To Live A Lifetime With You | CL16
to live a lifetime with you | CL16
PAIRING: charles leclerc x reader
REQUESTED: [] yes [X] no
WORD COUNT: 7.8k
SYNOPSIS: after twenty-six years together, it only made sense that charles would want to live out the rest of his life with you by his side.
WARNINGS: mentions of death (jules + charles' father), mattia being a decent human being at the end (sorry its for plot only), probably so many sentences that make no sense, time skips galore, me writing about love without having ever experienced it, french translations
as always, don't be a ghost reader!
to say that you and charles where childhood sweethearts would be an understatement, really.
you and charles had known each other since the two of you were born basically, with your parents moving in next door to the leclercs not long after your birth. charles had only just started standing on his own two feet at seven months, while your own six-month-old self had discovered the art of scooting your bum around to get from one place to another.
at the time, lorenzo was absolutely obsessed with all things relating to his baby brother, and when he saw the new neighbours walk into the empty house with a small baby girl nibbling on a cookie, he was ecstatic, running up to his mom and telling her that they could set up play dates for charles and you. honestly, if it wasn’t for lorenzo’s insistence, you were sure that you and charles would not have been where you were today.
it helped that your parents and charles’ parents became fast friends. growing up, your families did everything together. vacations, celebrations, holidays, anything and everything you could think of. the two of you grew up sharing everything, from toys to food, and everything in between. the only thing you hadn’t shared with one another was the fact that charles had a brother, and you did not.
when arthur was born, you had cried to your parents every day and night about wanting a baby sister. as a soon-to-be three-year-old, you had no idea that your parents were unable to have more children, receiving nothing but sad smiles when you continuously asked for another sibling.
nonetheless, you had quickly taken to arthur leclerc. and much like lorenzo had felt for charles, you and charles felt for arthur. instead of playing with charles, you were now focused on the new baby in pascale’s arms and how tiny he was. looking back, pascale would always reminisce how you and charles were horrible for her heart when arthur was a baby, always handing the small boy even smaller toys. arthur himself would always bring up the times the two of you tried to “kill” him as a baby, always finding it funny how you and charles defended yourselves.
you’d learned quite early on that charles was a strange kid. and rude, if your four-year-old self were to add. the two of you would always play together, and while you two shared all your toys with one another, charles drew the line at your barbies.
on his fourth birthday, pascale and hervé had bought charles a remote control car, and he had instantly rushed off to go play with it, pulling you along. he had run over your barbie doll that day, after having fought with you about how it was his birthday and he didn’t want to play with girly dolls. a few days later, charles had ‘accidentally’ ripped ken’s head off of his body, leaving you in a mess of distressed sobs and tears.
lorenzo could still remember the way you had knocked and entered his room, fat tears rolling down your chubby cheeks as you presented the headless figurine to him and jules who had been hanging out with the eldest leclerc. you had begged either of them to fix it, and while jules took the doll from your hands, lorenzo went off to find his younger brother and scold him for ruining your toys. instead of in his room, lorenzo found charles leaning over arthur’s crib, explaining to the youngest how cars were much cooler than your barbies. arthur, of course, had no idea what his brother had been telling him, too focused on figuring out how he could eat the plastic car in his hand.
since then, however, charles had been a lot more willing to play with your dolls, and soon enough, the driver’s seat in his remote control car was filled with your new ken doll that the leclercs had bought for your own birthday. charles would drive his car up to your small dollhouse, and then the passenger seat would get filled as well, with your favourite barbie doll sitting next to ken as they drove off to charles’ racetrack set up.
life was always filled with compromises and balance for charles and yourself, and as you two got older, your friendship became stronger and less of the cat and mouse relationship you had when you were four. when you two started school, you were lucky enough to be put in the same class, and at every parent-teacher conference, your teacher always said the same thing to your parents; vos enfants parlent toujours entre eux, jamais aux autres. your children are always talking to each other, never to others.
the two of you became attached at the hip, so one can imagine the turmoil you felt when charles decided to take up racing like jules, and left you all alone at your shared desk while he karted along the tracks of france. you were even more upset when charles came back talking about a french boy named pierre. you had decided then, with both jules and pierre taking charles away from you, that you hated french people.
during the time that charles began karting, your parents were often asked to house either lorenzo or arthur, sometimes even both, while pascale and hervé took the middle child to his races. you’d grown especially close to arthur and lorenzo during those times, and your parents had countless pictures of you and the youngest leclerc playing dress-up before bedtime.
when you met pierre, you had given him the cold shoulder, much like you had been giving jules whenever he came to visit. you were especially angry when pierre had been invited to join your vacations, but you couldn’t help but feel bad when charles looked at both of you with a sad look on his face. he wanted both of his friends to be friends too.
more years passed, and the resentment you had towards both frenchmen faded as you realized just how happy racing made charles. and when arthur started joining his brother some days, you never gave yourself the chance to feel upset, already begging your parents to let you miss a day of school so you could watch both brothers race on the same track.
you were twelve when you decided that you wanted to be involved in charles’ racing life. having grown up with hervé leclerc telling you and his kids stories about his own racing days, and having seen the leclercs and the gasly boy race on many tracks, it felt almost inevitable that you would follow a route in a similar field as them.
you had been sitting in your science class when you had your epiphany. you had listened in on jules and lorenzo talking about racing and the physics behind racing the night before, and when your teacher mentioned the word physics during the lesson, you realized that maybe, instead of racing yourself, you could join charles behind the scenes.
as charles made his way up the ranks in racing, you put your head down and studied hard to get the highest grades in your class. long gone were the days when your teachers would complain to your parents about you and charles talking so much, instead, they now focused on how you excelled in science.
the leclercs had been just as happy for your accomplishments as they had been for their own family members. if anything, lorenzo couldn’t help but feel protective over you, going as far as to sit charles down and help him realize just how much of your life you were changing to fit in with his lifestyle.
after that talk, thirteen-year-old charles spent hours in your room asking you if you were sure that engineering was what you wanted to do, and that he didn’t want to ruin your dreams just because of his own. you had giggled at his ever so slightly puberty-ridden voice, explaining just how sure you were that your future was going to be in engineering.
when puberty hit the two of you, your relationship dynamic changed ever so slightly. no more sleepovers in the same room, or talking about everything that happened to one another. suddenly, you’d find yourself laying in your bed, a science textbook laying next to you haphazardly as you wondered if the shock you felt from charles’ fingers brushing against your arm was static electricity or if you were experiencing the same feelings as the girls in the books you read did. charles himself, wasn’t fairing all too well, blushing from time-to-time when pierre would call you his girl friend–yes, with the space.
but alas, the two of you were oblivious to the growing and changing feelings between you two, brushing it off as just friends being friends. your parents had all exchanged glances when they caught you two sharing shy smiles, and lorenzo and jules couldn’t help but feel excited for the younger boy. arthur had gone as far as asking charles why his cheeks were red after you had left to go to the bathroom. the youngest leclerc had been pushed off the sofa and could be seen with teary eyes and a bruised elbow in the pictures from that barbecue night.
you were sixteen when you realized you harboured feelings for your best friend. you watched from the sidelines as charles transitioned to single-seaters, won races and made podiums with fortec. your realization had hit you while you watched him land his first podium, hugging pascale in absolute elation. the mother of the boy would later go on to tell you she could see the look on your face that day, and how she knew instantly that you knew you were in love.
you never reacted on your feelings, not wanting to ruin your relationship with charles. to him, you two were just best friends, and you would rather be his friend than lose him altogether. after all, losing him didn’t just mean living life without charles by your side.
losing charles meant losing all the leclercs; pascale, hervé, lorenzo, and arthur. losing him meant losing pierre. losing jules, the dumb frenchman who was smart enough to figure out how you felt for the leclerc boy. the one that always pushed your buttons yet was there to help you out just like he had done all those years ago with your broken ken doll. and yet, even without telling charles how you truly felt, you ended up losing jules anyway.
that day, you’d been at the leclerc household like always, watching the japan grand prix with the whole family. as tradition, you and charles had been wearing the team shirts that jules had given everyone at the start of the season. your eyes had been stuck to the screen as you watched jules’ crash, heart instantly plummetting to the bottom of your stomach as everyone let out gasps.
that same night, you had begged lorenzo to let you go with him when he left to go see jules’, but he had given you a sad smile and told you that he’d call you as soon as he was with jules so that you could talk to him as soon as he was able to. neither of your parents said anything when you followed charles into his room at night, holding his body tightly as you prayed that jules would be alright. no one said anything the next morning when they noticed the dark patches on your shoulder, or how your shirt had been crinkled as if someone had been holding onto it all night.
on july 17, you had decided that you would forever keep your feelings to yourself. losing jules was like losing your older brother, and you were sure that you would never be able to handle his loss along with the loss of charles. as you stood in your black dress, you had cried silently, apologizing to jules for going against his wishes and hiding your feelings once more. your heart ached when charles cried beside you, reaching a hand out to hold his.
charles and yourself never went back to normal, for normal included lorenzo and jules picking at the two of you while your cheeks flushed red, or sending an unsuspecting arthur to spy on you two to see what you guys were doing. instead, the two of you had found a new normal, one that involved sharing sleepless nights reminiscing in your memories with jules, falling asleep in each other’s arms.
days turned into weeks, which turned into months and years, and your feelings for your next door neighbour continued to grow. charles, however, remained entirely oblivious, both to your feelings and his own. he had been making big moves in the racing world, winning the title in gp3, and moving onto his first season in f2. you’d celebrated his entry into the f1 world as a haas developmental driver, and in turn, he celebrated the completion of your first year of university.
things were finally starting to look up, and then hervé fell ill. you watched from the back of the hospital room as his eyes lost a little bit of life every day. you watched as charles would hide his tears and smile at his dad, hoping to see him back in good health.
for your entire summer break, you’d find yourself staying at the leclerc household for multiple hours a day, sleeping over most of the nights. charles distanced himself from you, focusing on his racing, recounting his races with hervé for hours until a nurse would come in and tell him he’d have to leave. you couldn’t find it within yourself to be upset with him, knowing that right now, he didn’t need you, he needed his dad.
during this time, you had gotten exceptionally close to arthur, finding him sitting in his dark room crying silently as he thought about his dad. you would lay with him at night, letting the youngest wrap his arms around you while he shared how scared he was. you wished you could take his pain away, but you knew you couldn’t, instead opting to wipe away his tears and kissing his forehead.
you watched charles waste away, wishing you could reach out to him every time you saw him. he had lost his smile, the shine in his eyes dimming with every hour he spent watching his father whither away. by the end of the second week, you had decided you couldn’t simply watch him from afar, letting yourself into his room one night when you heard loud sniffles.
he didn’t move when you rested your hand against his back, and he didn’t resist when you pulled him into your side. at the feeling of your arms around him, his sniffles turned into broken cries and he sobbed against your clavicle. you stayed quiet, letting the boy blubber out words about how he tried so hard to stay strong but that he couldn’t anymore. you didn’t tell him it would be okay, you knew it wouldn’t. hervé was getting sicker and you feared that you would all experience loss once more.
when he had calmed down, the two of you laid down in his bed, charles’ head resting against your chest. his fingers fiddled with the bottom of your shirt, touching the skin of your back every so often.
“je lui ai dit que j'avais signé avec ferrari,” his voice was quiet, barely louder than a whisper. i told him i signed with ferrari,
your hand found its way to his head, twirling the strands with your fingers, “comment a-t-il réagi?” how did he react?
charles’ voice broke, “il était si heureux pour moi,” his arms tightened around you, “mais je lui ai menti.” he was so happy for me, but i lied to him.
“maman est contrariée, elle a dit que je n'aurais pas dû mentir,” he sniffled, “mais je lui ai dit que j'avais signé pour 2019. je ne voulais pas mentir alors je me suis donné du temps. je veux que cela se produise.” mom is upset, said i shouldn’t have lied, but i told him i signed for 2019. i didn’t want to lie so i gave myself time. i want to make it happen.
“tu as le temps, char,” you used your hand to pull his head back, “tu as deux ans pour en faire une réalité.” you’ve got time, char, you’ve got two years to make it a reality.
his eyes glistened with tears, “mais c’est ferrari.” but it’s ferrari.
“je suis un fils horrible,” he looked away, “je lui ai menti.” i’m a horrible son, i lied to him
“tu n'es pas un fils horrible, charles,” you moved to hold his face in your hands, “tu ne l'es pas.” you are not a horrible son, charles. you’re not.
“je ne veux pas qu'il s'inquiète,” his tears slipped under your palms, “je veux qu'il parte en sachant que je peux subvenir aux besoins de notre famille.” i just don’t want him to worry. want him to leave knowing i can support our family.
your heart broke for him, “charles.”
“je veux juste qu'il soit fier de moi.” i just want to make him proud.
you leaned forward and placed gentle kisses against his closed eyelids, “il est et sera toujours fier de toi.” he has and will always be proud of you.
a week later, you stood a few feet away from charles, tears spilling from your eyes as you wore another black dress. hervé had passed away with his family by his side, telling his boys to look after their mother. your own parents stood silently beside you, tears slipping down their own faces as well.
after the service, you sat with the leclerc boys on the porch outside. charles’ arm pressed against yours, while arthur sat between your legs, head in your hands where you combed through his hair. lorenzo sat near the front door, keeping an eye out for his mother who sat on the couch, resting against your own mother. not a word was shared, all of you mourning in silence.
your relationship with charles turned delicate, walking on eggshells whenever you wanted to talk to him. charles was stuck in his head, he had a job to do. you had pushed and pushed to tell him to not race n baku until he exploded, yelling at you for not understanding.
“je n'ai pas le temps de ne pas courir, y/n!” his hands were tugging at his hair, “je lui ai promis que j'avais une place chez ferrari mais je ne l'ai pas. je ne peux pas me permettre de ne pas courir, je dois aller chez ferrari.” i don't have the time to not race, y/n! i promised him i had a spot in ferrari but i don't. i can't afford to not race, i need to get to ferrari.
and so you watched him race his heart out in baku, joining the leclerc family on their trip to azerbaijan. you watched as his sadness and despair poured into his racing. he was fast, enough speed to win the race he had dedicated to his father. his eyes had met yours while he stood at the podium and he felt himself look at you differently for the first time, his father’s words ringing in his head as he watched you smile at him with teary eyes.
it had been a couple days after charles had told hervé about his signing with ferrari when hervé asked charles to sit down and talk with him. his voice was weak and his hand shook as he reached out to grab his son’s hand.
he had smiled, “mon garçon, maintenant que tu as signé avec ferrari, pourquoi ne pas enfin te poser?” my boy, now that you've signed with ferrari, why don't you finally settle down?
“se poser?” charles had been confused, “papa, je n'ai même pas encore 20 ans.” settle down? dad, i’m not even 20 yet.
“l'amour n'a pas d'âge requis,” hervé’s laugh turned into a cough. love has no required age.
“je ne suis même pas amoureux, qu'est-ce que tu dis?” charles helped his father drink water. i'm not even in love, what are you saying?
hervé leaned back, giving his son a fond look, “mon garçon, tu es amoureux de ta meilleure amie depuis que tu l'as laissée jouer avec tes voitures télécommandées.” my boy, you have been in love with your best friend ever since you let her play with your remote control cars.
charles had since waved off his dad’s words, blaming them on his sickness. he had got it all wrong, you were his friend. nothing more, nothing less.
yet as he stood there, looking at you for the first time since you had fought about this very race, he realized that there was something about you that made him feel like no one else could. is this what love is, papa?, he had asked as he held the trophy over his head.
less than a month later, you found yourself sitting in your room, smiling down at your phone. charles had sent you a picture of himself, dressed in ferrari red, ready to participate in the mid-season testing. charles was almost there, another step closer to his dreams.
another month passed and now, you were preparing for your move to university dorms, third year looming around the corner. charles asked if you would like to go to mala beach with him. you’d agreed and the two of you sat in front of the bright turquoise sea, a comforting silence between you two.
“j'ai été signé,” charles had broken the silence. i got signed.
you whipped your head to him, “to ferrari?!”
charles let out a small laugh, shaking his head before looking back at you, “sauber, i’ll be starting with them in the new season.”
“c'est incroyable, char,” you gave him a wide smile, “you’re finally in f1.” that’s amazing.
charles returned your smile with one a bit smaller, “just hope i can make it to ferrari next season.”
“you will, i believe you can do it,” you leaned over and nudged me, “save me a spot in the pit wall, yeah? i’ll be waiting on your call for the 2020 season.”
charles had laughed, “of course, i will. lorenzo would have my head if i didn’t.”
“lorenzo is a smart man.”
the conversation died and you two focused back on the view in front of you. charles was nervous. he had invited you to the beach to do more than just tell you about his career. he wanted to confess to you.
the last few months had been painful–hard–but you made it better with just a single look. after the race in baku, charles realized that he had loved you for a lot longer than he had let on. he loved you when you wore his shirt to school, running late after a sleepover. he loved you when he walked in on you and jules talking about the physics of racing. he loved you when he watched you help arthur with his math homework. he loved you when you had held him close and kissed his puffy eyes, and every single time you told him you were proud of him.
he loved you since the moment he realized what love was, even if he thought it was platonic at the time.
a finger pressed against the middle of his eyebrows, “vous réfléchissez très fort, perceval.” you’re thinking quite hard.
charles’ brows unfurrowed, but a pout graced his lips at the sound of his middle name. ever since you learned of his full name, you had taken to calling him by a different name for certain situations. perceval was for when you were teasing him. he had complained many times that he hated it when you called him that, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it endearing all at the same time. he reached up to grab your hand and pulled it between both his hands, turning so that the two of you were sat across one another rather than beside.
he let out a small sigh, eyes focused on your hand in his, “je veux te dire quelque chose.” i want to tell you something.
you, noticing his nerves, didn’t say anything, only nodding.
you squeezed his hand and he continued, “je veux te dire quelque chose, mais j'ai peur.” i want to tell you something, but i’m scared.
your grip tightened slightly, “pourquoi as-tu peur?” why are you scared?
“j'ai peur de te perdre après avoir dit ce que j'ai à dire.” i'm scared i'll lose you after i say what i have to say.
you felt your heart race at his words, hands growing clammy. for years, you had repeated those same words to yourself, vowing yourself to silence regarding the topic. did he finally feel the same?
you willed yourself to stay calm, “you could never lose me, charles. jamais.” ever.
he gave you a nervous smile, eyes meeting yours for the first time since the new conversation rose. you gave him a soft smile, encouraging him to go on. you needed to hear him say the words first.
“quelques jours après avoir dit à papa que j'avais signé, il m'a dit qu'il était temps pour moi d'avouer mes sentiments,” charles looked away from you, “à l'époque, je n'avais aucune idée de ce dont il parlait.” a couple days after i told dad about me signing, he told me that it was time for me to come clean about my feelings…at the time i had no idea what he was talking about.
“il m'a dit que j'étais amoureuse,” he told me i was in love. charles spoke and your heart went wild. was this really happening?
“et quand j'ai demandé avec qui, il a dit que c'était toi.” and when i asked with who, he said it was you.
you blinked at him. charles’ eyes darted back to your face, his hands squeezing yours.
“et depuis, j'ai réalisé qu'il avait raison,” he gave you a soft smile, “c'est toi. ca a toujours été toi.” and since then, i realized he was right. it's you. it's always been you.
you felt like the small waves lapping at the sand in front of you suddenly turned large and splashed down on you. you felt like your world had just gotten a thousand times brighter. a weight you never even realized you were carrying, lifted off your chest. you felt like you were breathing right for the first time.
“y/n l/n, i love you. looking back, i have loved you from the moment you filled my memories,” his eyes searched yours, “tu as été la seule constante dans ma vie, et ce que j'ai ressenti pour toi a toujours été le même.” you've been the one constant in my life, and the way i've felt for you has always been the same.
“je sais maintenant que c'est de l'amour, et j'ai vraiment besoin que tu le saches avant que nous passions au prochain chapitre de nos vies.” i know now it's love, and i really need you to know that before we move on to the next chapter of our lives.
it was as if his words had been kissing you, leaving you breathless the moment he pulled away and stopped talking. charles had just told you he loved you. charles marc hervé perceval leclerc had just confessed to you.
a beat passed and he lightly tugged on your hand, the hopeful look in his eyes dimming slightly. you realized you had not responded.
“you love me?” after nearly five years of hiding your feelings from him, charles had just told you that he had felt the same. you couldn’t believe it.
he nodded slightly, “i do. je t’aime beaucoup.” i love you a lot.
you let the words sink in. he loved you. he loves you.
charles opened his mouth, “it’s okay if you don–”
“i love you, too,” you had let out a breathless laugh, “mon dieu, charles, je t'aime depuis que nous avons seize ans, quand tu as eu ton premier podium avec fortec.” my god, i have loved you since we were sixteen, when you got your first podium with fortec.
“fortec?” his eyes were wide as he realized how long it had been, “je suis un tel connard. tu as caché tes sentiments pendant si longtemps.” i am such an asshole. you've been hiding your feelings for so long.
his eyes looked watery with love, his forehead coming to rest against yours, “je suis désolé qu'il m'ait fallu si longtemps pour réaliser mes sentiments pour toi.” i'm sorry it took me so long to realize my feelings for you.
you smiled at him softly, your own eyes tearing up just as much as his, “mieux vaut tard que jamais.” better late than never.
to say your relationship with charles changed drastically after the confession would be a lie. the two of you spent the rest of your day at the beach wrapped up in each other’s arms, and charles had kissed your forehead before he drove the two of you home. the entire night you felt like you couldn’t sleep, and instead you spent your entire night texting charles with your curtains pulled shut, not wanting charles to see how wide you smiled with every text.
and although you two had confessed, you had neglected to discuss what would happen next.
charles had texted you at half past midnight the night before you left for university, asking for you to come outside. when you came out to your porch, he stood there with a smile on his face and an offer to go to the park you two used to play at as kids.
you were on the swings when he had asked you, sitting side by side and swinging back and forth slowly. you had been focused on the movement of your feet, trying to swing just slightly higher than charles.
“tu dirais oui si je te demandais d'être ma petite amie?” would you say yes if i asked you to be my girlfriend?
whenever charles reminisced this moment, he would say that the look you gave him when you registered his question had been the cutest doe-eyed look ever. your eyes were wide and your eyebrows had raised slightly. your lips were parted in the smallest of round shapes, and you blinked before responding.
“je pense que oui,” you slowed your swinging slightly, eyes bright with excitement, “veux-tu l'essayer?” i think i would. do you want to try it?
charles had given you a cheeky smile, slipping out of his swing and resting on one knee in front of you. he had gotten down wrong with his right knee kissing the ground, but you said nothing as your lips quirked into a smile.
“y/n l/n,” he reached for your hands and you let him grab them, “me ferais-tu l'honneur d'être ma charmante petite amie?” would you do the honour of being my lovely girlfriend?
you pretended to think about it, the hum turning into a giggle at the way charles’ face dropped in annoyance, “j’aimerais.” i would love to.
and much to the annoyance of charles’ nosy brothers, you two hadn’t kissed to set the new relationship in stone, instead wrapping each other into a tight hug, one where your feet left the ground, before charles placed a gentle kiss to your temple.
the two of you had been dating for four months before you finally had your first kiss. charles had asked you out on a date on christmas eve, and had been rather disappointed when it began raining halfway through. it was cheesy, you knew it, charles knew it, and anyone and everyone who watched you tug charles out from under tha canopy and into the rain knew it too, but neither of your seemed to care.
charles’ cheeks and nose were slightly rosy from the mixture of cold raindrops and wind, and you were sure you weren’t fairing much better. your hands had wrapped around his neck as his found home against your hips.
“i’ve dreamt of kissing under the rain ever since i watched ‘a cinderella story’,” you had laughed, throwing your head back into the rain.
charles had pulled you closer, “well, ma princesse, i’m here to make your dreams a reality.”
sharing a kiss under the rain was cold, obviously–you couldn’t help the shiver that travelled up your spine when charles’ cold lips pressed themselves against your own–but at the same time, it was so warm. you felt like someone had lit a candle inside of you, warming you up from the inside out. when you pulled away, the two of you couldn’t help but let out soft laughs, hearts racing faster than any car charles had ever drove.
the two of you had spent the rest of the year laying under warm blankets, with a cacophony of coughs and sneezes being your main form of communication.
your third year in university was split halfway between studying or taking exams, and watching charles’ races or crying to him over facetime because engineering was already so hard. as much as you had wished to be there attending charles’ every race in f1, you were nearing the end of your second semester and were swamped with finals.
your first f1 race had been the 2018 monaco grand prix, and you’d spent the better part of your evening with your arms wrapped around him as he promised you that the next races would be better. the season had been rough for charles, but you had celebrated every good result, no matter how small.
it was your second holiday season as charles’ girlfriend when both of your worlds changed entirely. a couple days before christmas, charles had asked for you and your parents to join his family for dinner. when you had all settled around the dining table, charles stood up with a wide smile on his face.
“j'ai signé avec ferrari.” i signed with ferrari.
to this day, that dinner had been one of your favourite memories. the amount of smiles and tears shared, and the sheer pride that filled your chest when you looked at charles was something you had never been able to forget.
that night, you and charles found yourselves sharing a bed, hands intertwined between the two of you. his eyes were glossy as he looked at you.
a tear slipped out of his eyes when he closed them, “i didn’t lie.”
your free hand moved to wipe the tear away. your mind rushed back to the night you two had shared a week before hervé’s passing.
you leaned forward and kissed his closed eyelids much like you had done the previous year, “no you didn’t. you’ve done well, mon amour. i know he’s so proud of you.”
on christmas morning, lorenzo had surprised you with a letter from the ferrari engineering academy, offering you an intern position to gain trackside experience for your final semester of your engineering degree. you had cried and thanked him profusely, while he laughed at your blubbering figure. later that night, arthur and charles had fought over who you’d be a race engineer for, with the youngest pointing out that he would soon join the ferrari driver academy himself.
and so 2019 began, with charles driving for ferrari, while you gained experience working with the ferrari engineering academy. by the end of your final semester, you had been offered to continue your internship with the academy which you had accepted immediately.
2019 was also the year that your relationship became public, a series of events causing fans to go crazy. pictures of charles in a suit had gone viral after some of your classmates caught sight of him at your graduation, and while you weren’t in the pictures, fans were quick to theorize that his girlfriend was one of the students who was graduating.
speculations and theories about who you were had only just started when you made yourself known to the general f1 public, joining charles at french grand prix. it hadn’t been the plan, but after watching charles finish the race in p3 behind the mercedes, you couldn’t hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around your boyfriend and sharing a sweet kiss, unbeknownst to the cameras plastered everything to the big screens.
for the rest of the season, you made appearances on random race weekends, work being a lot more lenient than your university deadlines had ever been. fans had joked that you were his good luck charm, with charles ending up on a podium in every race you went to.
the belgian grand prix was a race weekend you could never forget, for more reasons than one. you were there to see anthoine’s crash, hand clasped with charles as you watched the scene pan out. you felt like you were eighteen again, sitting next to charles as you watched jules on the tv.
you had met anthoine quite a few times as you grew up for he, pierre, and charles had always been a tight-knit group. the frenchman had always been kind to you, and you found it hard to believe that he would no longer be cracking jokes with you about something pierre and charles had done while you were away.
both pierre and yourself had cried watching charles receive his award and dedicate his first win to anthoine. you wondered if he and jules were watching charles from above, smiling proudly for his accomplishment.
t was a home race that charles had won next, and the amount of people you had come across at work asking you to pass on a congratulations to charles was insane. you couldn’t complain though, you were proud charles was finally getting the recognition and love he deserved.
it was in italy where you celebrated your second anniversary, also. charles had gifted you a pretty necklace with his racing number on it, something you had worn ever since.
in late 2019, you had been given an opportunity to join prema racing as an engineer which you had happily accepted. as you all sat around the dinner table for christmas, you shared the exciting news. arthur had been ecstatic, explaining how he would be driving for prema racing starting 2020.
“stop pouting, charles,” arthur had rolled his eyes, catching sight of his brooding older brother, “je t'avais dit qu'elle serait mon ingénieur de course.” i told you she would be my race engineer.
charles gaped at his younger brother, “woah, woah, woah. qui a dit qu'elle était votre ingénieur de course?” who said anything about her being your racing engineer?
“cela doit arriver,” arthur had smirked, dodging the hand that charles has attempted to slap his head with. it’s bound to happen.
and so, you debuted as a racing engineer during a pandemic, something you had never imagined yourself saying. much like how you hadn’t imagined saying that you would be the racing engineer for one arthur leclerc.
much to charles’ chagrin, you remained arthur’s racing engineer for as long as he stayed in prema racing, which had been a total of three years. when it was revealed that arthur had signed with alfa romeo racing for the 2023 season, you had received multiple offers from other f1 teams to join as an engineer for their drivers.
charles himself had jumped at the opportunity, conducting a meeting with mattia to consider switching xavier out for you, presenting him with all of yours and arthur’s stats from the previous years. when word got out about you possibly becoming charles’ race engineer, ferrari fans from across the globe demanded that mattia offer you the job. at the end of the 2022 season, scuderia ferrari had released a statement that stated how you would be replacing xavier padros as charles leclerc’s race engineer for his future ferrari seasons.
it was christmas yet again, the sixth one since you had started dating charles, and said boyfriend couldn’t help but taunt his younger brother.
“je t'avais dit qu'elle serait à moi après tout.” told you she would be mine after all.
arthur waved him off, “oui, oui. elle était mon ingénieur en premier. et pendant trois ans, laissez-moi le dire.” yeah, yeah. she was my engineer first. and for three years, let me just put that out there.
you rolled your eyes, smacking the back of charles’ head before reaching over and tugging on arthur’s ear, “depuis quand suis-je un objet que vous pouvez posséder et faire circuler?” since when was i an object you guys could just own and pass around?
both brothers winced and avoided your eyes, mumbling a quick sorry before stuffing their mouths with food. pascale had laughed, always entertained when her boys got scolded by you.
the start of your first season with ferrari had gone amazingly, with both charles and the season’s car performing exceptionally well. charles had managed to secure a large gap in the points for the driver’s championship, leading the championship with two wins worth of points.
and that leads us to now, the final race of the 2023 season. the fight for the title had yet to be over, with charles and max flipping positions every few races. at the moment, max had been leading the wdc with only five more points than charles, said ferrari driver currently leading the race with the dutch driver hot on his tail.
“alright, char, we’ve got two more laps, you can do it. push, push.”
the sound of your voice had never failed to bring a smile on charles face, no matter how stressed he was when you spoke over the radio, “how’s it looking?”
“you’re quicker than max in all sectors but the last,” you read off your observations, “ideally, you’d want that last sector to be the quickest so that there’s no chance of him overtaking you. can you go any faster?”
you could hear the smile in his voice as he pushed his car to go faster, “of course, i can, cherié.”
you tsked, “no flirting on the job, leclerc. one lap remaining.”
the radio stayed silent for the next minute, charles focused on staying ahead of max who continued to put pressure on the monégasque from behind. you could see the red ferrari at the final turn, unable to keep the smile from growing as max’s tires locked up, increasing the gap between him and charles.
the mechanics began cheering loudly, rushing to the pit wall to cheer for your boyfriend who crossed the finish line first.
you had laughed loudy, “and that’s a checkered flag, mon amour! you are the 2023 world champion!”
charles exclaimed loudly over the radio, car slowing down for a cooldown lap. he let out a few whoops before settling down to give a quick message to the team, “excellent job, guys. wow, congratulations everyone. thank you for all of the hard work this season. today marks not only my first driver’s championship, but also our first constructor’s championship win since 2008.”
he continued to thank a few more people before letting out another ecstatic laugh. from across the pitwall, you could see arthur’s red and white car cross the finish line in fifth place.
“amour?” charles’ voice called out to you, “you there?”
“of course, champ. what’s up?” you gave mattia a confused look as he smiled at you.
“tu dirais oui si je te demandais d'être ma femme?” would you say yes if i asked you to be my wife?
your breath hitched in your throat. you felt like you were thrown back into 2017, twenty years old sitting on a swing while charles sat in the one next to you.
“je pense que oui,” you repeated, eyes beady with unshed tears, “veux-tu l'essayer?” i think i would. do you want to try it?
charles had rushed to you the second he parked his car, pulling you close to plant a kiss against your lips before he was whisked away rather quickly to complete his post-race duties.
in front of the cameras, charles expressed his absolute elation regarding winning the grand prix, as well as coming first in both championships. the interviewer congratulated the monégasque on getting most votes for driver of the day as well, before moving on to the question he knew everyone wanted an answer for.
“so, we all picked up on that last radio message there. can we expect to receive any happy news in the near future?”
charles had smiled and shrugged, “i guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
for the final podium of the season, as his race engineer and team principal, you and mattia would be joining charles. even after 26 years of being around him, your heart still raced when you saw charles join you two on the podium.
with the awards distributed, you had waited to get drenched with champagne, looking around confused when no one popped a bottle. charles got off his step, making his way towards you.
unlike his cheeky smile six years ago, the smile on his face today was tender. the crowd beneath the podium screamed loudly as he kneeled on his left knee. he did it right this time, you couldn’t help but smile.
just like he had done six years ago, he uttered your name, “y/n l/n,” instead of grabbing your hands this time, he held his hand out to mattia, who handed him a ring box.
charles opened the box and presented it to you, “me ferais-tu l'honneur d'être ma charmante femme?” would you do the honour of being my lovely wife?
and just like you had done six years ago, you pretended to contemplate, your smile peeking through as charles rolled his eyes at you playfully. you stuck your left hand out, wiggling your fingers, “j’aimerais.” i would love to.
the champagne bottles popped the second charles slipped the ring on your finger. you didn’t even care as the sweet champagne sprayed against your face and body, too wrapped up in the loving gaze of your fiancé.
and then, just like you had done for the first time under the rain six years ago, the two of you locked lips under the showers of champagne.
More Posts from Escapismlourve and Others
you're on your own, kid | pg10
"i wait patiently, he's gonna notice me. it's okay, we're the best of friends"
summary: after what she thought was the best night of her life, she came to the realization that she was nothing but one more girl on his list
warning: angst, childhood best friends, toxic fuckboy pierre, mentions of bullying as a little kid, friend zone, one-night stand, suggestive language, swearing, mentions of feeling used, emotional dependence, heartbreak, miscommunication trope, platonic!reader x charles leclerc
pairing: pierre gasly x reader
word count: 4.1k
note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts.
whoever guessed 'you're on your own, kid'... CONGRATS!! this one is for you! haha I hope you guys like this one, it's the longest story I've written so far but this is such a special song to me and I tried my best to do it justice! enjoy!
masterlist
Summer went away, still, the yearning stays
I play it cool with the best of them
I wait patiently, he's gonna notice me
It's okay, we're the best of friends
Anyway
For as long as Y/N could remember, she had been completely and madly in love with her best friend.
Pierre and Y/N became an inseparable duo from the moment they met as two little kids trying out for their primary school's football team.
At the time, the other boys tried to make fun of the little girl for wanting to be a part of a "boys' sport", as they called it. Being the only girl there, she was made the target of all the bullying, but when she was about to give in and give up, her hero appeared in the form of 6-year-old Pierre who defended her with everything he had.
Y/N looked at the tiny French boy with wide, sparkling eyes as he took her hand and gave it a little squeeze so she wouldn't feel alone.
From there, the two immediately became best friends and that's how they stayed throughout the years.
But at some point in time, the girl found herself getting butterflies when she was in Pierre's presence, imagining what it would be like to have his lips against hers, idealizing a life where the two would be together as more than just friends.
It was inevitable. Pierre emanated such a powerful energy that it consumed her head and dominated all her senses.
He was like a drug: addictive, impossible to give up and she depended on him for survival - almost as if he was oxygen.
And so it was with so many other girls, victims of the driver's charm, although his playboy fame followed him everywhere since he was a teenager.
And it hurt. It hurt too much.
All those years, Y/N had no choice but to fake a smile and nod as she listened to the Frenchman brag about all his latest conquests, all the models, actresses and singers he got involved with all over the world.
She had no choice but to wait patiently for him to notice her and for him to finally see them as more than the best of friends.
I hear it in your voice, you're smoking with your boys
I touch my phone as if it's your face
I didn't choose this town, I dream of getting out
There's just one who could make me stay
All my days
To be honest, Y/N was already starting to accept that nothing would ever happen between them.
So, the girl chose to distance herself from her friend a little, in an attempt to let her romantic feelings for him fade over time.
She used every excuse in the book to avoid him: I'm tired, I have other plans, I'm working late, I'm sick, I had a family emergency. All of the excuses in the world were used.
Until the day when there were no more excuses and she ended up having to give in, arranging a movie night with the man, as they frequently did over their friendship of nearly two decades.
Y/N arrived at Pierre's luxury apartment in Milan on time as she always did. For a second, she hesitated to knock on the door, letting her anxiety take over, and almost decided to flee in the opposite direction. But as if the driver read her thoughts, the Frenchman appeared from inside his house, seeing his best friend, frozen on top of his black 'welcome' mat.
"Hey! I thought I heard someone coming!" Pierre said excitedly as he gave the girl a short hug. "What are you waiting for? Come in, make yourself comfortable!"
Y/N took off her long coat, hanging it on the coat rack in the hallway, and followed Pierre into his living room, where she saw everything prepared for their movie session. Pillows scattered across the living room floor, two warm blankets crumpled on the couch and two buckets full of popcorn, the smell of which had entered her nose from the moment she set foot inside the apartment.
The familiar image of the boy sitting on his soft carpet made her body relax, and she took the seat next to him while he searched for a movie on his Netflix account. After the two agreed to watch a horror movie, both of them big fans of the genre, the two leaned back against the bottom of the sofa and directed their attention to the screen.
The minutes passed and the two remained in a comfortable silence, commenting from time to time on some of the moments in the film.
Pierre was now closer to the girl's side and the heat he radiated seemed to almost burn her with the tension that appeared to have settled in her room.
Out of nowhere, Y/N felt something cold on her thigh and thought she was daydreaming when she realized it was her best friend's hand. The girl didn't react, fearing that the words coming out of her mouth would be the wrong ones.
She couldn't help but notice how the driver seemed to be studying her every move, out of the corner of his eye, like a predator looking for prey to attack.
It was a look she had seen on his face more times than she could count. But never directed at her.
His hand began to move slowly up her soft thigh towards the warm spot between her legs, testing the waters and seeing how far she allowed him to go. His calculated movement was stopped abruptly when she caught his wrist before he reached his intended destination.
"Pierre, what are you doing?" Y/N asked, turning her flushed face towards him.
The boy was mere inches away from her, a smirk plastered across his face and without any sign of regret or embarrassment at having been caught making his risky move. "Y/N, don't lie to me. I've seen the way you look at me. The way your eyes react when they see me approaching you, when you see me with other girls, or when you see me shirtless." He grinned at her, shamelessly.
The girl remained silent, no words daring to be uttered, and she gasped as his hand returned to its former place on the top of her thigh. The Frenchman narrowed the space between them even more, letting his lips brush over hers.
"Come on, Y/N. I can feel how much you want this, want me right now." The man spoke, his fingers now playing with the elastic of her underwear, threatening to act on his desire. "Don't think too much about it. Just live in the moment and act without thinking about the consequences."
Those words were enough to make her head turn off, completely losing her rationality.
Filled with lust, Y/N acted without thinking and kissed Pierre urgently, as if she feared the moment would end at any moment.
With tongues fighting passionately, touches exploring the curves and details of each others' bodies, and clothes scattered carelessly around the room, the two allowed themselves to enter a new level of intimacy.
And the young woman's heart looked like it could explode at any moment with how full it felt, finally having the boy she craved for so long in her arms.
From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes
I waited ages to see you there
I search the party of better bodies
Just to learn that you never cared
The next day, Y/N woke up with the sun's rays coming through the half-open window of a room that she recognized immediately as Pierre's bedroom.
Though she had never woken up in that room like this before: naked, with only the sheets covering her body, and with a satisfying ache between her legs that she hadn't felt in a long time.
Although the driver was nowhere to be seen, a goofy smile appeared on her face, and she brought her hands to her face to cover it up. She let out a silent little scream as she remembered the wonderful hours she'd spent the night before, her exploring Pierre's body, Pierre exploring hers.
Finally, things were going to change.
She finally got the boy she wanted all those agonizing years.
Grabbing a used tracksuit of his that was lying on a chair and a pair of clean boxers from his drawer, the girl got dressed and headed to the kitchen, where she found her lover leaning against one of his kitchen counters, concentrated on the phone in his hand while drinking some coffee.
"Well, good morning!" Y/N said, almost humming with so much happiness filling her as she approached the driver.
"Hey." He replied, short and dry, making the young woman stop in her tracks, dumbfounded by his carefree attitude.
"Did you sleep well today...?" She tried to test the waters to see if it was just her being dramatic and misunderstanding his response.
"Yeah, sure." Pierre spoke again, without returning the question and without taking his eyes off the small screen of his iPhone as he drank a bit more of his coffee.
Nervousness began to replace all the bliss that previously consumed the girl. It was almost as if he never cared, not even after all she gave him the night before. "Is there something wrong, Pierre?" She questioned, clutching the bottom of the hoodie she was wearing in an attempt to hide her uneasiness.
You're on your own, kid
You always have been
"No, sorry. I'm just trying to arrange something here." He replied, more friendly, though he still hadn't even looked at her since Y/N walked into the kitchen.
"What are you planning?" The girl asked, trying everything to strike up a conversation with him. Her heart was beating wildly at that point, and it seemed to crack more and more with each beat.
"Just this lunch thing with a girl I've been talking to for a few weeks." His shoulders shrugged as if his words hadn't pushed Y/N to her limits.
She couldn't explain how hurt she felt. How dirty and used he, of all people, made her feel.
How could he? Her best friend. The person who had been by her side for years. The man she would do anything for.
After suffering in silence for years afraid to act on her feelings, this was her pay for taking a risk once in her life: becoming just another silly girl in Pierre Gasly's long list of lovers.
Just another conquest, another achievement, undeserving of the driver's concern and care, with zero distinction from all others.
"Look, I'm in a hurry. I really have to go, Y/N." He informed her just as he started to walk hurriedly towards the exit, placing a quick kiss on her temple.
As if those same lips hadn't been glued to hers, clinging to every surface of the girl's body just hours before.
"You know the way! Just let yourself out. See you later!" He yelled, leaving the girl stunned, tears streaming from her eyes, as she heard the apartment door close loudly.
I see the great escape, so long, Daisy May
I picked the petals, he loves me not
Something different bloomed, writing in my room
I play my songs in the parking lot
I'll run away
A couple of days later, Y/N found herself sitting in her condo's parking lot one night, balling her eyes out while she played the songs of her favourite artist.
She couldn't believe that her best friend had used her body and taken advantage of her feelings for him. And to make matters worse, the girl has received nothing but silence from Pierre's side since that morning in his apartment.
Left alone with her own confused thoughts, Y/N's head was spinning. She didn't know what to do, what to think, or what to say.
I just want to get out of Milan and go home, she repeated over and over again.
Y/N had never chosen that town.
The young woman remembered every detail of the day when Pierre announced he was going to move to Italy, leaving France.
A life without Pierre was unimaginable for the girl. She couldn't remember a single day when she didn't know him, when she didn't have his presence in her life.
Feeling trapped, with no other option, she simply packed her bags and went with him.
She couldn't help but think what a huge mistake it had been to come after him, especially when he didn't seem to care about having her there at all.
Y/N picked up her phone, preparing to turn off the music that was blaring through the car to return home, but she was stopped by the sight of the image that decorated her lock screen.
It was from last year. Pierre and Y/N were wearing their ugly Christmas sweaters - like they did every year as a silly tradition - cuddled up on the couch in his parents' house. The lights from the tree reflected on them, creating a magical atmosphere around the two friends.
The girl affectionately touched her phone, as if it were his face.
Although the idea of returning to France had been hovering in her head for a while, she knew that she couldn't decide to leave without talking to him first.
After all, he was the only one who could make her stay.
From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes
I called a taxi to take me there
I search the party of better bodies
Just to learn that my dreams aren't rare
As tears continued to pool in her sad eyes, Y/N opted to get out of her car, assuring that it was safely locked, and called a taxi to take her to the boy's house, since she wasn't in any condition to drive.
The drive was silent and short, just the typical 15 minutes it took her every time. The girl got out of the car, thanked the driver, and began to walk hurriedly towards the building. Her step was uneven and fast, revealing the girl's erratic and desperate state.
Y/N walked through the door of the building, politely greeting the doorman, and continued on her way towards the elevator.
She was only inside for a few minutes until she reached Pierre's floor, being immediately surprised by the loud sound of music coming from the door of the familiar apartment.
He's having a party, and he hasn't even invited me, she thought to herself.
While she suffered from his absence, Pierre was surrounded by anything but silence.
You're on your own, kid
You always have been
Y/N gained some courage and rang the doorbell, although she was afraid that no one would hear the sound in between the noise coming from the apartment's speakers.
However, seconds later, the driver appeared at the door, wide-eyed at the sight of his friend.
"Hey! Y/N!" Pierre smiled at her, without any sign that he had stopped to think about her during the days that had passed since the night of desire between the two of them. "I wasn't expecting you, come in!"
"Hmm..." The girl hesitantly entered the house and tried to pretend that everything was fine, not wanting to ruin the party. "I was nearby and decided to stop by."
"Oh, good!" Pierre replied, bringing his hand to the back of his neck as his eyes roamed the party full of other bodies. "We're just having a last-minute thing. You know, just a spontaneous hangout." He chuckled, clearly looking to get back to what he was doing before heading to the door.
"Yes, of course, Pierre 'spontaneous' Gasly." Y/N joked, in an attempt to break the tense atmosphere between the two. However, she only received the disinterest of Pierre, who clearly didn't find the joke funny.
"Look, I have to go. I was in the middle of something," Pierre looked back at her, pointing towards a person she immediately recognized. "But Charles is over there with Joris! You can go to them. We'll talk later, okay?"
Without even waiting for her answer, the Frenchman left. The girl's teary eyes followed his image until she saw him returning to his dark couch, where three gorgeous women were waiting for the driver, with hungry eyes on their faces.
The same fucking couch where he'd explored her body, millimetre by millimetre, marking her skin with his touch, days before.
"You know how he gets when he is hosting a party." Charles said, approaching the young woman when he noticed her presence alone in the room.
She shrugged, discreetly wiping the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "Yeah, well, my presence was always pointless here for him anyway."
Y/N turned to the Monegasque driver and hugged him tight, longer than usual. The man was caught off guard, taking a few seconds to return his longtime friend's hug, but he did so.
Charles couldn't help feeling that that hug meant something more to the girl, but he chose not to question it since it was apparent in her hurt look that something else was going on and he didn't want to intrude.
Y/N placed a friendly kiss on the boy's cheek, letting her hand rest on his cheek. Her gaze locked with his eyes and he swore he saw a tear fall down her cheek.
"Goodbye Charles." She forced a smile. "I will talk to you later, I love you." Y/N turned her back to her friend and walked out the door, without allowing the driver to respond.
Charles couldn't shake the feeling that this 'goodbye' wasn't just a 'see you later', but, blaming it on alcohol and his imagination, he returned to the party, without giving the matter any further thought.
From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes
I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this
I hosted parties and starved my body
Like I'd be saved by a perfect kiss
In a hurry and with tears flowing freely down her face, the girl returned home and placed all her belongings in suitcases and bags, without any care.
And with that, Y/N ran up and down the stairs of the building where she lived towards her car, filling the trunk and the back seats of the vehicle with everything she had in her small house.
For one last time, Y/N looked at the now lifeless apartment where she lived for the last few years and her heart felt tight, unable to hide the nostalgia that that place was going to leave her with.
She might not have been the happiest there in Milan, but her home had always been her refuge.
However, it was time for her to turn the page, burn the bridge, and finally return to her true home.
Sitting in the car, she took a deep breath and began her long, impulsive journey back to France. It was completely insane trying to make a trip lasting more than 10 hours, especially at that time of night, but the girl simply couldn't bear to stay there another minute.
When the sun started to reappear in the sky, illuminating the endless road with its orange and pink tones, Y/N realized that he hadn't stopped yet and decided to park at one of the available stations to rest.
However, the heartache and the feeling of betrayal still crushed her soul, so she sought refuge in the words of her best friend, Céline, who would certainly welcome her when she reached her destination.
"Y/N? Is everything okay?" Her sleepy tone soon revealed that she had been awakened by the call.
"I'm coming home, Cél." Y/N informed, sniffling her nose. "I gave my blood, sweat and tears for this. I gave it my all but I just couldn't take it anymore."
"What?" Y/N could hear the sound of the sheets and mattress moving on the other end of the line, imagining Céline suddenly sitting up on her bed. "Home? As in France? I don't understand, what happened? Talk to me."
"I'm just a dumb girl who thought the guy she loved for years was going to be her prince charming, coming to save her the perfect kiss." The young woman sobbed, with her hand covering her mouth in an attempt to hide the noise. "Instead, I was just treated like a fucking toy. He didn't even care to know how I felt after he slept with me."
"What? You and Pierre?" His friend questioned, shocked. "Oh my god, I never thought he would be capable of doing this to you. I don't even know what to say."
The two friends stayed for a long time talking, Céline being her usual attentive friend and listening to Y/N's outburst without interrupting her.
"Don't worry, girl. I'll be here with open arms to welcome you home." Cél tried to comfort her friend, making the girl in the car thank her for everything.
Y/N had no reason to be afraid when the people who really cared about her were waiting for her where she truly belonged.
The jokes weren't funny, I took the money
My friends from home don't know what to say
I looked around in a blood-soaked gown
And I saw something they can't take away
The days passed and Pierre went on with his life as normal, not even noticing the girl's absence until Charles asked him about it.
The two were playing FIFA on their PlayStations when the Monegasque spoke. "Pierre, have you heard from Y/N lately?"
The Frenchman felt a wave of shock hit him as he realized he hadn't seen or heard from her since the night of the party when he'd rudely dismissed her.
"I don't know, mate... When I talked to her at the party, she didn't seem right." Charles expressed his concerns. "I've tried texting her, calling her. She doesn't answer me."
"It's probably not a big deal. She's probably just busy with something." Pierre pretended to be unconcerned, trying to convince himself more than his friend that it was just a misunderstanding.
"No, Pierre. You don't understand." The Monegasque insisted, persistent in solving the mystery. "When she said goodbye to me that night... I felt like it was goodbye, a real goodbye."
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
The word echoed in Pierre's head and regret filled him from head to toe, as he rose abruptly from the sofa.
"I have to go, Charles."
'Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned
Everything you lose is a step you take
So, make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it
You've got no reason to be afraid
You're on your own, kid
Yeah, you can face this
The driver knocked insistently on the girl's door, almost as if his life depended on it.
"Y/N, please! Open the door!" Fists clenched against the wood, he begged for a chance to apologize.
Pierre knew now that he had acted wrongly with her.
For letting his desire for some release come between them. For using his friend for a night of passion when she was the most important person in his life. For giving her just something fleeting, something ephemeral when she deserved the world at her feet.
For ignoring the girl the morning after the best night in his life. For avoiding her the next few days when he should have run to her and confessed his feelings. For taking the easy way out and looking for comfort in other bodies when the only one he wanted by his side was her.
Pierre gave up knocking and let his back hit the door, sitting on the step. "I'm sorry. For everything. I beg you, give me a chance to tell you everything I should have said ages ago."
"Sorry, but are you looking for Y/N?" An old voice spoke, making the Frenchman look up at the person. "She doesn't live here anymore, young man."
"W- What- What do you mean?" Pierre stammered, feeling like he'd been doused in cold water.
"She left the apartment a few days ago. The landlord is already looking for someone to rent the place." The elderly lady informed him, setting down the groceries she was holding on the floor.
It was too late, he thought. I lost her, forever.
She approached him, placing a hand gently on the boy's shoulder, who now had his head between his hands.
"I'm sorry, but you're on your own, kid."
You're on your own, kid
You always have been
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Three’s Company
When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.
9k (18+)
Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.
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The room is stiflingly hot.
There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.
Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.
They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.
"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."
They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.
When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.
Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."
To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.
"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."
She smiled.
"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."
Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."
The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.
As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.
He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.
The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.
"So, how did you and Art meet?"
Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.
"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."
"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."
Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.
She chuckles.
"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"
Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.
"Well, there were some other contributing factors."
"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."
This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.
"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"
Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.
The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.
He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.
When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.
With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.
The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.
Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.
Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.
Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.
They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.
"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."
Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.
After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them.
She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.
With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.
Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.
Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"
Patrick doesn't miss a beat.
"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"
The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.
"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"
Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...
Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.
He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.
Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.
She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.
"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."
To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.
Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"
The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.
In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.
That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.
While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone—between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.
One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her.
He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."
Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.
Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.
Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.
She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.
Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.
Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."
To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.
Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.
When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.
"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."
Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.
The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.
So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.
Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now.
When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.
The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.
They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...
Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.
"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.
It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.
She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"
The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.
It hits her harder than she ever knew it could.
Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.
If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.
Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.
She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.
Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.
He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"
Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.
"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."
They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.
Patrick is the first to break the silence.
"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"
"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.
Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.
"Only a little?"
She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.
It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.
Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.
"Too much clothes."
But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.
Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.
"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.
To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.
It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.
A taste is all she allows herself, though.
Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.
She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"
Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.
To their surprise, it's Art who answers first.
Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.
"On my lap."
Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.
Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.
"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."
And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.
The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. She feels Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.
Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.
"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.
There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.
Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.
Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.
She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."
"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."
If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.
"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect—mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."
With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.
Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.
She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.
As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.
Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.
"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."
Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.
Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.
Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"
A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.
"If it's too much, you have to tell us."
Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."
Patrick does not need to be told twice.
Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism they are experiencing tonight.
One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.
She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.
Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."
The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.
One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.
As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.
And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.
Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes.
"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"
The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.
With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"
Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.
Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.
He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"
A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.
He asks again, "Is that what you want?"
Her response is immediate.
"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please, please!"
To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.
The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.
To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.
Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."
Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.
Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.
She digs her nails into Art's skin hard enough to hurt as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.
It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.
Her head is laid on Art’s shoulder with Patrick’s nose nuzzling her neck. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.
It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.
The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.
The silence continues to stretch on, then—
"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if don't mind sharing me."
His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.
"I don't mind one bit."
-
Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!
Man's World - Masterlist & Synopsis
Pairing: Female!Leclerc reader x Carlos Sainz Jr
Warnings: slow burn, eventual Smut, enemies to lovers
Rating: Mature
AN: Thought I’d finally start my own F1 fanfic! I’ve seen so many amazing writers recently and I love all your stories so I wanted to try my hand at something too! :) Comments and love appreciated - but please enjoy! Yay!
Synopsis
Bugatti have entered the F1 world – as the 11th Formula 1 team. With a goal of bringing equality to formula 1, CEO and Team Principal Isabelle Binotto, wife of the famous Ferrari Principal Mattia Binotto, has decided to bring a predominantly female team to the paddock- including two female drivers.
Georgia Leclerc, twin sister of Charles Leclerc, is an obvious choice. As Indy Car’s first female champion and a winner of the 24 hours of Le Mans, Georgia has her sights set on one thing – the WDC. With an incredibly strong start to the season and a fantastic car, Georgia is front runner to win the 2022 WDC in her rookie season.
The only problem? The press and sponsors find her brash, boring, and the opposite of her charming brother Charles. Regardless of her racing ability, sponsors are looking for F1’s “golden girl” who is all smiles.
Bugatti need to continue to bring in the right sponsors so they can keep funding the team and proving that women can be apart of this man’s world.
Carlos Sainz Jr., Ferrari’s #2 driver, is having a rough start to the season. He’s DNF’d in several races and his partying and lavish lifestyle has gotten him some bad press.
With sponsorship money on the line, both teams come up with one solution – fake a relationship between Georgia and Carlos with the hopes that the Sponsors will see the drivers in a new light. An easy task – if the drivers didn’t hate each other.
Surely Carlos’ suave and charming personality will rub off on Georgia, and maybe Georgia’s straight laced personality will encourage Carlos to party less and work more.
———
Chapter 1 - Grin It and Bear It - 3200 Words
Chapter 2 - A Cold Day In Hell - 4800 Words
Chapter 3 - It’s In My Nature - 4600 Words
Chapter 4 - Heat? I Eat Chili’s Raw -4100 Words
Chapter 5 - No Pole, No Problem. -6000 Words
Chapter 6 - A Losing Deck of Cards, Please - 4000 Words
Chapter 7* - Boys, Am I Right? -4500 Words
Chapter 8 - Track Fights Lead to Late Nights - 5700 Words
Chapter 9 - Never Underestimate Georgia Leclerc - 6500 Words
Chapter 10 - Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold - 5300 Words
Chapter 11 - Can I offer you a hamster? - 5600 Words
Chapter 12* - Three’s a Crown - 8800 Words
Chapter 13 - If Looks Could Kill - 5500 Words
Chapter 14* - Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - 9000 Words
Chapter 15* - To Be or Not to Be - 6800 Words
Chapter 16 - Come Hell or High Water - 8700 Words
Chapter 17* - You Know What Happens When You Assume - 5000 Words
Chapter 18 - The Lady Doth Protest Too Much - 4800 Words
Chapter 19* - I’d Like to Propose Something - 6000 Words
Chapter 20 - Curiosity Killed the Cat - 4900 Words
Chapter 21 - Cat got your tongue?
Chapter 22 - From Georgia, With Love - 5300 Words
Chapter 23 - Start of Something New (Finale!) - 5900 Words
Chapter 23 in case you can’t see the chapter link above due to community content settings changes in Tumblr
NEW: Epilogue - 6700 Words [10/4]
One Shots
NEW: I Am A Lion - Oct 11th - 4800 Words
Hear Me Roar - Part 2/2 - coming November!
Mini blurb for 1k Sleepover -> LINK
Earn It Index
You're all I care about. What do I need to do to keep you?
Heaven Whitlock Aesthetic
Ch. 1
Ch. 2
Ch. 3
Ch. 4
the winner takes it all – masterlist
"one win, one loss. how does it all unfold, and how will it all come together?"
pairing: charles leclerc x alpine fem!reader (nicknamed fleur)
warnings: angst, sad writing. google translate french/italian. profanities.
disclaimer: this is my original work of fiction. you do not have the right to repost any of my works. this is all fiction, an alternate universe. my writing does not reflect the true personalities of the drivers described in the works linked below.
welcome to the winner takes it all au series. this is a compilation of all the fics and blurbs that are in this au. this series is COMPLETED
wanna be part of the taglist? click here
WINNER TAKES IT ALL
the winner takes it all, the loser's standing small beside the victory, that's her destiny your first win might just be your greatest loss
ALWAYS YOU
in a sea of red, he always looks for you all the moments of the austria grand prix, boiling down to one thing
LEARNING CURVE
it takes time to learn to love yourself...finding yourself beyond the confines of your relationship was never meant to be easy.
BLURRED LINES
those boundaries are meant to be crossed... right? monza is for the dreamers and believers, for new hopes and shattered hearts
AND NOW?
and when all is said and done... what now? the one where we hope the streets of monaco don't betray them again
Doudou
Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader
Theme : Fluff / Angst
Not sure if I should do part 2 for this. Sorry for any mistakes I haven’t proofread it yet!
“You two lovebirds need to get a room.” Joris rolled his eyes as he walked inside Charles’s driver room to get his jacket and and immediately headed out. Charles and you were all cuddled up together on the couch with hands around your frame.
“This is literally my room, Joris.”
“Yeah, whatever. It’s time for media activities, Charles. Get up, get up! She’s not going anywhere.”
“She won’t be able to go anywhere I’m not letting her go.” Charles waggled your body that was leaning against him before brushing his lips on your hair.
“You are so silly. Go! Joris will get mad if you don’t get going now.”
“Wait for me, doudou.”
Doudou, the nickname that he would always call you. He came up with the nickname when you guys were kid and stopped calling you by your name. You even forgot what your name sounded like with his voice.
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If you told your 14 years old self that your childhood friend would become the 1st Monegasque driver since Beretta in 1994, of course you would believe it in a second because you knew how talented he was but if you told your younger self that you would be his girlfriend and travelled the world to accompany him for his F1 races, you would have rolled your eyes because that was just impossible. But it happened, and it was like a dream come true. You had always knew you had feelings for him but you never thought it was reciprocated. Your friendship with Charles had turned into something more when he joined F2. A year later, he made his debut in F1. The media coverage, the attention he got was way different. Please started shouting his name when he arrived in the paddock, his social media went from a normal, “I drive fast cars as my part-time job” kid to pictures that were professionally taken but he would sneaked pictures of you whenever he got a chance because he was still the Charles you knew, your Charles.
When people started following Charles on his Instagram, they would happened to find your account as well so your followers started growing, not as much as his, but still a lot for a university student like you, who didn’t qualify to be an influencer. Charles didn’t hide you from the public. Everyone knew who you were though he never put you in any spotlight because you felt uncomfortable. You would never missed any chances to be in the paddock whenever you had a break from your study but there were a few times where you could only wished him good luck through a video call. He didn’t mind, at all. He knew how hard it was to catch up with your law studies and he wanted to support you as much as you did. Your Charles had always be so understanding.
ynusername
Liked by charles_leclerc, katerinaberezhna and 67,554 others
ynusername no books just hot chocolate 🍫
charles_leclerc doudou 🧸
liked by ynusername
username aaaaa so prettyyyyy
ynsername merciii 🫶🏻
username We miss you in the paddock
username where’s the dress from pretty? ❤️
charles_leclerc
Liked by ynusername, pierregasly and 1,100,069 others
charles_leclerc 2 weeks break meaning I am back with my lovely girl
username Imagine getting a podium and come back to the most beautiful girl ugh so lucky
username oh i would be obsessed with myself too if i look like that
username FAV COUPLE EVER
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“Baby, should I wear this one? Or this one?” You took out two piece dress with different colour.
“Are you serious? Doudou, we are just gonna go and get groceries down the street.” Charles looked at you in disbelief and let out a cackle.
“I know.. but I just bought these two and I don’t know which one to wear first.” You heaved a sigh and pout when he didn’t give you the answer you wanted.
“Alright, alright. Try the purple one. It looks pretty.” He scanned on the two outfits on your hand, they looked the same so he didn’t know why you would have difficulty to choose but he didn’t said it out loud because it was the time of the month and you would sulk at almost everything he questioned.
“I think I wanna try the green one first. Can you wait until I do my hair first? Pleaseee.” Well, don’t ask why you were getting ready as if you were invited for Met Gala. You just felt like going extra today, that was it. A very valid reason.
“Go on, doudou. I’ll wait here and maybe, I don’t know, take a nap or something.”
“You are the best. I’ll make it as quick as I can!” It took you 1 hour, but Charles didn’t mind at all. Your Charles had always been so patience.
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charles_leclerc
Manhattan, New York
Liked by pierregasly, joris_trouche and 965,407 others
charles_leclerc I’m a photographer, driver, chef and a boyfriend. Very multitalented.
ynusername I think you are the best at being a boyfriend not sure about chef 🤔
username parentsss
username these two are always having trip together i swear i saw fanpages updated about them being in maranello yesterday
username are they each other’s first love?
username yeupp ❤️
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“No, why is it not as crunchy as the one I saw on Tiktok. Right, baby? You passed the tuna avocado sandwich to your boyfriend and waited for his reaction. You had asked Charles to try Joe & The Juices in New York because you have been seeing people talked high about it and the sandwich had been everything you talked to Charles on your way here to New York.
“Hm? Not bad. It tasted like tuna and avocado….sandwich?” Charles had told you it wasn’t gonna taste anything special and now that he got a taste of it, he would have said I told you so but seeing how disappointed you got, he just let out a silent chuckle.
“It’s not funny! They all made it seemed so good. Did we buy the wrong one?”
“It’s because you had so much expectations on it, doudou. I can make you better one. I’m a good chef, remember?” He pinched your cheeks and hold your hand as you continued walking along the skyscrapers.
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kymillman
Liked by 435,765 others
kymillman Charles’s childhood sweetheart has arrived at the paddock!
username THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND
username She’s STUNNING
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“I lost focus. It’s my fault. I could have won the podium.”
You could feel his lips against your neck as he had his body flushed against yours. You knew whenever he came up to you in this position, he needed cuddle and he wanted you to massage his head. Your Charles had always been so affectionate, a secret trait of him that no one knew.
“It wasn’t your fault, baby. The car wasn’t the best and despite all the problems it had, you still managed to push until P4 and that was amazing. I don’t think there’s a lot of drivers out there who can drive that bouncy car pass the finish line at all. Podium or not, you did a wonderful job.”
He didn’t reply and you thought he had fallen asleep because of how calm his breathing was against your skin but then you heard him said
“I love you so much, doudou. So, so much.”
But he stopped being everything he had been these past few weeks.
﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎
“Charles, are we okay?” You had realised that he had been different these past few weeks. He didn’t joke around like he usually did, he didn’t annoyed you with back hugs when you cooked and did your makeup like he usually did, he didn’t smile as genuine as he always did, the dimples on his face looked forced.
And he didn’t want to talk. You knew the season had been harsh on him but he always came to you and sought solace in a form of touch but he stopped doing it.
“Yeah, we are fine. Can you stop asking me that?” He stopped the movie from playing to look at your worried face.
“That’s what you said every time I ask the questions but you never told me the truth.”
“What truth do you want, doudou? Please, can we not talk about this?” Charles stood up and began walking into the room.
“You have been so different. The last time we had a proper talk was weeks ago. You didn’t even hold me anymore. Did I do anything wrong? Charles! I’m talking to you!” You raised your voice but you saw him walking away like he always did whenever you brought up this topic.
“I’m tired. We are not talking about this, doudou. Please.” You saw him took his watch and wallet from the dressing table and knew he was going out. He preferred going out.
“You are tired and you are going out? Does that even make any sense? You always avoid talking about this while I’m trying to fix this. I’m trying to fix us!” You trailed behind him and gripped on his arm to stop him from walking away.
“I don’t know what you want me to do. I’m tired of your behaviour, doudou. You are asking for too much. Give me a fucking break!” Charles swayed your arm away and the moment he looked at you, your heart shattered. He’s not your Charles, the person in front of you wasn’t your loving boyfriend. Charles wouldn’t curse at you, he wouldn’t raise his voice at you. The man in front of you was a stranger.
“I—I’m sorry.” Stunned, you pulled your arm away and placed your hand on your chest, as if you could cover the sadness from him.
“I can’t do this anymore. Everything becomes a burden. You become a burden to me and I need a break, we need a break.“
“I’m a burden to you? Charles, I just needed reassurance because—“
“You always think of yourself! I just want to come home and be left alone but you always try to get involved with my life. I can’t even control my own life now, can I? Oh, I’m your boyfriend so I need to update you with everything that happened in my life every second of it. I need to hug you all the time so won’t feel lonely? I need to be with you all the time because you need some fucking reassurance? You are ridiculous, doudou.”
‘I’m afraid of losing you’ was the words you were gonna tell him before he cut you off.
“Fine, go. I won’t be in your way.” You used your arm sleeve from his oversized hoodie to wipe your tears and stormed into the room. You thought he would follow you, your Charles would, but you heard the sound of a door closed but it wasn’t the door to the room.
12 years of friendship, 5 years of relationship but he chose to walk away.
﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎
f1wagsupdate
Liked by 23,657 others
f1wagsupdate One of our followers sent a picture of Charles spotted in Monaco with someone and it wasn’t Y/N 👀
username I knew they broke up when she wasn’t seen in any of the gp at all
username Nooooo 😭
username It’s too early to judge guys let’s wait until monaco gp y/n never missed it
kymillman
Liked by 104,657 others
kymillman Charles arriving at the paddock with someone new!
username It’s the same girl he was spotted with last week
username no more childhood sweetheart
username I MISS DOUDOU 💔😔
charles_leclerc
Liked by charlottesiine, pierregasly and others
charles_leclerc Home race always feel special. 🤍 Had a great time with them. leclerc_pascale lorenzotl charlottesiine
charlottesiine 🤍
username DON’T TALK TO ME
username my heart broke i felt like I was the one who went through a break up 😔
username what happened to y/n 😭
﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎
You didn’t see Charles at all after he walked out of the apartment. He didn’t call, didn’t text. All of a sudden he became a part of your memories. You took a break from social media during your last year of law school so you were completely clueless with whatever had been going on. It was already the 12th race of the season where you found yourself at the grandstand with your best friends because she got free tickets and who would say no to free tickets so you were there because she knew you had always been a fan. You have always loved Formula 1, your break up with Charles didn’t wither down your passion for the sport.
The crowd suddenly went loud and you saw it on the big screen, your first love with a girl. He looked happy, he looked like your old Charles.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I really didn’t—“ Your friend exhaled a sign, feeling apologetic at at what just happened.
“Hey, it’s okay. It doesn’t affect me.” You nudged her and smiled.
At first you were sad, you were sad she received the smiles you did. Oh, but it had been so long since he's smiled, you couldn't help but smile too.
f1wags__
Liked by 34,558 others
f1wags__ Y/N spotted at Japan GP! A fan sent this to us saying they bumped into Y/N and her friend at the grandstand area
username No more ferrari tags around her neck 💔
username We missed her sm!! ❤️
username cant imagine what she felt when she saw charles with his new girl
ynusername
Liked by francisca.cgomes and 224,537 others
ynusername horsey and bows 🎀🐴
username you are back!!!
username QUEEN is back
username happiness looks good on you
I could get over anything as long as I have something new to be obsessed with
Honeymoon stunts | CL16
― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.2k ― Warnings: not proofread; mentions of a wedding and public sex; graphic description of sex; p in v; breeding kink; +18 (minors DNI); ― Summary: Charles and Yn just got married, and although they know too much about one another, there's always something new to discover together, such as Charles' new breeding kink. ― A/n: Every piece I write here it’s a new experience, so your feedback, comments, and asks are more than welcome. *mwah* 🤍
⁕ I just got back from a shadowban so Tumblr is still a bit slow on delivering my stuff, that being said, it would be nice if you guys could not only like, but reblog this piece. Thank youuu!
Based on this request.
⁕ my masterlist and my taglist
⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)
Charles loved the sea. He loved what it represented, its mysteries, and how it could be used for many interpretations of life. For example, he loved to think that life sometimes worked just like the sea: it had its highs and lows, sometimes the waves would reach the furthest part of the beach, and sometimes it would retract and crash almost around itself. He, like the sea, has had many setbacks the past few years, but, just like the sea, Charles too had his high tides. The most recent one being just the other day: his marriage.
Charles married Yn, and he considered this his high tide. The water reached the driest pieces of land in his heart.
He have never been so happy the way he was with Yn by his side.
And as if on cue, she appeared in front of him obstructing a bit of the sunlight reaching his face. Charles pinched his sunglasses at the point of his nose, leaving just enough space for Yn to see his eyes.
“Hi, husband,” she grinned.
“Hey, wife.”
“I missed you in bed,” she confessed before straddling his lap, her hands firmly planted on his strong shoulders.
Charles mumbled a quick apology busying his lips with her ebony skin. He trailed kisses from her neck to her jawline and the corner of her lips, and then from her cheeks to her shoulders where he lowered the straps of her nightgown. Yn smiled and with a dashing attitude, she pushed the small piece of fabric enough to free one of her breasts.
“Chérie,” Charles lets out a pained whisper as if trying to hold himself back.
“It’s a private beach.” Yn reminded.
“We’re going into the kinky public sex?” he teased lightening the mood and Yn threw her head back in laughter. The Monegasque watched how that position exposed so much for him. Just for him.
And what could Charles do if not take it?
One of his hands tightened on Yn’s waist, while his open palm found a home in the middle of her back bringing her body closer to his mouth. He kissed and licked over the places he knew he had left small lovebites the night prior. Yn whimpered and rocked her hips against his bulge, she was wearing nothing but the nightgown and Charles moaned when he felt her wetness against his trunks. He dipped one of his hands between their bodies, his skilled fingers were fast to find her sensitive bud and rub it teasingly. She bucked her hips harder and Charles groaned.
It was her turn to kiss her way from his neck to his face. She took her time biting, sucking, and gently kissing his now-tanned skin. And she did it all while lazily rocking on top of him, which only drove Charles crazy. Yn, however, didn’t kiss his lips and he was about to protest when she got up, took off her nightgown threw it at his face, and covered her breasts with one of her arms.
“Yn…” Charles warned and she giggled. The wind and the waves mixed themselves with her happy noises and Charles swore he found paradise again.
“You want it?” she teased spinning her body for him. “Come get it!” she giggled again and took off to their cabin. Charles gripped her piece of clothing and laughed before sprinting right after her. He got to her just when she reached the door and it wasn’t long before they stumbled into the bed. Yn sitting on top of him again.
Charles gripped her neck and brought her face down to his, smashing his lips to hers in a messy and needy kiss that Yn reciprocated with the same amount of passion. She rocked against him again, and this time her fingers were the ones between their bodies, she pushed his trunks down freeing his hard cook. Their lips were still attached to the others when Yn started pumping his shaft, her thumbs finding his head every once in a while, and her mouth swallowing all the dirty noises coming out of her husband.
“Fuck, mon amour, just- oh fuck,” Charles started but lost track of his words when Yn tightened her hand on his base.
“Yes?”
“Don’t tease me,” he whimpered and she smiles victorious. It was a wonderful feeling to have Charles under her begging and whimpering to have her. It felt powerful. He needed her just as much as she needed him.
Yn kissed his collarbone one last time and got into a seating position grinding his dick against her lips, gathering just enough slick to help him slip inside her. Which Charles did in a single movement. It earned a loud moan from both of them.
“Oh, fuck- you feel so good, chérie,” he breathed.
“Charls,” Yn moaned starting a sequence of rotational movements. She rocked and ground on top of him and Charles raked his short nails on her back and thighs. She repeated her movements and they felt the ecstasy that angle caused. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!” Yn almost screamed when Charles lifted his hips to find her moves. Her body shook with want. He felt bigger when she rode, and she could feel his pulsing dick so much better that way. It was fantastic.
Charles gripped her breasts and took one nipple between his teeth teasing and playing with it while their bodies kept rutting against each other. Yn raked her fingers throw his brunette strands, gripping his face and directing his lips to her.
Her stomach tingled whilst Charles devoured her until her body started to tremble, “I’m coming,” Yn choked and Charles smirked lifting his lips again. His thrusts got sloppier and Yn knew from that fact that he wasn’t far behind her.
When the wave of pleasure washed over her, she let her body fall on top of his, her body dissolving into pleasure, but her hips still grinding waiting for Charles' turn. He grunts and moans and he’s about to pull out when Yn perches her body harder forcing them to stay in that position.
“Come inside me,” she pleads and lets out a string of curses in French.
“You want me to let you have my seed?” Charles asks and Yn can only nod, her sensitive clit brushing against his pubic bone. “Huh? You want me to put a baby in you, mon amour?”
Her eyes roll back and she cries feelings another orgasm approach, “Please, Charles!”
“Tell me, chérie. Tell me you want me to stuff you full of my cum,” his voice is low, but his tone is set and straight, almost like an order and Yn obeys.
“Please, I want to- I want you to empty yourself inside me. I’ll have all your babies, love.”
Charles bites her shoulders and sensually groaned on her ear when his orgasm finally came. It brought her second one along and they rode it together, gripping the other for dear life, moaning profanities, and love confessions.
When the dizzy feeling of the orgasm started to fade, Yn sat up, a small smirk on her face, Charles was still buried inside her, she could feel their wetness mixing together between her legs, and the Monegasque could only smile blissfully at her. “So… a breeding kink, Charls?”
taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @formulakay3 @iloveyou3000morgan @fdl305 @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss
⁕ my masterlist and my taglist
⁕ I just got back from a shadowban so Tumblr is still a bit slow on delivering my stuff, that being said, it would be nice if you guys could not only like, but reblog this piece. Thank youuu!
Feel free to leave me a message or ask <3
the summer i turned pretty - charles leclerc & arthur leclerc
a reader x charles leclerc/arthur leclerc love triangle
warnings: intoxicated (but consensual) kissing
a/n: trying out a written piece/smau/texts weird hybrid but it was all i could come up with to get this idea across! i hope you all like it <3 (there will be a part 2)
also this was requested!! i'm so sorry anon i lost the ask but i hope u see it and like it anyways
Day 1
France is a place that isn’t easy to forget, but having lived there your whole life made it seem ordinary. The country that saw me grow up, and that I was glad to call home, failed to impress me every day because I was used to it. The beautiful architecture, history, and tourist attractions weren’t as beautiful to me anymore; it was my day-to-day life.
That wasn’t true for the beach house in Nice. It wasn’t mine, or my family’s, but that place never failed to impress me, even if it was my day-to-day life every summer. The Leclerc summer home was my favorite place on Earth. From its blue and white facade, the soft beige interiors, the pool and beach view, the big dining room, and the incredible company, there’s no place I’d rather be in right now.
“Y/N L/N, you have arrived!” Charles Leclerc, the ultimate reason for this place’s beauty, yelled out to me.
“Charles Leclerc, I have arrived!” I replied blushing, and opening my arms into an embrace. As every time I hugged him, my body relaxed and tensed somehow at the same time, safe and nervous, loved and not loved back. But aren’t all childhood crushes like that?
“I’ve also arrived, pote. If you even care,” my wonderfully annoying older brother, Alexandre, interjected. Charles let me go to greet my brother, and I turned to find the youngest Leclerc, Arthur, on his way to hug me hello.
“Hi, chérie,” he said with a smile on his face, ruffling my hair affectionately.
“Hi, Arthur. Up to no good once again?”
“I’m always up to all good!”
Pascale Leclerc, the boys’ mother, greeted me with cheeks kisses and pinches. Everyone then swarmed my mom, Alice. Sometimes I think my friends love her more than they love me, but that was deserved.
As every year before, everyone finally felt at home. And as every year before, the inaugural pool party started.
“Y/N L/N, will you do me the honor of joining me at the pool?” Charles exaggeratedly held out his hand, as if we were Royals in a ball. Antics that I was happy to oblige with. Too happy for my dignity to recover.
As we made our way inside, and swam a couple laps playing around on who is faster, we wound up floating peacefully on a corner with the sun beginning to set.
“I missed you,” Charles said out of nowhere, making my heart do a somersault.
“I miss you too,” I managed to reply, feeling the blush on my cheeks.
“I want to hear from you more often. I know I’m busy with racing, but I always can make time for you Y/N.”
The thing about unrequited love is any show of affection feels like a marriage proposal. But of course I could not deny his request. He was, above all else, one of my best friends and one that I needed to be there for.
Hervé Leclerc passed away the year before, a couple months after the summer vacation. We didn’t know it would be the last time we spent with him, and I was worried about what this year’s vacation would be like with the boys’ father missing.
“I’m always here for you,” I vowed and he gave me a quick, chaste kiss on my forehead. To make sure I wouldn’t forget my promise.
As I looked at Charles’ glistening face against the darkening sun, I realized we would be okay.
y/ninstagram added to her stories
charles_leclerc added to his stories
Day 2
“Chérie,” was the first voice I heard as I woke up, with Arthur knocking on my door for show and letting himself in.
“Too early,” I whined back and hid under the covers, to have them ripped from me by the guy in my room.
“It’s time for the sunrise beach walk,” he replied and I knew he was right, so I let myself be dragged outside the house. I couldn’t say no, since the sunrise walk at least once during the vacation is also a tradition between Arthur and I.
It was also worth it; we silently agreed for that to be time to catch up, be honest, and be vulnerable ever since we began taking the walks. This one would be particularly hard too.
“I really, really miss my dad,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders to walk side by side.
I didn’t know how to handle Hervé’s death with the boys.
Enzo was older than me, even beyond his years, and there was nothing I could say that would be wiser, or better than what he had to say.
Arthur was quiet and reasonable, way more accepting of inevitables than me, more useful to himself than me.
Charles was passionate but closed, a master at compartmentalization, never letting me in even if I’d like to.
But Arthur, ever my closest friend, still needed my support.
“I know you do,” I replied softly and squeezed his hand. “It’s only normal, and I’m sorry you’ve been dealt these cards.”
Grief is a strange thing, but on the beach I hoped I let Arthur know that I would always be by his side, and that the sun will always rise again for him. With his steady breathing while leaning on me as we sat on the sand, I knew he understood.
arthur_leclerc added to his stories
y/ninstagram added to her stories
Day 3
y/ninstagram added to her stories
ameliedeveraux20 added to her stories
This was the third year Arthur and I were invited to parties that Alexandre and Charles went to. The promotion from little siblings to cool siblings opened up a new world in Nice. Especially one where I could ignore my schoolgirl crush on Charles through alcohol.
So I happily got ready, into a pink summer dress and into the car that would drive us all to an even bigger house filled with a bunch of privileged European kids ready to drink the night away.
The first drink came from Antoine, who sadly had a beautiful girl around his arms that indicated he wouldn’t be a good distraction. The second one came from Amelie, my Nice girlfriend, who was happy as ever to see me and catch up with me before she also found an arm candy and promptly left. The third one was on me, as I was forced to stare at Charles making out with a girl I learned was named Charlotte.
After that, I stopped counting and kept drinking, joining the dance floor to enjoy the numb feeling in my face, the new found careless attitude, and the music blasting in my ears.
Before I could process it, Arthur was in front of me, the blush on his face indicating he was also intoxicated. What started as a normal jumping around like one does at a party, progressed to a point where his hands were on my waist and my hands were on his neck.
I couldn’t even recognize the song anymore, too entranced on the way his eyes were on mine. There were no words, as was usual between him and I. We just knew.
I wouldn’t take the first step, but he would. Arthur’s lips met mine in a strong, messy kiss. I didn’t pull away. I did want it. And it wasn’t scary.
When we stopped to take a breath, I realized I wanted to kiss him again. As I was leaning in, taking the initiative myself now, another force pulled me away.
I walked by inertia, trying not to fall down in following who was leading me away from the crowd. When I looked up, I recognized it to be Charles.
I couldn’t breathe from the adrenaline of the kiss I just shared, but also from the touch of Charles’ hand on mine, even if it was to take me out of the party.
My reaction was all too slow, finally starting to protest.
“What are you doing? Let me go,” I defensively said, snatching my hand away from his. The butterflies didn’t leave anyways.
“You’re drunk, let’s go home,” Charles coldly replied and held my hand again on his way to the car.
“Why would I want to go home? I’m having fun,” I continued to protest and he continued to pay me no mind.
As he put me inside the vehicle, despite my clumsy attempts to fight it, and slammed the door, I continued to think about what this could possibly be about. Where was Charlotte? Where was Arthur? What was happening?
My head spun and he got in the driver’s seat, turning the ignition on.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You’re drunk. You don’t kiss people when you’re drunk.”
“That makes no sense.”
“You don’t kiss people you haven’t kissed sober.”
“Its Arthur!”
“Exactly!”
The back and forth continued all the way to the house, my thoughts sobering up with every passing moment.
“If you don’t want me to be with your brother because you don’t think I’m good enough, that’s really not your choice,” I told him decisively, crossing my arms and pouting like a child throwing a tantrum.
That was the only explanation for what Charles just did. He didn’t think a Leclerc should be with someone like me, and was doing everything he could to prevent it.
When he started laughing, I wasn’t so convinced anymore.
“What’s so funny?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I just made the biggest scene out of jealousy, and you’re saying I don’t think you’re good enough.”
Time froze and my mouth went dry. The confession made its way through my entire bloodstream, replacing the alcohol effects with pure shock. My head was spinning for entirely different reasons, and my brain couldn’t bring the words out. What would I even say?
I opened my mouth but nothing came out, and Charles put his face on his hands in frustration, before leaving the car. I still could only think what is happening?
that part
when yuki or lewis complain about their car or let their emotions show they're "aggressive and crybabies and ungrateful" but when max says slurs on the radio or lando complains about everything they're "fierce like a lion and multitasking and motivated" and thats fucking disgusting
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