part 3 of a 3 part series. read part 1 (@singsweetmelodies) and part 2 (@welightitup) first!
getting together. fluff. best friends to lovers.
He reaches into his own pocket. His fingers brush the note - it’s a familiar feeling, a constant that has been with him now for more years than he can bear to remember. The edges are torn, he knows. Worn and crinkled. It feels as if he’s pulling his heart out from his pocket, but he knows now that he can trust Charles with it.
written for our lovely @redyellowstupid. my darling, I adore you. almost as much as pierre adores charles. almost. thank you to @singsweetmelodies & @welightitup - writing with you is always a pleasure, and I love you so, so much. thank you for putting up with me and inspiring me to be a better writer. I adore you. ❤️
Small, simple prompt - Charles wearing a 'liked by pierre gasly' t-shirt/hoodie.
oh i LOOOOOVE THIS.
(word count: 1,998) ((NSFW))
Summer is Pierre’s favorite season.
He’s partial to the sun, sure, and he loves the lifestyle that comes with living on a beach house for a couple weeks every year—but the main reason it’s his favorite is that it’s the season he gets to do these things, carefree, with Charles. No track, no car, no garage. Just Charles, and the sun, and the bluest oceans he can possibly imagine.
It’s where they are now, in fact: out on the middle of the water, bobbing aimlessly under the hot August sun in a yacht that, even for the two of them, had felt a little on the pricey side to rent for the day. “We should splurge,” Charles had insisted back at the house with a devilish grin, and really, Pierre’s never been one to shy away from a luxurious opportunity when he’s gifted one. Especially not ones endorsed by his best friend.
Pierre casts a glance across the lavish deck and chuckles at the sight of Charles, sprawled out in his colorful bathing suit and an open button-down shirt he’d definitely stolen from Pierre’s closet. His sunglasses are a little disheveled on his face, which is how Pierre knows he’s asleep. This is always how it is with him: enough sun, Charles becomes the feline version of himself, sleepy and languid and ceaselessly affectionate the moment someone is within his grasp. Add the gentle rocking of the waves and, boom. The king of napping emerges.
Pierre wanders over to the cushions his boyfriend is laid up on, settling lightly down just beside him and resting a gentle hand on his rising-and-falling chest. “Mmm, Charlito,” he murmurs, rubbing the pad of his thumb haphazardly against the sun-tanned skin. Beneath his touch, Charles makes a soft, satisfied noise, but doesn’t otherwise indicate he’s planning on waking up any time soon. “Did you remember to put better sunscreen on today?” His skin is hot to the touch. Pierre knows he’s going to burn, and he’s going to complain about burning.
They’ve done this song and dance more times than either of them really can count.
“I think so,” Charles hums sleepily, stirring a little under Pierre’s touch but not doing much else. Pierre chuckles. “Why, am I red?”
Pierre tsks. “Not yet,” he hums. “I just wanted to check in—you seemed pretty asleep, I just came to make sure you weren’t turning into a lobster.”
Charles laughs. “I thought you liked lobster.”
“Not when it complains in bed when I touch it in the wrong place.” The rumble of laughter he gets in return travels right through his hand and up into his chest, like an extra tendril of sunlight has wormed its way in.
“Touché,” Charles answers, grinning. He rolls over slowly, a soft hiss escaping his lips as he seems to have encountered a patch of burned skin already, and settles on his elbows, legs kicked up behind him. The backs of his thighs are definitely not getting enough time in the sun. Pierre would laugh at him if he weren’t so fond. Even still, he chuckles. “Were you looking to put something on me?” Charles lowers his big sunglasses just enough to wag his eyebrows at Pierre, who snort-laughs at the innuendo.
“You are ridiculous,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I try and watch out for your tender skin and all you do is make a cum joke.”
“Hey,” Charles starts, mock serious only for a beat before his composure breaks, “It was a good cum joke. Very clever. Never been done before.” He’s grinning foolishly, contagious like always, and Pierre can’t help but swoop in to kiss his cherry-red mouth. He’s still slow from all the sun he’s clearly absorbed, pliant under Pierre’s mouth and easy to get hold of. Pierre creeps forward on the cushions, slowly urging Charles backwards until they’ve hit the proper edge of the deck’s seating. Charles grunts softly but doesn’t move away from Pierre for a moment. “Pear,” he murmurs. The nickname makes Pierre chuckle.
“Yes?” The word is less of a sound and more of a feeling against Charles’ mouth.
“Are you going to fuck me on the deck of this yacht.” He’s not trying to be sexy, not exactly, but even the idea of having Charles out in the open like this is enough to make Pierre shiver.
“I was not planning to, no,” he says lowly. “But I can be persuaded, I think.”
A small giggle bubbles from Charles’ lips. “Oh yeah?” He’s grinning so that Pierre’s half-formed kisses are now landing directly against his teeth. Pierre just nods, amused. “Very honest of you, darling.”
“I am only honest with you, Cha,” Pierre insists. His kisses have lost their shape entirely, now; grin to grin, cheek to cheek, they’re not even kissing anymore, not really. They could be cats rubbing against one another in a sunny window out here, almost entirely undisturbed. “Anyway—you are a few shades away from cooking out here, and as much as I would enjoy taking you out here for anyone to fly over and see—” he feels the shiver run through Charles at the words, “I think I prefer my Ferrari drivers raw.”
“Fuck,” Charles whispers, breath catching. His sunglasses tumble off his face as he pushes himself more properly upright, eyes dark and glittering with lust. “You eat other Ferrari drivers too?” His mouth is parted deliciously. Pierre can think of so many things he wants to do with it.
He shrugs, peeling away a little to begin settling back on his heels. “No,” he answers, grinning. “Just the one.”
A low whine spills from Charles’ mouth, and Pierre gets to watch the way desire slowly consumes his boyfriend’s entire expression. “Good,” he breathes, running a hand absently over his own body until he brushes at the crotch of his swimsuit. Pierre can’t look away. Jesus Christ. “You only can eat me. Only me for you.”
Pierre nods slowly. His brain is starting to fizz out, heat and desire and the ocean’s mysterious allure taking over what are normally supposed to be his sensibility. “Only you for me,” he repeats back to Charles, taking his time pronouncing each word. Charles whines again. “Now—let’s go inside, I am hungry.”
“Yes, please,” Charles all but purrs. But he stops in his tracks suddenly, frozen to the spot for a beat. “Wait! Wait, no, do not—I, wait a second, Pierre, do not move.” And as alluring as Charles had been mere seconds ago, the illusion breaks and he stumbles up from his seat to scramble back into the interior of the yacht, definitely missing a step on the way down and yelping at the way his feet slide across the smooth wood floor.
Curious, Pierre does as he’s told, stifling laughter as Charles grunts in pain from somewhere below deck. Maybe he’s suffering from heat stroke? Pierre shouldn’t be laughing, then—he should probably be going to check and make sure Charles isn’t convulsing on the floor somewhere. The laughter only quiets a little, but he does feel some semblance of responsibility as the older of the two of them. Also, Mattia might kill him if he lets anything happen to Charles on summer break, so twice the motivation to not listen to Charles’ demand. “Ah, shit.” He pushes up from his seat and starts walking towards the small staircase to the lower level of the boat, careful to not do exactly what his boyfriend had done moments before.
“No no, don’t—” Charles’ voice starts to protest from behind the bedroom door, only to cut himself off. “Actually—yes, you can come in, I am ready!”
“Ready for what?” Pierre wonders aloud, twisting the doorknob and swinging inside to find—
Charles, in one of the shirts from Pierre’s duffel bag and nothing else. It definitely isn’t big enough to hang on him, although he’d very clearly planned on that, if the way his blatantly visible arousal says anything. “Surprise,” Charles murmurs, bouncing a little on the mattress to show off.
“Holy shit.” Pierre’s whole mouth is dry and it’s not from sun-induced dehydration. Or—maybe he’s the one having a heat stroke. “Charles, you—” And then he actually processes what’s in front of him, the text printed on the shirt Charles had selected, and— “Oh my god, is that my Liked by Pierre Gasly shirt?”
Charles laughs, delighted. “I could not find a Fucked by Pierre Gasly shirt so this was the closest I could get.”
Any semblance of arousal gets sucked out of the room as Pierre doubles over in laughter, so taken aback he has to use the doorframe to keep himself from collapsing to the, admittedly more slippery than he first thought, floor. “Oh my god, Charles, I—” Another laugh cuts him off, although this one manages to propel him to the bed to collapse forward onto it. Charles, arms still wide, raises an eyebrow and looks down at him.
“Am I not liked by Pierre Gasly?” He’s teasing, of course, but clearly confused as to why this is the reaction he’s getting. Pierre chokes on another laugh, rolling over enough to get the leverage he needs to tug Charles down to him.
“I’m so tired of that stupid meme,” he says between fits, grabbing a fistful of the white printed shirt. “My team told me that I should be capitalizing on it, though, which is why we made this dumb merch in the first place—” he tugs on it a little, “—which you are wearing backwards, cher.”
Charles hums. “I know that part,” he mumbles, dipping closer to Pierre to snatch a kiss from his still-amused mouth. “I was going to get a sharpie and draw an arrow pointing downwards but realized I should wait until I get my own to customize.”
That gets another snort-laugh response. “As if you’re not going to just steal this one now that you’re in it.” Charles sticks his tongue out but doesn’t respond, just giggles to himself knowingly. It’s how they work—Charles steals Pierre’s things, Pierre steals Charles’ things, and they both kind of meet in the middle. Besides. Owning your own merch is kind of a red flag, isn’t it? “Anyway—you really would ruin my good merch like that with a sharpie arrow?”
His boyfriend shrugs at him, grin stretched across his face. “It’s technically the truth,” he hums smugly, rocking his bare hips into Pierre’s still-clothed ones for emphasis. The feeling is…heavenly. “Besides. It works either way, because you love my cock and my ass, so I think it is actually a very versatile upgrade.” Pierre barks out a laugh. “I think you should consider sending that suggestion to your team.”
“You’re absurd.” Pierre kisses him again, allowing a hand to drift up the bare flesh of Charles’ thigh. He hisses at the contact as Pierre drifts over a splotch of sunburnt skin. “But no, you are wrong. Nobody else could buy it because—” he makes his move, grabs Charles to make him huff out a choked noise of pleasure, “there is only one cock I could ever like.”
The look on Charles’ face is so fond that Pierre wonders if he actually said I love you more than anything or I am going to spend the rest of my life with you.
“So I am liked by Pierre Gasly,” he murmurs, face shiny with affection. Pierre nods. “You know, I like this merch of yours. Maybe I won’t just steal this one after all.”
“It does look good on you,” he hums. “Even though it’s on wrong.” Charles laughs. “And I think it would look better elsewhere.” He strokes Charles once, gets another mangled noise from somewhere in his throat.
“On the floor?” Charles breathes, eyes blown wide, flushed red from sun and desire and attention. A Ferrari to the end.
49. ‘Well, this is awkward’ for RebelCaptain, please? Something light and fun, maybe with a third POV? Loving your prompt fics so far.
in honor of 1111 Followers
Kes had assumed everyone would be asleep - after all, the flight was expected to take at least another twelve hours - so when he stumbled back down the hallway, wearing only his pants, which were barely buttoned, he had certainly not expected to find his commanding officer and his direct boss both half naked on top of the table.
The table where they had been drawing up plans for the attack not even two hours prior.
He first locked eyes with Jyn, who was wearing at least her shirt, and then looked up to see Major Andor, who’s pants were around his ankles.
And then he couldn’t look away.
They were fucking, which was already obvious enough, given that their lips were red and swollen, her shirt was tugged apart to reveal her breasts, and he had been grunting just as Kes had turned the corner.
Except - he could not look away.
Why the fuck could he not look away?
“I eat at that table,” he said instead, sounding more annoyed than anything else. “Like… regularly.”
No other words were said, not even an acknowledgement of the fact that it was HIGHLY AGAINST REGULATION for a Major and his Executive Officer to be fucking one another.
Because Kes couldn’t think that far. All he could think about was the fact that his wife, who was a few months pregnant, was currently flying the ship, and had asked over radio for him to find her something cold from the fridge in the mess. Which was… right beside where the Major and his XO were currently fucking.
He said nothing else, just crossing over to open up and grab the cookies that were stashed in the frozen part of the fridge, and then turned to leave the room.
“Can you two sanitize that, or something? People eat there.”
The couple on the table were still joined, frozen, even as Kes left the room, grumbling. He had to tell Shara about this, warn her. Otherwise, she might faint from shock, and that would upset his little baby in her tummy, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.
“Well, that was awkward,” he heard coming from the mess behind him.
“CLEAN IT!” he yelled back, surely waking someone else in the ship.
But honestly… people eat there.
… Wait a minute… Jyn and Cassian…
He grabbed the radio that was hanging from his belt, pressing the button. “Oh my God, Shara, wait until I get up there and tell you what I just saw.”
He released the button, and then four other voices came through.
“What’s going on, Dameron?”
“What was all that yelling?”
“What’s going on in the Mess?”
There was a panicked groan coming from the mess, and one half dressed Captain ran by him with her boots in hand while he headed up towards the cockpit, a grin on his face.
Until he realized… there was definitely not time to sanitize.
If you receive this, you make somebody happy! Go on anon and send this to 10 of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get one back, even better🌹💕
For the fic title thingy - “All I Want for Christmas” (it’s a bit cold here).
writing christmas drabbles at the end of may because why not.
Charles has never gotten to pick out his own Christmas tree at a ‘Christmas tree farm’ and Pierre is appalled. It’s snowing. Pierre bundles Charles up in the thickets winter coat and with a beanie and scarf and don’t forget the mittens! The mittens are very important. Some other time, Pierre would get him one of those mittens with two holes in them so they can hold hands. But for now, they’re going to need their hands.
Pierre forgets his own scarf and hat and he’s gonna get cold, but that’s a problem for some other time.
Charles eyes lit up when they get to all the Christmas trees. He’s just running around the field, seizing up all of the trees as he’s trying to find not just the best one, but the best to fit in their living room.
When he finds it, Pierre lets him take it down and helps carry the tree back to the car. They take a quick stop on the way home to grab a hot chocolate and then head home to put the tree up and decorate it.
Sorry about your bad mood! Something I love about these two is the lovely fandom and the amazing people like yourself who take the time to write, communicate, and just validating our Feels™ cos you are awesome in your replies ❤️
But also, specifically to them, I ADORE the childhood friendship aspect to their relationship. It’s just so 🥰🥰
🥺🥺💖💖💘💘 ok honestly same the fanbase (or at least. the portion ive seen) is SO lovely and creative and also evil for bringing Our Emotions into it 😭
also god childhood/lifelong friends are so sooooo so important. i love the love that settles there. knowing someone and watching them grow and still loving and caring for them through said growth is so. i'll cry
