does he just have a piece of porn playing in his head?
“You take me so well,” you hear the Monegasque sigh - and it's as if your legs are moving on their own.
It feels wrong as you lie down in the big bed and slip under the covers. And it feels even more wrong as you spread your thighs. You hear a grunt from the bathroom and the sound shoots straight to your pussy.
Without hesitation, you let your finger glide through your folds and gather your arousal, while your free hand slides under your shirt to slightly pinch your nipple. You bite your lip to stop you from moaning.
„Fuck, mon amour – yes, just like that“, you hear Charles from inside the bathroom as you start to slowly circle your clit. You imagine him standing in the shower, his hand gently stroking his cock and eyes closed.
The touch of your finger is gentle, not too much but not enough as the motion makes you squirm. You can almost feel yourself dripping on the fabric of his shorts just from thinking about him.
You think about the dream you had of him, the way it felt so real. How he kissed your heated skin, the way his fingers slid inside you and you shamelessly moaned into his mouth.
Your finger slides lower, playing with your opening and as Charles groans in the bathroom about „how good you feel around him“ you slide your digit in. You bite into the pillow, drowning out the moans as you pump your finger in and out, while your other hand slides down to play with your puffy clit, your chest rising with every stroke of the pad of your finger against that spot inside you that just feels right.
You think about the way his thigh felt on your pussy, how he rocked you back and forth, his hand on your throat and his glossy eyes. Tears well in your eyes from the pleasure you’re giving yourself, your hands slick with your wetness and the shorts probably ruined. But you don’t care. All you can think about is Charles as you slide another finger inside.
Charles, who's standing a few feet away from you in the shower. Charles, who probably fists his cock, looking absolutely devine as the water runs down his chiseled body, helping him finish off faster. Charles, who you wish would get out of the fucking shower, so he could see the mess you’re making in his clothes, on his bed, on his boat.
Charles, who you wish would take you apart, splitting you on his dick as he tells you how pretty you look. How tight you are for him. How good you feel.
Charles, who you would let do anything to you. Whatever he wants, in any way he wants. You belong to him, body and soul.
„Come for me, mon amour, so I can fill you up“, he moans loudly and with one last pump of you fingers you come undone, not for you, but for him – even though he doesn’t know.
Your breathing is ragged as you try to come to your senses, your fingers still thrusting in and out of your drenched folds at a leisurely pace, prolonging your orgasm. You twitch from being on the edge of overstimulation, but you don’t care. Your mind is consumed by the moaning Charles in the bathroom.
When you hear the shower turn off, you quickly wipe your hands on your shirt and pull the blanket up to your chest. You grab your phone and scroll through a few videos on TikTok as Charles comes out of the bathroom in his shirt and boxer shorts. He rubs his hair dry with a towel and when he sees you lying in bed, he suddenly stops as if struck by lightning.
“You're already in bed,” he says in amazement and hangs the towel over the edge of the dresser.
“Yep.” You look from your cell phone to him and try to look as relaxed as possible - and not as if you've just come to his moans.
Charles nods curtly and swallows. “Have you - is the bed comfortable?” he asks, running a hand through his damp hair.
“Very comfortable,” you answer curtly and smile. You purse your lips. “We should sleep. After all - um - tomorrow we shouldn't show up at your mother's too late."
“Good idea,” he agrees with your suggestion. “Do you need anything else? Do you need something to drink? Are you thirsty?”
Not in the way you think, Charles.
“I've got everything,” you smile, ”thank you.”
“Then - uh - good night,” Charles says, scratching the back of his neck before walking over to his bed and turning out the light.
“Good night,” you reply, before turning onto your side and snuggling tighter into the covers. Your heartbeat is still pounding in your ears and you feel like your shirt is sticking to your sweaty body. You close your eyes and try to think about something other than Charles' moans, about what happened yesterday. How he felt under you. How good he felt.
You press your face into the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut to finally fall asleep, to not feel bad for listening to him making himself feel good. But all you can think about is Charles in the shower, his cock in his hand and the moans on his lips.
-
When you wake up in the morning, light is already streaming in through the large windows. The headache is thankfully limited as you sit up and take a look at your cell phone. The screen shows half past ten and you sleepily swing your legs over the edge of the bed.
On bare feet, you pad in the direction where Charles had slept, but his bed is already empty and not a single sound comes from the bathroom. Which is a good sign, no?
You slowly climb the stairs to the upper deck, where you finally catch sight of Charles. He's sitting on the sun bed with his back to you, two cups next to him on the wood and a thermos flask. He's still wearing the shirt from last night, but he's put on a pair of long jogging pants, because it is winter after all. As you join him and take your first step outside the sheltered interior, you feel the cold wind blowing around you. Long trousers would definitely not have been a bad idea.
“Good morning,” you greet him, rubbing your eyes as you plop down next to him on the sun bed.
“Good morning,” he replies, pouring coffee into one of the cups before handing it to you. He looks at you and points at the shirt. “What happened there?”
You look down at yourself, confused. There are dark stains on the shirt he lent you to sleep in. Stains from your orgasm - stains from your cum because you wiped your hands on the shirt. “Toothpaste,” you lie quickly, hoping he'll buy the lie.
“How do you feel?” he asks, without mentioning the ‘toothpaste stains’.
You gratefully take the cup from him before shrugging your shoulders. “Better than expected.” As you take a sip of the coffee, it fills you with warmth and makes you feel a little more awake. “And you?”
“Like I could drive the boat into the harbor without wrecking it,” he grins. “But definitely too bad to put up with Arthur for half the day.”
You smile into your cup. “If he gets too much for you, just let me know. Then I'll come and rescue you and distract him a bit,” you offer jokingly.
“If you do that,” he says, a broad grin spreading across his face, ”it would be the best Christmas present you could have given me.” He also takes a sip from his cup before looking out at the ocean in front of you. “I don't want to go back yet.”
Confused, you look at him. “Why not? Aren't you looking forward to Christmas with your family?”
“Yes, I am,” he replies without hesitation. “But - I don't know.” He purses his lips and exhales deeply. “I have the feeling that everything is different between us when we're in Monaco. That it's so forced, I mean. And I just don't want that.”
You look at him before also looking towards the sea. “Is that why you didn't want to go back yesterday? Because you just needed some more time?”
Charles nods slightly. "I just needed more time with you before the everyday life catches up with us. Before we get back to my family and pretend everything is fine.” His voice sounds sad.
You turn to him. “But everything is fine between us,” you reply.
He shakes his head. “Then why doesn't it feel that way? Why does it feel like there's a whole ocean between us when we're in Monaco, but when we're here, we're best friends?”
You can understand what he means. Since your mistake the day before yesterday, the distance between you when you're together in the apartment is so palpable that you could almost cut it with a knife. It's as if the apartment is cold and deserted, even though you've only just moved in. It doesn't feel like a home, but like a place where a friendship has been broken.
“I know what you mean,” you confirm. “I just don't know how we can change that. That we can feel like we're here at sea every day.”
The brunette takes another sip of his coffee. “I was thinking about maybe me moving back to the other apartment,” he confesses. When you look at him in astonishment, he shrugs. “Maybe we're just too close, you know? Maybe - I don't know - maybe physical distance would do us good. Distance that goes a bit further than from your bedroom to the couch.”
You can't find the words to tell him how stupid you think this idea is, which is why you just stare at him.
“But I can't,” he continues his thought. “I can't - I don't know -” He takes a deep breath before looking at you. “I don't know how I can be without you anymore. I have no idea what happened to make me so consumed by your presence. Another reason I wanted you to work for me. So that I never have to be apart from you. And that may sound selfish, and I'm certainly crossing every boundary we've established in the course of our friendship, but - ”
“I can't be without you either,” you interrupt him before you even know what you're saying. But it's the truth, however you want to interpret it.
Charles smiles at you as if a huge weight has fallen from his shoulders. “It feels like an invisible string that keeps drawing me back to you. I can't explain it any other way.”
You nod slightly. “Me neither.” You purse your lips. “I don't want you to move out, or for this distance in the apartment to drive us apart. I want things to stay the way they are. Like this. That we can - I don't know - get drunk and laugh in the evenings, that we can watch movies and have fun with our friends.” You sigh. “Just a normal friendship.”
Your words sound convincing, even though friendship is the last thing you want. The stains on your shirt are proof enough.
“I want that too,” he agrees. “We can manage, can't we? You and me both.”
You nod. “As long as we stay together.”
“As long as we stay together.”
A short time later, you take the boat back and Charles steers it back to its place without any major problems. He leaves the yacht first and when you step onto the wooden jetty ten minutes later, Thomas gives you a friendly smile.
“I hope your trip was pleasant, Madame?” he asks.
“It was wonderful. Thank you very much,” you reply and make your way to where Charles collects you again without drawing attention to yourselves. You spend the drive home in silence, but the silence is pleasant.
“Go and get yourself ready” Charles smiles as you enter the apartment together. “We'll leave as soon as you're done. And don't forget to pack a full overnight bag this time.”
You put your bag in your bedroom and roll your eyes, playfully annoyed. “Is there a dress code for today? Do I have to dress particularly fancy?” you ask him.
He shakes his head. “Just wear something you feel comfortable in. Maman doesn't think it's so important that we're all dressed up at the table at Christmas and behave as if we're at the prince's table.”
“All right. I'll have a quick shower and get ready,” you say before disappearing into the bathroom, where you shower, wash your hair and get ready in no time at all, right down to your outfit. In your room, you're standing in front of your wardrobe, examining your clothes, when a dress catches your eye. It's black and comes down to your mid-thigh, with long sleeves that flatter at the wrist. You slip into a pair of dark tights and matching shoes before packing your overnight bag. When you've finished - and checked your bag several times - you leave your room.
“Charles?”
“I'm in the living room,” he calls across the apartment. When you enter the room, he's sitting on the couch. He's wearing black chinos and a white shirt with the top buttons undone. When he sees you, a smile spreads across his handsome face. “You look wonderful.” He gets up from the couch.
Heat shoots into your cheeks. “You don't look too bad yourself, considering your mom doesn't expect fancy clothes,” you joke, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
Your friend looks down at himself. “This is my chill outfit. I sit on the couch like this every night,” he laughs and reaches for the car keys and his wallet on the coffee table. “Are you ready?”
You nod. “We're ready to go.”
The rickety Renault takes you to Charles' mom's house pretty quickly, and she's already waiting for you when the both of you pull up.
She embraces you with a smile as you leave the car. “Cherié! Merry Christmas! You look fabulous!”
You return her hug warmly. “Thank you, Pascale. You look wonderful too.”
She briefly puts her hands on your cheeks and smiles at you before turning her attention to her son. “You both look so beautiful!” She kisses Charles first on his left cheek, then on his right. “Now come on, the others are already here.”
As you follow her, you feel Charles' presence next to you. You smile up at him. “Thank you for taking me with you.”
There's a twinkle in his green eyes that makes your knees go weak. “Thank you for putting up with me here.”
Together you enter the house, where Pascale takes your bag from you. She turns to Charles. “You didn't tell me if you'd both be staying here. But Enzo has brought some good wine, so I've prepared your room. Then you don't have to drive home and can both enjoy the evening,” she smiles. "I've also made the bed."
Confused, you look at Charles, who stares after his mother as she climbs the stairs. “The bed?”
“Yep,” he replies curtly, without the slightest hint of emotion in his voice.
“Bed - singular?” When he doesn't answer, you stand in front of him so that he has to look at you. “Charles, bed - singular?”
Charles' gaze fixes on you. He nods slightly. “Bed - singular.”
i can’t explain how bad i need y/n to jump him i’m so serious
deal - cl16 (36/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk part two - with new opportunities.
Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption
Word Count: 3.2k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: hah. you thought you'd seen the last of me. feedback is appreciated!
"Okay," says Charles and sits back down next to you on the sun bed. He sets the basket down between you, with the necks of various bottles sticking out of it. "Are you more of a vodka girl or a tequila girl?" He pulls out two bottles and holds them out to you.
You examine the bottles before raising your hands. "Neither, to be honest." You carefully pull the basket towards you and take a look inside. Your hands turn the containers slowly so you can read the labels better, and when a bottle catches your eye, you grin at your roommate. "Here."
Charles takes the bottle you hold out to him. "Peach?" He looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "Quite summery."
You shrug your shoulders. "You promised to take me with you next summer so I could go swimming in the sea. I just want to prepare myself properly."
A smile spreads across his face. "Touché. All right." He reaches into the basket and fishes out two small shot glasses. He places them at the head of the sun bed to fill them with the peach liqueur. "You'll love it here during the summer. The sun is blazing, the sea is cold and the days are long." He carefully slides a glass over to you so that the contents don't spill over the rim. "It's like paradise."
You nod gratefully at him. "So now you definitely don't have a choice."
He looks at you, confused. "What do you mean by that?"
"Well," you sit up straight and pick up the shot glass. "You talked me up about the boat and summer at sea so much that you definitely have to bring me here next year." You grin at him. "So you have no choice but to take me with you."
"Oh no." He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance and reaches for his glass as well. "So I guess I can't get rid of you at all, huh?"
You shake your head excessively. "No fucking way. You definitely won't get me off this boat in the summer. And the deal about us sharing the apartment is on anyway." You tilt your head. "Even if you really tried, you wouldn't get rid of me that easily." You hold out your arm so he can clink glasses with you.
He looks you in the eye. There's a sparkle in his green ones as he knocks his glass against yours. "Thank God."
The peach liqueur tastes indescribably good and the longer you lie on the sun bed looking at the glowing Monaco in front of you, the more you drink of it. The stars above you twinkle and although it's getting colder, you're nice and warm. Whether it's the alcohol or Charles' laughter, you don't know.
"You've met Arthur yourself," he says as you have to press your face into the pillow to stop your laughter echoing across the ocean. "I swear, his April Fool's jokes are the worst! And you never see them coming!"
You giggle into your pillow. "Tell me you didn't fall for it." Hesitantly, you peek over the hem of the pillow to see Charles' blushing face. You quickly push it back into your face and laugh. "Oh, Charles!"
Your roommate grabs his own pillow and hits yours with it. "Don't laugh at me! You'll be affected soon enough! And then I'm not going to be the one to rescue you."
As you slowly calm down and wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes, you put the pillow back behind your head and look at him. "Trust me - by then Arthur will like me enough that we'll form an alliance. Then he certainly won't play any tricks on me."
Charles looks at you, dumbfounded. "Excuse me? I thought you and I were friends! You're supposed to stand on my side!" With a shake of his head, he reaches for the peach liqueur and refills your glasses.
You grin at him. "I don't form alliances with people who fall for stupid pranks like that."
He pushes your glass over to you. "All traitors." He shakes his head again. "I thought at least I had you on my side."
You raise your glass to your lips. "I'm always on your side, Charles. You're my best friend," you assure him, although the sentence leaves a nasty taste in your mouth. You wash it down with the liqueur. "But I'm not going to let Arthur take the piss just to make you feel better."
"You're a great best friend," he says and pours the liqueur into his mouth. "Just you wait and see. I won't save you if my brother does decide to play an April Fool's joke on you."
"You wouldn't dare," you reply with a grin. "Your mom would give you hell if she knew you were abandoning me." You grab the liqueur and fill your glasses again. "After all, she likes me better than you."
Charles watches you fill his glass to the brim. He presses his tongue into your cheek before licking his teeth. "I wish you were wrong." He holds out his arm for you to clink glasses with him. "Here's to my family liking you better than me."
You try to suppress your grin. "Don't worry, Charlie. I like you all the more for it," the alcohol speaks out of you and when you hear what you're saying, the blood rushes to your face. You quickly clink your glass against his and drink the liqueur so you don't have to look at the Monegasque in front of you.
As he puts his empty glass down, he grins at you. "'Charlie'? You're really going to give me a nickname?"
You roll your eyes and run your fingers through your hair so he doesn't notice your nervousness. "Don't worry," you try to play it down. Thank goodness he can't hear your rapid heartbeat. "I only use it when it's just us."
When you look at Charles again, he smiles at you softly. "I like the name," he assures you. "And if it stays your little secret and mine, I like it even more. It belongs only to you. Only you can call me that."
You smile at him before leaning back into your pillow and looking up at the stars. The night is clear, there isn't a single cloud in the night sky and the sea breeze on your face cools your alcohol-warmed skin pleasantly. You feel Charles lie down as well.
"Do you want to spend the night at my mother's tomorrow?" he asks quietly. When you turn your head in his direction, he's already looking at you. "I usually spend the night there. Maman always gets delicious wine and when we all get together, the evening gets pretty long." When you raise an eyebrow with a smile, he continues. "And there are plenty of rooms in the house. You're welcome to choose one of them. I'd hate to go back home for Christmas," he adds. "Especially because my mom would be alone and -"
"Charlie," you interrupt him. "We can spend the night at your mom's. There's nothing wrong with that." You wink at him. "Besides, I want to have a drink with Arthur and then I definitely can't go home."
He exhales with relief. "Very good." He turns his head forward and looks up at the stars too. "It's going to be a nice evening. My maman cooks delicious food and then we always play something. It's usually Uno or charades. You've heard how Monopoly turns out for us."
You have to giggle. "I would really like to play Monopoly with you," you admit quietly. "And I would never steal money from the bank either."
Charles exhales. "I'll take your word for that. But Arthur is more cunning than you think. He would steal money from the bank and make it look like it was you. You definitely don't want to play Monopoly with him."
You shrug your shoulders. "Then again, maybe I'm smarter than you give me credit for." You look up at the night sky again. "Maybe I can outsmart Arthur and win."
Your roommate laughs out loud. "Then you'd have to get past me first. And I'm certainly not going to let you win just like that. Not after you said you'd team up with my brother and not stand by me when he pulls his April Fool's pranks."
Offended, you reach behind your head for your pillow to smash it into his face, but Charles is quicker and snatches the pillow out of your hand before you can hit him with it. "You suck, Charlie."
"You love me. Just admit it," he grins and hesitantly gives you your pillow back, risking being exposed to your attack again.
But you merely wrap your arms around the pillow and hug it to your chest. Even through the feathers inside, you can feel how fast your heart is beating.
"Of course," you try to play down the swirling feelings inside you and hope that he doesn't notice the trembling in your voice. Or the truth in your words. "I'll still try to beat you at Monopoly. Or Uno. Or charades." Offended, you lie back on your pillow and cross your arms in front of your chest.
Charles sits up again and refills your shot glasses. He pushes it towards you like a peace offering. "Maybe I'll let you win," he smiles as you look at him. "After all, Christmas is the festival of love and I -" he continues, but is interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.
You look at him in confusion. You'd love to know how he would have finished the sentence. "You have reception out here?" you ask him as he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket.
The Monegasque shakes his head and shows you his phone screen. "I had set an alarm clock."
You raise an eyebrow. "For what?"
He points to the time with his finger. It's midnight and therefore officially Christmas. He looks at you with a grin. "I have a Christmas present for you."
As he gets up from the sun bed and staggers onto the wood of the deck, you look at him indignantly. "No way," you reply, annoyed. "If I can't give you a present, then you can't give me one either."
"Calm down, mon ami," he says, swaying slightly from left to right as he circles you. The alcohol seems to have hit him hard too. "I'll be right back." Without another word, he disappears into the interior of the yacht, leaving you on the sun bed.
Annoyed, you sit up.
The fact that you're not allowed to give him a present has almost ruined your friendship. Just the memory of his words that he wants nothing from you but your friendship sends a cold shiver down your spine. You would love to tell him that you want more from him than friendship, that you desire him, that you want him for yourself - that you love him - but no amount of money in the world would make you reveal your feelings to him. If he actually knew how you felt about him, you would certainly lose the only good thing in your life. And you wouldn't risk that under any circumstances.
You run your fingers nervously through your hair. What could he possibly give you? You've never mentioned anything to him that he could possibly buy. And there's no way he'd change his mind in a day and confess his love for you. You'd have to be incredibly naive to believe that.
It's not his fault that he doesn't feel the same way about you as you do about him. It's not his fault that his words have torn your heart apart. And it's not his fault that he can't take your feelings into consideration if you don't tell him about them.
You take a deep breath and smile at him as he rejoins you. In his hand, he holds a brown envelope, which he hands to you as he drops back onto the sun bed next to you. When you look at him uncertainly, he nods at you. "Merry Christmas, mon ami."
Hesitantly, you open the envelope and pull out several pages of paper, held together at the top left corner by a paper clip. You immediately recognize your name on the first page, with Charles written underneath. The rest is written in French, which is why you look at your roommate even more confused than before. "What's this?"
Irritated, he takes the pages from your hand and lets his eyes wander over the letters for a moment before he hits his forehead a little too hard with the palm of his hand. "Shit. I thought they'd printed it out in English," he says, handing the papers back to you. I'm really sorry."
You raise an eyebrow. "And what's this?" Your eyes wander over the paper, trying to identify any of the words, until you unsuccessfully put the papers down in front of you.
"This, mon ami, is an employment contract," he explains with a smile and leans back a little.
"An employment contract?"
" Mh-hmm." He licks his lips once. "Remember when Joris mentioned that he had a new job?"
You nod. Of course you remember.
After you'd been to the place where Charles had been with his father in the past, you both went to Joris' and had lunch there. Joris had told you that he was starting a new job and when you had been there to burn Annika's things, he had talked about it too.
"Well," Charles says hesitantly. "Joris was my personal photographer. And now that he can no longer work for me and accompany me around the world because of his new job, I thought - well - maybe you'd like to be my new photographer. You - um - you don't have a job at the moment and - well - I thought it would be cool if you and I worked together," he babbles in one breath, blood rushing to his cheeks. "You'd travel with me to the Formula 1 races and take photos there, but of course you'd also spend a lot of time with me in private. Which would be a good fit, as you and I live together anyway and the fans loved the photo you took of me at the lookout point. And the one you just took of me turned out great too."
Your breath is stuck in your lungs.
Charles wants you to work for him? That you photograph him so he can post the pictures on Instagram? That you fly around the world with him?
You'd love to throw your arms around his neck with joy, but you just grin at him. "Are you serious?" When he nods, you squeal with excitement. "You're really serious, Charlie? You really want me to work for you?"
"Of course," he admits openly and smiles at you. "You and I are best friends. Why would I want to work with someone else when I have the perfect and best photographer literally sitting right in front of me? I'd be pretty stupid to ask anyone else."
Carefully and with shaky hands, you put the documents back in the envelope. "I - thank you. I don't even know what to say."
"Just say yes." He leans a little to the side so that he can push your full shot glass over to you. "You'll travel around the world with me, get paid incredibly well and spend a lot of time with me. I'll cover the travel expenses, of course. All you have to do is take good photos of me."
You look at him in amazement. "I'm getting paid and you're still covering the travel costs?"
Your flatmate laughs out loud. "Of course! What do you think? Whether I give you more salary so you can pay for your flights and everything yourself, or whether I pay you everything, it's the same in the end."
Heat shoots into your face. "Then at least let me give you money for the rent. Now that I have a job again."
He shakes his head vehemently. "Absolutely not. The money is yours, you can do anything you want with it."
"Except pay the rent," you reply and get his pillow thrown in your face.
"Exactly. Everything except pay the rent," he assures you. "So, what do you say, mon ami? Do you fancy exploring the world with me?"
You nod with a grin. "Definitely." You raise your shot glass. "Thank you, Charlie. That's the best Christmas present I've ever been given."
A blush creeps into his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck nervously. "Really?"
You nod with a smile. "Definitely. I can't thank you enough for that."
The thought of being permanently close to Charles scares you as much as it makes you happy. As his best friend, you're looking forward to spending every minute with him, traveling the world and discovering the most beautiful places. And getting paid for it too.
As the woman who loves him, you're a little worried about what will happen if he meets someone he falls in love with while you're traveling. You don't want to imagine the pain if he gets into a committed relationship with someone and all you can do is stand on the sidelines and watch him be happy. There's no question that he deserves to be happy - but the thought that the person he's falling in love with isn't you makes you feel sick.
You try to suppress the thought and smile bravely at him. "It's absolutely the best present. Thank you so much, Charlie. No one's ever done anything like this for me before."
There is a loving sparkle in his eyes. "I'd do anything for you." Before he picks up his glass as well, he pulls out his cell phone again and taps on it. "Can I post it like this?" he asks you and holds his phone out to you. His screen shows the picture you just took, with a simple caption.
You shrug your shoulders. "I think so. But do you think it's a good idea to post something when you've had so much alcohol?" you ask him with a grin.
"Oh nonsense," he grins at you and taps his phone one last time before activating the keypad lock and putting it back in his pocket. "I only have good ideas when I'm drunk." He reaches for his shot glass and holds it out to you so you can clink glasses. "I'm glad you said yes. I can hardly wait."
"Me neither," you reply with a smile.
He takes a deep breath before his eyes search yours. He would love to put the glasses aside, pull you onto his lap and kiss you until you can't breathe, until the sun rises, until the world ends. But that's just the alcohol whispering to him, he thinks.
He knocks his glass against yours. "Here's to us."
-
liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and others tagged: yourusername charles_leclerc: ma mère approuve
they’re so special to me
deal - cl16 (35/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk - with Nightmare Coladas.
Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption
Word Count: 3.2k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: love you. feedback is appreciated!
You are sitting on the sun bed when Charles rejoins you. He is holding a tray in his hands and as he places it on the floor next to you, you see that it is filled with sliced fruit. In addition to a plate of watermelon, there is a bowl of grapes, strawberries and raspberries.
“A good foundation is essential if you want to get drunk,” he grins and lies down next to you on the sun bed, a healthy distance between you.
You raise an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be better to eat something greasy then? Like fries or pizza?” you ask, helping yourself to a strawberry.
“That's just the beginning,” he defends himself and nibbles on a piece of watermelon. “There are fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets in the oven.”
You have to grin. “Sounds like lunch for a five-year-old.”
Charles shrugs and pops a raspberry in his mouth. “You'll be able to drink like a grown-up in no time.”
“Touché.”
The two of you lie next to each other in silence, enjoying the last rays of sunshine while you eat the fruit and wait for the timer on Charles' cell phone to beep. The water splashes against the sides of the boat, the smell of the sea hits your nose and if you didn't know that tomorrow is Christmas, you'd think it was a beautiful summer evening.
“What would you like to drink?” Charles asks.
You turn your head in his direction. “Do you have any sweet white wine?”
He nods. “I had Thomas bring your cheap wine,” he grins. "He didn't find it at first. Apparently you can only get it in the supermarket and not in a wine store."
You purse your lips. “Hey. The wine tastes good,” you say with mock offence, trying to suppress the thought that Charles sent Thomas out to get your favorite wine. Very thoughtful. “What are you about to drink?”
"There are quite a few drinks. Maybe I'll make myself a cocktail,” he considers, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Maybe a piña colada? Or a sex on the beach?"
The way the word 'sex' rolls off his tongue makes the blood in your veins run hot. You bite into a piece of watermelon. “When are the fries ready?”
Just as you've said it, Charles' phone rings. He gets up and leaves the sun bed. “I'll be right back.”
You turn to him. “Do you want me to help you?” You're almost on your feet when Charles waves you off.
“ It's all right.”
While he disappears into the interior of his yacht, you also leave the sun bed to grab your camera and laptop, but instead of lying back on the sun bed at the back of the boat, you move the party around the bow, where there is another sun bed. From here, you have a wonderful view of Monaco - even if it is still some distance away from you.
You start to edit a photo of Charles when he rejoins you - fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets on a tray.
“Here you are,” he smiles, setting the food down. “I thought you'd jumped in the water and swum home.”
"Are you crazy? I'm sure the sea is freezing cold,” you reply and put your laptop to one side so you can grab a nugget. “I've already started editing a picture of you, by the way.”
Your friend plops down on the sun bed next to you. "And?” he asks. “Do I look good?”
You roll your eyes. “You always do,” you reply jokingly, hoping that he can't hear the truth in your words.
“I know,” he grins and pops a chip in his mouth. "But seriously. Do you think the pictures are any good? For my Instagram profile, I mean."
Charles is a natural model. With his big eyes, deep dimples and beaming smile, he could even advertise haemorrhoid cream and look great doing it.
“Absolutely,” you smile and push your camera over to him. “See for yourself.”
While Charles looks at the many pictures on the small display, you continue to edit some pictures on your laptop. They are all good - thanks to his looks - but somehow none of them reflect Charles as you see him. They look posed, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but you had hoped to capture him with your lens in such a way that you could almost feel the closeness to him and his warmth.
But you don't tell him that, after all he has to decide for himself which pictures he would like to put on the internet.
“What do you think of this?” he asks and shows you the display. In the photo, he is standing at the wheel, his sunglasses are perched on his nose and he is smiling broadly over his shoulder, as if someone has said something funny. It's a good picture - objectively speaking.
“It's good,” you reply and bite into a mozzarella stick. The cheese almost burns the roof of your mouth, but you try not to let it show.
Charles raises his eyebrow. “Just ‘good’?” he asks, looking at the picture again. “Okay, I'll find another one then.”
You shake your head vehemently. "No, Charles. It's a good photo, really,” you assure him.
He's not buying it. “But?”
You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders. “It - it looks so posed,” you answer honestly. "But maybe it only looks like that to me because I know it's fake, you know? Maybe I just can't see it."
He looks back from you to the display. “I know what you mean.” He presses his tongue into his cheek. "I'll take another one then. They're your photos. And I want you to feel comfortable with them too."
You smile at him. You didn't know he cared so much about your opinion. "That's nice. Thank you."
Charles pops a French fry into his mouth. "Keep eating. Your wine is cold and just waiting for you to drink it."
You continue to eat in silence - Charles continues to rummage through your camera while you edit some pictures. The silence between you is comfortable and every now and then you smile at each other to reassure each other that everything is fine.
When the last of the fries has been eaten, Charles stands up. "Very nice. Now it's time to start drinking,” he winks at you as he leaves the sun bed. “You want your wine, I guess?”
You nod. “Thomas shouldn't have made the trip to the supermarket for nothing,” you grin and cross your arms behind your head. You look at him. "But I think one glass is enough for now. Maybe I'd like to try one of your cocktails afterwards."
“Of course, Madame,” Charles replies and bows to you playfully like a servant to his queen. "Can I bring anything else? A pillow, perhaps?"
You nod, beaming. “That would be great. Then the bed here will be even more comfortable."
Without another word, he disappears, the bowls and plates in his hands, while you close the laptop and put it to the side. You consider whether you should put the camera away too, but decide against it. Perhaps there would be another opportunity to take photos of Charles later.
A few minutes later, Charles reappears. He puts your wine glass down next to you and throws you two cushions. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure you'll want to stay here longer."
You look at him in confusion. “Why?”
With a nod of his head, he points to the shore. "When it gets dark - and I mean dark - Monaco lights up beautifully. And I don't want to deny you the sight,” he smiles. "I'm going to make myself a cocktail. Do you want me to bring you your sweater right away?"
“Yes, thank you,” you answer him. “And you really don't need any help?” you ask uncertainly. It's nice of him to go to all this trouble to make you feel comfortable, but you feel a bit like you're taking advantage of him.
But Charles disagrees. "Stay put. You're my guest on this boat. I'll take care of everything while you lie there and look pretty."
Before you can react to his words, he has disappeared again.
Look pretty? Charles thinks you're pretty?
You try to ignore his words, but they keep bubbling up. When he said he was afraid of losing you, he hit you hard. You would never let anything separate you again. You need him too much for that - and it seems he needs you too. Even if it's not the same way. But that's okay, you tell yourself. You'd rather have a piece of him than nothing at all.
When he rejoins you, you seem to have almost forgotten his compliment. Or at least pushed it aside.
“Here,” he says, handing you your sweater before setting some things down behind your head. There are several bottles, an ice bucket and a couple of shakers in the large basket. Then he carefully sits down next to you with his cocktail in hand. As he tastes it, he makes a brief grimace.
You have to grin. “Too strong?” you ask him.
“No,” he replies, but from the way he raises his eyebrows and turns his head away briefly, it's clear he's lying.
“What did you mix?”
“Piña Colada.” He furrows his eyebrows. “But it tastes more like nightmare colada than pineapple.” He stretches out his arm and holds the glass out to you. “Have a taste.”
Without hesitation, you reach for the cocktail - still careful not to let your fingers touch - and sip the drink once. You look at him in amazement. “I don't know what your problem is,” you reply and take a big sip. “It tastes fantastic!”
Charles looks at you doubtfully. “Are you serious?”
“Definitely,” you confirm. “I'd offer you my wine, but you don't like sweet wine.”
“Give it to me,” he says unceremoniously and grabs the wine glass as you hold it out to him. Without hesitation, he puts the glass to his lips and drinks every last drop of the wine. "Sorry. I had to get rid of the horrible taste of that cocktail."
You look from the empty glass in his hand to his face in amazement. "Wow. So you think the piña colada is that bad. If you keep going like this, you'll be drunk in no time."
Charles reaches behind your head into the basket and pulls out a bottle of wine. “That was the plan, wasn't it?” Slowly and intently, he pours some of his dry wine into your glass, careful not to waste a single drop. “Don't tell me I did all of this for nothing.” He points to the many shakers with a nod of his head.
You curl your lips into a thin line. “Are you even allowed to drive the boat tomorrow if you still have alcohol in your blood?” you ask and take a sip of his - now your - cocktail, which, contrary to Charles' opinion, actually tastes phenomenal.
“I don't know,” he replies and sips his wine. “But if need be, you and I can stay here another night.”
“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you remind him. "Your mom would be furious with us if we didn't show up for dinner. And then she'd kill us."
Your roommate shakes his head. "My mom loves you. She'd kill me without hesitation, but definitely not you." He leans back a little and rests his head in the pillow so that he's comfortable but still sitting upright enough to drink easily.
“I think I'd stand up for you,” you say before taking another sip.
The Monegasque looks at you, dumbfounded. “You think?”
The way he opens his eyes and looks at you, you can't help but burst out laughing. "Yeah. After all, I don't want to incur your mother's wrath. I like her far too much for that,” you say into your glass and look at him over the rim.
Charles rolls his eyes. "You're being mean. I'll take you on my boat -"
“Yacht,” you correct him.
"All right then. I take you on my yacht, where you can even spend the night, make you delicious food and offer you all the alcohol you can imagine - and you think you'd stand up for me?" Playfully hurt, he puts his hand on his chest. “Wow. I thought you'd care more about me.”
You do, you say in your mind. More than you'll ever know.
“Oh, come on.” You snuggle into your pillow too. "How many women have you taken here already, huh? Surely I'm not the only one you've spent a night with here." Realizing your choice of words, you clear your throat. “In a friendly or romantic way, I mean.” Even though you don't want to know the answer to how many women he's had here on the boat, curiosity wins out.
Your roommate shrugs. “You're the only one,” he replies quietly before taking a sip of his wine. He avoids your gaze.
Your head jerks in his direction. “Not even Annika?”
“Not even Annika,” he confirms to you. “I - I don't know - I took Annika out for a nice day at sea once, but we went home at night. This is the first time I've been on a boat with someone other than my family and stayed the night."
His answer relieves you a little. Apparently you're not the next in a line of women Charles is spending the night with on his boat. And the fact that you're the only one, according to him, makes you feel a little happy.
“If it makes you feel any better,” you start your sentence, “you're also the first person I spend the night with on a boat.” You smile at him.
“It's not that difficult if you've never been on a boat before,” he replies with a grin. “And I thought it was a yacht?”
You roll your eyes. “Don't make me regret being on a boat on the open sea.”
As the wind sweeps around you and the sun disappears behind the horizon, you pull on your sweater. You feel Charles's gaze on you. “What?”
He shakes his head. "I thought the alcohol would warm you up a bit. But apparently you need to drink more."
You look into your cocktail glass. “I've almost finished your Nightmare Colada,” you defend yourself.
"But only almost. Drink up, then I can pour you another one."
You raise your glass to your lips. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Leclerc?”
“Maybe,” he grins and pulls a shaker out of the basket. "There's a little Nightmare Colada left, if you like. Otherwise there's still your wine, or Sex on the Beach, or schnapps."
You take the last sip of your cocktail and put the glass down for him to refill. Heat shoots into your face, which is almost certainly due to the alcohol - and definitely not the way he says the word 'sex'. "Your offer sounds tempting. I think I'll stick to the nightmare colada for now. We can always have the schnapps later."
Charles shakes the shaker briefly before carefully pouring the rest of the cocktail into your glass. “I haven't had a schnapps in ages.”
"Why? Is your nutritionist against it?” you ask him with a grin.
“Yes, actually,” he replies and hands you your glass. "But I'm on vacation at the moment, so I don't really care. That's why I had the chicken nuggets."
You raise your eyebrow. “I thought the chicken nuggets were there so we wouldn't get drunk straight away?”
Your friend shakes his head. "Actually, you had chicken nuggets because, culinarily speaking, you stayed somewhere between canned soup and Big Mac. That's what Lando said anyway."
The fact that he remembered that warms your heart. A little something you didn't think he would remember.
"There's also dessert, by the way, if you're still a little hungry. Chocolate muffins,” he smiles. "But maybe we'll save them for later, when we're drunk. They'll taste even better then."
“Muffins?” you ask in surprise. When Charles nods, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” His voice is soft and warm. He briefly puts his glass to one side and pulls on his white sweater.
“Are you cold?” you joke, sipping your cocktail.
“Haha.” He rolls his eyes and adjusts the bandana that is still tied around his head. “Even if the alcohol warms me on the inside, I can be cold on the outside.”
“But make me look stupid for it,” you retort playfully.
"Sure. It's just pretty easy to drive you up the wall."
“What do you mean -” you start your question, but he jumps up from the sun bed as if stung by a tarantula.
“There!” He goes to the railing in front of you and holds on tight. “I told you.”
You carefully put your glass to one side and stand up too. When you see what he means, your breath catches in your throat.
Monaco shines in front of you in the dark and the water reflects the light beautifully. Charles hasn't promised too much.
You stand next to him with your mouth open, your eyes fixed on the beautiful Monaco. “It is - breathtaking.”
“It is,” Charles replies quietly. You don't notice him looking at you. “Breathtaking.”
The Monaco in front of you glistens and sparkles, captivating you so much that an idea occurs to you. With quick - and slightly swaying - steps, you walk back and grab your camera before standing on the sun bed. The cocktail has done a good job, because the cushion under your feet feels like jelly, so you need a moment to find your footing.
Charles is apparently just as fascinated by the view as you are, because he doesn't seem to notice that you've moved away from him. He continues to look ahead, towards his home, while you take a photo of him. A single photo - and when you look at it on your camera, you could cry.
“That's it,” you smile.
“Huh?” Charles turns to you questioningly. “What's what?”
You proudly hand him your camera. “This is the picture.”
He looks at it briefly before glancing at you. A smile spreads across his face. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you here.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he closes his mouth again before handing the camera back to you.
“Maybe you should hire me,” you joke, sending the picture to your phone and then sending it to him.
“Maybe I should.” His smile is warm and electrifying and luminous. He's beaming - like the Monaco behind him.
God, he's the most beautiful man in the world.
“But first -” he walks around you, staggers across the sun bed and leans forward to fish a bottle out of the basket. “But first - comes the schnapps.”
they’re so sweet i’m in tears
