stiles-banshees

[stiles-banshees]

CHARLES GOT A FUCKING PUPPY AND HIS NAME IS LEO😭😭😭

IM SOBBING HES A FATHER 😭❤️

[stiles-banshees]

HE LOVES HER SO MUCH IM SOBBING

deal - cl16 (27/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Cuddles and snuggles with friends are totally normal. But sleeping on top of each other?

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.2k

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A/N: if seems very rushed, I'm deeply sorry. I just didn't know how to write this chapter. feedback is appreciated (as always, please and thank you!)

As a cold gust of wind blows around your heads, you snuggle a little closer to Charles. 

"Are you cold?" he whispers into your hair and strokes your spine with his fingertips, giving you goose bumps. Something he uses as a reason to tighten his arms around you. 

The fire in front of you is almost out, with only a few logs crackling in the bowl in front of you, providing the last bit of warmth in the dark December night. The thin blanket wrapped around you doesn't do much to keep out the cold wind. As you start to shiver, Charles pushes you off his lap.

"I'll add some more wood. Hopefully you'll be a bit warmer then," he smiles gently and gets up from the couch. 

"It's okay," you reply and start to fold the blanket in your lap. "It's already late. We can just go home." 

But your roommate shakes his head. "We can still stay here." 

"But -"

"I still want to stay here." His tone sounds almost desperate. "Please."

When you look into his eyes, there's a warm sparkle in them. And when he smiles, the sweet dimples bore into his cheeks, and you can do nothing but return his smile. "Let's go then. It's freezing."

You watch him take some logs from the corner by the patio door and place them in the almost burnt-out fire bowl. While you stretch out on the sofa cushions and snuggle back into the blanket, he lights a new fire. The light from the flames illuminates his face and gives it a golden glow. 

You rest your head in your hand. "I didn't know you were so good at starting a fire." 

Charles, kneeling on the other side of the fire bowl, can't help but grin. His gaze flickers from the flames in front of him to you. "There are a few things I'm good at that you don't know about." He licks his lips once before straightening up and taking the few steps to the couch. His eyes move from your face to your covered body. "Is there room for me too?"

You raise your eyebrows before pulling your knees up a little so he can sit at the other end of the couch. "Here you go."

Charles rolls his eyes. "Nuh-uh." Before you know it, he slides his arms under your body and lifts you off the couch - without much effort. "We'll share the space. It's fair." He sets you on your feet and pushes the blanket into your hand, then stretches out on the sofa so quickly that you can't protest. He clasps his hands behind his head and grins at you. 

You, on the other hand, cross your arms in front of your chest. "I think we have different definitions of 'sharing'." As he slips an inch, you have to suppress a smile. "And apparently also of 'fair'."

"I think it's very fair," he defends himself, dropping one arm to his side so that it's between his body and the backrest. "I'm lying on the couch and you're lying on top of me." He shrugs, as if it's no big deal that he wants you to lie with your body on top of his. "Come on. I thought you were cold. And standing around isn't going to help you warm up."

You step from one foot to the other. "You sure?"

Charles rests his head on the armrest of the couch before spreading his arms out. "Come on. We sleep in a bed at home. There's not much difference here."

Not much difference. 

You feel your heart pounding. "There's a big difference between lying on top of each other and lying next to each other." 

Charles sighs loudly before sitting up and reaching for your hand. You can't resist as he pulls you towards him with all his strength, almost causing you to trip over your own feet. The blanket falls to the floor and thank God you can support yourself with your free hand, otherwise you would have landed on his face. 

"Charles!" 

Your friend wraps his arm around you so that you don't slip off him or land on the edge of the sofa. His cold fingers slide under your sweater and find their firm place at your side, while his free hand lifts the blanket from the floor and spreads it over the both of you. You have no choice but to lay your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. 

"It's not so bad, is it?" he murmurs into your hairline and kisses the top of your head, making your heart beat faster. You just hope he can't feel it. 

"For being so muscular, you're pretty comfortable," you confess, playing with his fingers as they continue to hold your hand. "Not as comfortable as the couch, but I'm not complaining."

You feel Charles' body shake beneath you. He laughs. "I can lie on top of you if you want." His fingertips slide further from your side and almost slide under your body. He presses you tightly against him. "Then I'd crush you. But maybe that wouldn't be so bad. The closer, the warmer."

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and press your face into his chest. 

You're a little surprised that Charles turned the last remnant of his two-year relationship into ashes a few hours ago and is now making these kinds of comments. He even cried. But maybe that's what he needs. A friendship that goes deeper than shallow conversations and coffee dates. 

Maybe he needs the closeness, emotionally and physically. Something he can hold on to when the roof falls on his head. Someone who pushes him to be better, but also brings him back down to earth when he takes off. 

You want to be that person for him. Even if it costs you your heart.

You watch as the individual logs begin to burn. Charles' chest rises and falls beneath you and you feel his warm breath on your forehead as the fire crackles in front of you. Charles' hands change positions; the one that was holding your own a moment ago slides under your sweater to gently stroke your spine, while the other finds its way to your head. With warm fingertips, he brushes some of the hair from your face before he starts scratching your head. 

"Do you want me to fall asleep?" you murmur against his shirt-clad chest. 

"Would that be so bad?" You feel his lips move against the top of your head. Before you know it, you feel them on your forehead as he breathes a soft kiss on your cool skin. 

"Uh-huh." 

"Why? I thought I was comfortable?" His voice is barely louder than a whisper. 

You curl your fingers into his sweater. "Pretty much. You're pretty comfortable," you repeat to yourself. "My bed at home is more comfortable, though."

"Then I'm sorry." 

You twist your neck a little to look at him. You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Sorry for what?"

He strokes your cheek once with his thumb. "That you have to make do with me." His warm breath caresses your face and although you are literally lying on top of him, you only now realize how close you are. 

You smile tiredly. "Don't worry," you push yourself up a little and press your forehead against his cheek; his beard scratches gently against your skin. "My bed may be comfortable, but you're still my favorite."

Charles' lips kiss the tip of your nose before he kisses your forehead once more. "You're my favorite too, mon amour." His long arms wrap around your body under the covers, holding you close as the rise and fall of his chest lulls you to sleep. 

You dream of peonies, pasta, red cars and lightning and warm lips on yours. Of strong arms that wrap around you, a body that lies on top of yours. You dream of Charles, his smile and the warmth he radiates. And only when his body moves beneath you do you slowly wake up from your dreams. 

"Sleep well?" Charles' voice is raspy and deep in your ear as you squirm a little in his arms. 

You exhale deeply, but keep your eyes closed. "Uh-huh." 

Charles laughs softly and your head bobs on his chest. "So I was more comfortable than I expected." 

Slowly, you open your eyes. The fire bowl has burnt out, there are only ashes in it and the only things that light up the night are the moon and the stars in the sky above you and a small lamp that shines a soft cone of light on you from the living room. "How long have I been asleep?" You rub your eyes sleepily. 

"A few hours. But don't worry, as far as I know you weren't drooling," he jokes, but that doesn't stop you from jumping off the couch as if bitten by a tarantula. 

"I'm sorry," you apologize, running your fingers through your hair, "I didn't mean to use you as a personal pillow." 

"It's okay," he replies with a smile and scratches his beard. "I was going for it with the cuddling and the tickling, after all." He shrugs his shoulders. "I'm quite irresistible."

An image of him on top of you flickers in your mind's eye. How true. 

"I'm sorry though." You grab Charles's legs and lift them up so you can sit on the couch next to him. His calves rest on your lap. "Your back must be incredibly sore."

He waves his hand. "This couch is still better than the one in our old apartment. It really was a horror." He leans back a little, stretches his back over the armrest and you can both hear the crack of individual vertebrae in his back. When you look at him with a raised eyebrow, he grins. "Oops."

"Come on." You push his legs off you and stand up. "Let's go home. There's a super comfy bed waiting for us. And there's enough room so we don't have to sleep on top of each other." You hold out your hand to him to pull him off the couch. 

He puts his hand in yours, but instead of you pulling him up, he pulls you back towards him so that you end up on his lap. "Then let's stay here. On this couch. It's not as comfortable as our bed, but at least I'll have you lying on top of me." His grin is so wide that it almost reaches his ears.

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. You try to suppress the fact that your hands start to sweat and a warm shiver runs down your spine. "You're impossible."

"I thought I was irresistible?" he asks, leaning forward. 

You hold your breath. "You said that, not me. And you're talking a lot of nonsense."

Charles lifts his hand and places it against your cheek, letting it wander until his fingers find your neck and his thumb lifts your chin. His mouth opens and his tongue glides over his full lips. "True. But when I say you're the most important person in my life, that's not nonsense." 

You place your hand on his. "Then what is it?"

"The truth." He smiles lovingly. "You are - the light in my darkness, the fire in my veins, the music in my heart. I never expected that you could grow so fond of someone in such a short time. And then you came along." He hesitantly removes his hand from your cheek and the warmth it had radiated disappears. "You're my best friend."

Never in your life have you wanted to scream as loudly as you do at this moment. And you want to scream at the man in front of you, tell him that you want to be more to him than his best friend, that you want to kiss him, that you want to be his. And that you can hardly stand it when he's not with you.

And you want to scream at yourself, smack yourself, because you're trying to convince yourself that a friendship is enough, even though your heart is telling you that it's the last thing you want from him. You want to grab yourself by the shoulders and shake you until you come to your senses. 

You are Charles' friend. His best friend. And even if actions speak louder than words, his words were unmistakable. 

You smile at him. "I wouldn't want to be anything else either."

While Charles pushes the sofa back into place, you clear away the rest. You fold up the blanket and put it on the back of the sofa in the living room and the empty Coke cans end up in the garbage can in the kitchen. There's no sign of Joris, but his bedroom door is closed and there's not a sound to be heard. The apartment is dead quiet until Charles joins you in the kitchen. 

"Last time we were here, we had a fight afterwards, remember?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe. 

You turn to him and take a look at the kitchen island, where nothing is lying around except for a large wooden board. You chew the inside of your cheek. "I hate to remember that."

Your flatmate tilts his head. "The phone call or the argument?"

"The fight."

Charles pushes me away from the doorframe and stands opposite you at the kitchen island. "I'd like to apologize again. I went one step too far. And we haven't even known each other for twenty-four hours."

"Charles..."

"No, listen to me." He circles the counter until he stands in front of you and takes your hands in his. They're soft and warm. "I crossed a line that day and you were right to be angry with me. I just want to say again that I definitely don't want to do that again. The fighting I mean." He smiles. "I'd defend you to Raphael any time of day or night."

You purse your lips. "Then it's a good thing we can leave him behind. Just like Annika."

He lifts your hands and presses a fleeting kiss to your knuckles. "And I couldn't have done it without you."

The drive home isn't far, thank God, and as Charles parks his brother's car in the underground garage, you're overcome with tiredness again. You would have preferred to stay in the car, recline your seat and close your eyes. But Charles's hand on your thigh pulls you back into the world of the living. 

"We're here, sleepyhead. Come on, there's a warm bed waiting for you upstairs that can hardly wait for you to snuggle up in."

"I can hardly wait either," you smile as you unbuckle your seatbelt and follow your roommate to the elevator. The light inside is bright and far too harsh for your tired eyes, so you close them and lean your head against the elevator wall. "I'm so tired."

"But you slept." 

You open your eyes and look at your friend. "What's up with you? Aren't you tired too?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Do I look that exhausted?" He runs a hand through his hair. "I slept a bit too, don't worry. You lying on top of me wasn't just comfortable for you."

You try not to think too much about his comment as you get ready for bed and then lie down in your long-awaited bed. You plug your phone into the charging cable and see an Instagram notification pop up. 

You have to smile. 

liked by pierregasly and others tagged: yourusername francisca.cgomes: favorite cardigan, favorite person

"What's up?" asks Charles, who closes the door behind him. 

You try not to stare at his naked torso, which, thank heavens, you manage to do. "Here, Kika's following me on Instagram now." You hold your phone out to him briefly so he can see her post. "I'll just follow her back."

"Can I follow you now too?" he asks as he lies down in bed next to you, phone in hand. 

You look at him in confusion. "You're already following me."

Charles laughs as if you've told a joke. "That's right. But this is my private account. I'd like to follow you on my official account, if that's okay with you."

"It's okay with me," you reply, "but are you sure? After all, Kika has tagged me in her pictures. And if they go to my profile, they'll see that you're following me too, won't they?"

You don't really want to rub his caring in, but it was his idea to take Kika and Pierre furniture shopping. And to drive through Monaco in your old Renault. The fact that he wants to follow you - quite publicly and for everyone to see - on Instagram goes against everything he's done for your safety. 

"They will. But we're friends, after all, and I won't be able to keep you out of the spotlight forever."

"All right." A moment later, another notification pops up. You quickly accept his request and follow him back before looking at the last picture he posted. You grin at him. "Cool picture, who took that?"

Playfully clueless, he shrugs his shoulders before snuggling into the pillow. "My best friend." 

As you put your phone away, he switches off the bedside lamp and darkness and silence fill the room. You feel his warmth under the covers and you want to scoot the few inches over to him and press yourself against him until you're engulfed by his warmth. 

"Would it be weird if we cuddled?" His voice sounds hesitant, as if he was struggling to ask you that. When you don't answer, Charles quickly backpedals. "I'm sorry. I know we're just friends, but - I don't know - when you're there, I feel like I'm at home. And it calms me down when you're with me. I'm sorry, that all sounds totally selfish."

You reach under the blanket for his hand. He squeezes it twice. "Friends can cuddle too, I think. I mean, without ulterior motives."

"Good," he murmurs and his arm wraps around your middle to pull you closer. He drapes your leg over his hip and your hand rests on his chest. "Is that okay with you?" His fingertips dance on your bare skin under your sleep shirt. 

You press your face into his neck and breathe in deeply. As you exhale and your hot breath brushes over the soft skin of his neck, he pushes your leg down a little further, tangling your limbs together. "If that's what it is for you." 

"It is." Charles presses one last kiss to your forehead before resting his cheek against the top of your head again. "And now we need to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I don't think my mother can wait to get to know you better." 

"Do you think she'll like me?" you ask softly into the darkness. 

Charles' skin is warm and soft against yours as he presses you against him and your shirt slides up a little. "I think that anyone who gets to know you better will fall head over heels in love with you. Whether they want to or not."

-

Charles Instagram post

liked by francisca.cgomes, pierregasly and others charles_leclerc: aux nouveaux départs posted three days ago

[stiles-banshees]

the confused puppy look ™ when Steiner was asking the question

#this had me cackling #he’s so pretty i love him

[stiles-banshees]

i want what they have oh my god

deal - cl16 (26/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Burning things is a good way to get rid of stuff. But perhaps you and Charles have more in common than you like.

Warnings: this is quite angsty (mentions of cheating, Annika and Raphael), fire (of course), some fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: this is a long one. but well, I felt like it. there are some Easter eggs in this chapter, tell me which one you found! feedback is appreciated (as always, please and thank you!)

Since your newly purchased items have not made it any further into the apartment than the hallway, Charles' bedroom looks pretty empty. There are three large boxes next to the door, which gradually fill up the longer you stay in the room. 

"What about this?" you ask Charles and show him a pink candlestick that was recently on the windowsill. 

Your roommate pulls his head out of the closet. "Throw it away."

"Okay." You try not to trip over anything as you walk over to the door and place the item in the left box, which already contains a vase and empty picture frames. As you straighten up again, a shirt flies past your face before landing in the right box.

"Sorry," Charles mumbles, without taking his eyes off the clothes in front of him. 

"It's all right." You glance at the chest of drawers against the wall. "What about this?" you ask, pointing to the few books arranged by size on the dark wood. 

Charles sighs. "Just assume you can throw away everything in this room." Another item lands in the box on the right. 

Unsure, you bite the inside of your cheek.

The idea was to get all the stuff Annika left in the bedroom out of the apartment and - if possible - burn it in Jori's fire bowl, in the hope that Charles can have closure. The box on the left is for things that can't easily be turned into ashes, such as picture frames, candlesticks or small, empty flower pots. The middle one is for things Annika couldn't pack in her haste, like jewelry, clothes, electronics. She would come to collect them at some point. 

The box on the right is for flammable things. The pictures from photo frames, books, tickets from events the couple attended together - and the clothes Charles throws in. And it looks like they're his. 

"Can I ask why you're throwing away your clothes?" you ask timidly as you sit down on the bed. You run your fingers over the soft fabric, which will also end up in the right-hand box later. 

Charles pushes some empty hangers aside before taking a jacket off the hanger. "Everything in this room is from when Annika and I were a couple." He shows you the jacket. "I was wearing this the first time we went to the racetrack together. Our first public appearance as a couple." He throws the jacket towards the door before grabbing the next item - a sweater. "I wore this one on the first Valentine's Day. We went out for dinner and then to the movies."

You purse your lips. "And you want to get rid of all these memories? Even if they are nice ones?"

The sweater lands on the jacket before Charles turns to you and looks at you for the first time since you walked into this room. "That woman cheated on me. Took advantage of my trust and broke it." His gaze is rock hard. "Whoever she was to me, she doesn't deserve to have her memories here. I want to put it all behind me. I want to be free."

You see a sad glint in his eyes, which you don't address. Instead, you get up from the bed and begin to sort out everything that's still lying around into the boxes, while Charles pulls one item of clothing after another out of the closet. 

Apart from a little rustling and your footsteps, the room is silent. You want to give Charles his space, give him the peace and quiet he needs to sort out his thoughts and really come to terms with the relationship. The fact that he has asked you to help him with this warms your heart. Because even though you've only known each other for a short time, he's the person you care most about. The person you would run to immediately if your life went down the drain. The person you can tell everything to without being judged. 

You seem to be that person for Charles too - the person he can trust without having to worry, the person who would help him bury a body - this feeling warms you from the top of your head to the soles of your feet. 

"I think that's it," Charles finally interrupts the silence and closes the now empty closet behind him while you remove the cover from one of the two pillows. His gaze wanders from your face to your hands. "You don't need to do that. We'll put the bedding in a big bag and then it can all go."

"Are you sure?" you ask uncertainly, but put the pillow back on the bed. 

"Very sure. I don't want to sleep in a bed she slept in or cover myself with a blanket she slept under. I just want to put it behind me."

"Okay." You walk around the bed and put in the clothes that missed the box. "Which car do we take? My Renault is still at the old place and your Ferrari won't fit the stuff." Besides, it would be too conspicuous and you don't want us to be seen in it together.

"There's an old car of my brother's downstairs in the garage. It's bigger than the Ferrari," he calls out from the hallway, where he's rummaging around in one of the cupboards before entering the bedroom again. In his hand he holds a huge blue plastic bag from a Swedish furniture store. "If that's not enough, I've got another one."

It's not enough. The bedding actually has to be divided into three different bags until the bed is empty except for the mattress. As Charles stands at the front door, one bag on each shoulder and a box - containing the last bag - in his hands, he peeks past it. "Can you open the door for me, please? I'd like to take the things downstairs."

As packed as he is, you have to stifle a grin. The Monegasque looks like a pack mule. "You can walk several times, you know that? Then you won't be straining your shoulders."

Your flatmate blows a strand of hair out of his forehead. "No way. I'd rather fall down the stairs before I have to walk twice."

As you open the door and press the elevator button for him, you just shake your head. "Then it's a good thing there's an elevator here. You'll still have to go a second time."

While Charles takes the things to the underground garage, you put the other two boxes by the front door before you go in search of another large bag. As Charles has already used all the available bags from the hall cupboard, you have no choice but to take a bin liner from the kitchen. As you hear him grab the second box, you poke your head out of the kitchen. 

"I'll bring the other box in a minute. You can wait downstairs by the car, okay?"

"All right," he replies and puts the box on his hip. "It shouldn't be that heavy. It's just the picture frames and stuff in there." He smiles at you. "See you in a bit then. But hurry up."

You roll your eyes, which makes him laugh before he disappears with the box in his hands. When you're alone, you walk from the kitchen into the living room, where the red roses that Charles must have forgotten are still on the white piano. You carefully put them in the bag, taking care not to tear the thin plastic, and then tie it up before dragging the bin bag into the hallway and putting it in the box.

The roses make the box much heavier than expected and when you arrive a few minutes later, panting, in the underground parking garage where Charles is already waiting to meet you, you are glad when he takes it off your hands. 

"What's in there?" he asks, pointing to the bag after placing the box in the trunk of the silver car.

You shrug your shoulders. "I found this. We can burn it if you like," you simply reply and drop into the passenger seat while Charles closes the trunk. 

The drive to Joris is shorter than expected and although it's not too late, the sky is already turning red, as if the sun is about to set. There's some song on the radio that you don't know and Charles isn't humming along to. As he finally steers the car through the familiar narrow alley and then pulls on the handbrake in a parking lot, the front door opens and Joris enters the courtyard. 

"Hello, you two," he greets you as you get out of the car. While he shakes Charles' hand, he presses a kiss to your cheek, first on the left and then on the right. "You said on the phone that you wanted to burn something?" He rubs his hands together excitedly. 

Your roommate nods and opens the trunk. "Not only that." He takes one of the boxes - the one with Annika's belongings - and hands it to his buddy. "I'd like to leave them here, if that's possible. I don't want to see Annika again and I'd be incredibly grateful if you could give her her things back."

"Of course," he replies and takes a look in the trunk. "What about this?" With a nod, he points to the box with the picture frames. 

"This," Charles begins the sentence before grabbing the box and walking over to one of the garbage containers that must belong to Jori's house. Without giving it much thought, he dumps the contents into the garbage can before rejoining you to take the three bags of bedding and throwing them into the container as well. "'Is garbage. We'd like to burn the rest that's left there."

"The firewood and fuel are already ready."

The boys carry the things upstairs and you follow them. When you arrive at Jori's apartment, you close the door behind you while Joris puts the box with Annika's things in a room and Charles walks towards the rooftop terrace. You open the door for him and he smiles gently at you as he walks past you towards the fire bowl, which already has some wood in it. 

A little later, Joris joins you, a small canister of gasoline in his hand. "You'll need this. Please don't burn yourselves. I've got a quick online meeting coming up and no time to drive you to the hospital." 

"Thanks, man. I appreciate that," says Charles as he takes the burning liquid from his buddy's hand. As Joris disappears, Charles pulls an outdoor couch sitting in a corner near the fire bowl. "In case it takes longer. Then we don't have to stand the whole time."

While Charles lights the wood, you take the garbage bag with the roses out of the box and put it next to the couch. "Would you like something to drink?"

Charles looks up from the small flame snaking around one of the logs. "There should be cans of Coke in the fridge. And there should be some sweets in the cupboard in the living room." When you look at him in astonishment, he grins. "Go ahead and help yourself. Joris has already eaten my entire fridge once when he was drunk."

"Okay." You leave him alone on the roof terrace and go searching. You actually find the cans in the fridge, two of which you take and put on the living room table so you can rummage through the cupboard for something sweet. You find fruit gums, some chocolate - which you probably shouldn't bring anywhere near a fire - and a bucket of popcorn, which you tuck under your arm. 

When you return to Charles with your hands full, he laughs. 

"What?" you ask, confused, as he takes the bucket from you. "You told me to help myself. And that's what I did."

"That's right." He motions for you to sit down on the sofa. As he sits down next to you, he nudges his knee against yours. He opens his can of Coke and you do the same. "Here's to the future." He holds his can out to you.

You clink glasses with him. "To the future."

After a few minutes, the fire burns brightly and warms you on this beautiful winter evening and Charles pokes around in the wood with a poker, which apparently belongs to the fire bowl, before grabbing the box and placing it between you on the couch. The fact that there's this physical distance between you both bothers you more than it should. 

"Two years for nothing," Charles says as he pulls out the first picture. It shows him and Annika lying on the beach and smiling at the camera. He throws it into the fire. "For nothing, for absolutely nothing."

"Don't say that." You watch as the flames engulf the photo. "You learn from relationships. No matter how long they last."

He throws a piece of paper into the bowl. It looks like a concert ticket. "And what have I learned? How to be cheated on without realizing it? I definitely didn't need to learn that." His tone is cold.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. When you take your eyes off the fire and look at him, his features are soft. He looks hurt. You purse your lips. "How did you find out?"

"I caught them." As you stare at him open-mouthed, he shrugs. " I was actually planning on flying from race to race, but my gut told me to fly back home." He has to swallow. "When I walked through the front door, there were already shoes there that weren't mine. And when I walked towards the bedroom, I heard them."

You raise an eyebrow. "They were doing it in your bed?" No wonder he doesn't want to keep the bedding or the bed. 

He nods weakly and throws one of his shirts into the fire. "I knew exactly what was behind the door and yet it broke my heart when I actually saw it. It wasn't much, but enough to know that it could never have been that 'it's not what it looks like' thing."

You hand him two plane tickets, which he throws away without looking at them. "And then?"

"She wanted to talk to me, begged me to stay with her and said how sorry she was. But I didn't want to hear any of it. I just turned around and left. I couldn't look her in the eye."

"I can understand that," you answer him quietly. 

"I think if I had really loved her the way you do in relationships, I would have thrown her out of the apartment straight away. But when I left and created distance between us, I racked my brains as to why she did that. And it was all over the internet that a lot of people do it because they feel neglected by their partner and are looking for closeness with someone else."

"And that's why you felt so bad that you allowed her to continue living there?" He nods. Another couple of photos land in the flames and catch fire. "Did you know the man?"

He shakes his head in response. He fixates on a burning log as if he doesn't want to look at you. When he does, his gaze is full of the kind of pain and hatred you've only ever seen on his face once before. As you remember the situation, your heart breaks. For both of you. 

When you answer him, your voice is no louder than your breath. "It was Raphael."

Your stomach clenches so tightly that you feel like throwing up. That's how Charles knew where Raphael worked. Something you've forgotten until now. Something is pounding behind your eyes and it's only when a tear runs down your cheek that you realize you're crying. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." Charles' voice is soft and through the veil of tears you see his hand twitch, as if he's struggling to take you in his arms and comfort you. But there's this stupid box between you. And you've never felt so lonely. 

"Y/N..."

"Don't," you say quietly and without thinking about it, you reach into the box between you, grab everything you can with one hand and throw it into the fire in front of you. You watch as Annika's face burns. You throw a second handful into the fire bowl. This time it's his jacket. "That bastard."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather kill them both."

A faint smile spreads across Charles' face. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Although I've thought about it before. But I'm afraid that I won't be able to drive my super-fast car if I'm behind bars."

"What if I take over for both of us?" 

"I think the prison clothes would look good on you, but the visiting hours are definitely a pain in the ass and I couldn't stand not seeing you every day," he says gently and reaches for the now empty box, which he now places on the floor next to the couch. Then he pulls you into his arms. And from now on, it's not the fire in front of you that warms you. 

You stare into the fire for a while, feeling Charles' arm around your waist and his cheek on the top of your head. "Are you going to tell me what's in that garbage bag?" 

"Oh." You straighten up, dumbfounded, and lean over the backrest to pick up the bin bag. As you turn back to Charles, his gaze quickly flickers back to your face. "This morning - after your mother visited - we were sitting together in the living room and you couldn't stop staring at the piano. But it wasn't the piano, was it?"

He shakes his head and as you untie the knot of the bag, he takes a peek inside. "I'd totally forgotten about that just now." 

"That's what I thought. That's why I brought them." You pull out the letters of roses and place them next to you on the couch before handing him the first one. While he throws the first rose into the fire, you open the bucket of popcorn and snuggle up to his side again. 

"Annika gave it to me for our second anniversary," he explains, before opening his mouth and looking at you expectantly. As you pop a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth, he grins at you. You ignore the fact that your fingers are tingling where they touched his lips: "I don't even like roses. I think they're too hackneyed and the most unimaginative thing you can give someone to show that you love them."

"So a gift without really making an effort," you continue his thought. "And what are your favorite flowers?"

When he looks at you, his gaze is warm and there's a sparkle in his eyes that you can't quite put your finger on. "Peonies."

You feel the warmth shoot into your cheeks and turn your gaze away from him. He throws more roses into the fire and you continue to pop popcorn into both of your mouths as the flowers burst into flames in front of you. You hope that this action is as cleansing for him as it is being said all over the internet. You hand him the second letter, which he can burn in peace, before standing up and taking his empty Coke can. "I guess you need a new one?" 

His grin is wide. "Yes, please."

You disappear into the kitchen, where you leave the can on the counter and take a new one from the fridge. As you go back to Charles, you bump into Joris, who is just coming out of one of the rooms. "How did your online meeting go?"

"Pretty good," he replies and walks past you into the kitchen to take another can from the fridge. You stop in the doorway. "It was just about familiarizing myself with my new job, which I start in the New Year."

"That's right," you reply and raise your eyebrows. "You said you'd been offered a job. Are you already looking forward to it?"

"Very much. I can hardly wait," he replies as you walk towards the living room. You can watch Charles through the window as he continues to set the roses on fire. "Was that your idea? With the whole burning thing?"

You nod. "Yes. I burned my ex-boyfriend's things too when I found out he'd cheated on me. Only I didn't have a big fire bowl."

"Then where did you do it?"

You shrug your shoulders. "In the kitchen sink."

Joris has to laugh before he nudges yours with his shoulder. "Your friendship is good for him. He's never opened up to anyone as quickly as he did with you. I'm starting to think I need to worry that you're taking my place as his best friend."

"Haha. You two have known each other for ages. I don't think I could ever get in the way, even if I wanted to." You have to smile. "But Charles is definitely my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't want to share with him."

"It's nice to hear that you're good for each other." He smiles at you. 

"Do you want to come outside?" you ask him as you walk to the patio door. 

Joris waves you off. "You go and do your cleansing thing. But please don't burn down the sofa. That's sacred to me."

You stick your tongue out at him and grab the blanket hanging over the back of a chair before returning to Charles, who has now reached the last letter. You hand him the Coke and spread the blanket over your knees. The sun has set, but the fire in front of you is so bright that you have no problem seeing his beautiful face. 

"Do you think she would have cheated on me too if I had been a better boyfriend?" Charles asks quietly at one point, without looking at you. 

"I don't know."

He thinks for a moment. "She said that everything in my life revolves around Formula One. That I don't notice what's going on around me. And that I was never there for her like a boyfriend should be. And that she had to share me with the whole world." As he turns to you, you see tears glistening in his eyes. "You said you were sure there was someone out there for me who wouldn't find my job too hectic. Who will support me no matter how hard it gets."

You turn to him and put your hand to his cheek to make him look at you. A tear rolls down his cheek and you wipe it away with your thumb. "I have. And I mean it."

He licks his tongue over his lips. "You also said that there's a person out there for everyone. A soulmate with whom you can share everything. With whom you don't have to pretend and can be who you really are." You feel his arms wrap around your middle and before you know it, you're sitting in his lap. 

You wrap your arms around his neck so you can hold him tight. 

"So you think there's someone else out there for me? That I haven't missed my chance at love?" You feel his warm breath on your face and how much you want to kiss away the tears that escape his eyes. Take away all his pain. Show him how much he means to you. 

But now is not the right time. Someday. Maybe.

"I promise you that." 

You watch him throw the last rose into the fire. In an instant, the red blossoms catch fire, the stem begins to glow and before you know it, this last piece from a time Charles wants to forget at all costs disappears and turns to ash. 

His grip on you tightens. A sign for you to turn towards him. When you look at him, his cheeks are wet, but he doesn't look sad. The smile on his face is honest and genuine and so loving that you can't help but return it. 

He would love to put his hands on your face and kiss you until you can't breathe. To feel your lips on his, your skin on his and tell you how important you are to him. How much he craves you and that everything he feels for you goes beyond the limits of friendship. But the only thing he does is grab your hand with his and squeeze it twice. Maybe you'll understand. Understand why he always squeezes twice. 

The right time will come. Someday. Maybe. 

When you look at him, with tears in your eyes and a warmth that makes his heart stumble, he has to swallow. He's never been as grateful to anyone as he is to you. 

"I'm free."

[stiles-banshees]

y/n needs tiramisu now or she’s gonna lose it i’m cackling

deal - cl16 (25/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Having lunch with friends always leads to sharing information. And girl, those friends don't hold back.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut), fluff, Kika is the bestest friend on this planet, mentions of Carlos and his girlfriend (yes, I consider this a trigger)

Word Count: 3.3k

series masterlist

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A/N: I just reached 2.6k followers and wow!! thank you so much!!! I love you! and this one is for you!!! feedback is appreciated.

Although it's only a few days until Christmas, the sun is shining so brightly that it's pleasantly warm as you and Kika leave the furniture store. As planned - but still with an uneasy feeling - you have left the almost overflowing shopping cart in front of the checkouts and while Charles pays for your "early Christmas present", you and your friend walk to the restaurant.

"I hope all this stuff fits in the car." Kika curls her mouth into a grin. "The mirror I wrote on the note - you know, the one they have to get from storage - is pretty big."

"I'd like to have your guts," you answer her. "Just picking out a huge mirror without knowing exactly whether it will fit anywhere in our apartment."

Kika grins and points to her brown eyes. "Eye measurement, baby. Those marbles are that big for a reason."

You have to stifle a laugh. "If you say so."

While the Portuguese woman plans where in your room she will place which decoration, your thoughts drift off. 

It bothers you a little that Charles wants to spend so much money on you. And for no good reason. "I want you to feel comfortable" was his explanation, which is of course very courteous and loving of him. But you could have bought the things with your own money. At least a small part of it. 

Would he expect a similarly expensive gift for Christmas now? If so, what could you get him? What do you give someone who already has everything? 

"Are you mad at me?" Kika interrupts your flow of thoughts and grabs your elbow. 

Confused, you turn to her. "What?"

"I - I don't know." When she stops, you're forced to stop too. "I didn't tell you that Charles is a famous Formula 1 driver. You - you confided in me about Raphael and I kept you in the dark about your roommate." 

You exhale. "Kika..."

"I wasn't a good friend and I'm sorry about that. Charles had asked us all not to tell because he wanted to protect you and enjoy the time with you when he was just Charles to you. Even if it wasn't fair to you. I can understand if you're angry with me and-"

"I'm not angry with you," you interrupt her and smile at her. "You're Charles' friend first and foremost and I can't blame him or you for keeping his secret. It doesn't affect our friendship in the slightest."

"Promise?" Her tone sounds a little more pleased than it did a few moments ago. 

You nod. "I promise."

She hooks back into you. "Thank goodness for that. I felt super bad because I couldn't tell you. But it wasn't my secret and it wasn't my place to tell you. And I'm really relieved that you see it the same way." She rests her head on your shoulder as you continue walking. 

"So you're a model, huh?" you ask her. 

She nods. "Yes. Well, I put a lot of effort into it and it's very tiring at times." Kika shrugs her shoulders. "But because of that - and Pierre, of course - I get to travel a lot and see great places. And I really appreciate that." She looks at you. "Now that you're unemployed -" You give her a dirty look. "Maybe you'd like to take my pictures sometime. And then I can post it on my Instagram and maybe other models will want to book you."

"You haven't seen any of my pictures yet," you reply with a laugh as she grabs your hand and jumps up and down. "Of course we can. We can try it out if you like."

Your friend looks around briefly before letting go of you and moving away from you. "How about now? I know you don't have your camera with you, but you can use my phone. The photos won't be as focused as with a real camera, but it should be enough to get you started." 

She hands you her cell phone before standing opposite you against the wall of the house. You watch her uncertainly as she fixes her hair. "Are you sure about this? What if the boys are already waiting for us?"

"Let them." She pulls her black jeans up a little so that they sit loosely on her hips. "It won't take long. And I trust you. So here we go."

While Kika turns, repositions herself and smiles at the camera, you take as many pictures as you can. In between, you adjust her purple cardigan so that it sits in the middle of her narrow shoulders, tell her how her feet should be positioned to emphasize the curves of her body and even tousle her hair once so that a few strands fall loosely into her forehead. 

When you look at the pictures after ten minutes and favor three of them, she looks curiously over your shoulder. "They look great. Really outfit of the day vibe." You hand the phone back to her. "I like this one. And this one. You've captured my butt well," she grins and puts the phone in her black handbag before hooking it back up to you. "And now let's go. I'm really hungry and I don't want to keep your tiramisu from you."

Oh well. 

Charles' words - "Then lie down on the bed, mon amour. I'd like to see how you look on it" - haunt your mind and the images that appear in your head don't make the situation any easier.  

For example, Charles kneeling between your legs and his gaze wandering hungrily over your body. How his hands rest on your thighs to open them a little wider so that he can lie comfortably on his stomach between them. How he slides his fingers under the hem of your panties to slowly pull them off your legs. And the way his mouth moves up from the soft skin of your thighs to where you want it to be. Need it to be. The way he opens his mouth and licks his tongue over his lips before closing the distance between you and - 

"Watch out. You start drooling." When you give Kika a confused look, she pokes you in the side. "I didn't know you could daydream about tiramisu."

"I wasn't even thinking about tiramisu," you defend yourself, but Kika doesn't believe a word you say. 

"Of course not." You could even hear her grin if you weren't looking at her. She lifts her hand and puts it to your cheek, playfully wiping the non-existent spit from the corner of your mouth. "I hate to repeat myself, but you're really not very good at lying."

You chew the inside of your cheek and look down at your sneakers. "Is it that obvious?"

"That you're totally into tiramisu? Hardly," she replies wryly, but puts her arm around your shoulder. "Let's be honest. A trained eye like mine can spot something like that, but if you're worried about the boys seeing it - you really don't need to worry. They wouldn't even recognize a dessert if you put it right in front of them."

"I just don't know what to do," you confess to her. 

Kika purses her lips. "Would you be ready for tiramisu after everything that's happened?"

A question you don't know the answer to. After Raphael's betrayal, you had actually sworn off men for a long time for fear that something similar would happen to you again. You tried to build a wall around your heart, but Charles has broken it down piece by piece and now there is only him. He has spread inside you, in your head and in your heart, and you are hungry for him - a feeling that you have never felt for Raphael before. A feeling that takes you by surprise and overruns you like an avalanche and you are helplessly at its mercy. 

"It's not the end of the world if you're ready for it," Kika assures you and her smile is genuine. "And when you're ready to give the tiramisu its real name, I'll be here if you want to talk about it."

You hug your friend tightly, causing her to let out a loud gasp. "Thank you, Kika. Really."

"You don't need to thank me. After all, I'm going to make full use of the mirror in your room soon and use you for your photography skills."

A few minutes later, you arrive at the small restaurant. As you enter through the glass door, you can already see the two men sitting at a table at the back. And Kika was right - apart from the four of you, the restaurant is deserted. 

"Where have you been?" asks Pierre as you join them. While Kika sits down opposite her boyfriend, you take the empty seat next to her. "We've been waiting for ages."

"We had to stop for a moment because I wanted to take photos," Kika explains and shows them both one of the pictures you took of her.

Pierre grimaces in amazement. "Very good photos. I hope you tag her in them too."

Playfully indignant, she puts her hand to her cleavage. "Of course! What makes you think I wouldn't do that? It might even land her more photo shoots with other models." She leans in your direction. "But as long as I remain your favorite model, everything's fine."

"You are and always will be my favorite model, Kika," you reply and briefly lean your cheek against the top of her head before she sits up straight again. 

While Kika and Pierre argue lovingly, you feel Charles pressing one of his legs against yours under the table. When you look at him, he smiles. "Everything okay?" he asks silently, tilting his head. 

You nod. "Everything's perfect." You press your leg against his as well.

The risotto you ordered doesn't taste too bad, even if it is a little more fancy than your typical meals. The boys talk about their sport and you try to understand everything, but when the conversation eventually turns to engines, you stop listening. 

You watch Charles as he talks energetically and passionately to his friend about his job, while the French mainly listens. He tries to explain things with his hands, waving them wildly in front of his face, and if you didn't know him, you'd think he was a bit out of his mind. But there is something twinkling in his eyes, a spark that shines brighter and brighter the longer he talks about Formula 1.

It makes him so attractive that you have to swallow. 

"How are Carlos and his girlfriend doing?" Kika interjects into the conversation. "I saw on Instagram the other day that they went on a trip together."

You look from Kika to Charles. "Who is Carlos?"

"My teammate at Ferrari. The other driver," he explains briefly with a smile before turning to Kika. "I've seen that too. Santorini or something, wasn't it? It was definitely nice, but let's see how long it lasts."

You have to ask again. " How long will it last? That doesn't sound like you have much faith in the relationship."

Kika, who has taken a sip of her water, puts her glass back on the table. "Unfortunately, this has nothing to do with faith," she explains and takes her cell phone out of her bag. She taps on it a little until she hands it to you. 

You see an Instagram page of a Becca, also a model, it seems. 27 years old, model at the Bijou Management agency. Her last post is actually from Santorini and alongside all the pictures of her lolling by the pool is one of her with a man. Carlossainz55 is tagged in the picture.

"When you're famous, it's harder to have a relationship," Pierre continues. "Not everyone is so lucky and falls in love with someone who is a good match for them. Sometimes rumors surface about people that aren't true, but still damage reputations. And to counteract this, some people go into relationships that put them in a good light."

You look around in confusion. "So it's a marketing strategy? So that people can sell themselves better?"

Charles nods. "These PR relationships are very conspicuous and usually easy to see through, but even then they distract from the actual rumor."

"And Carlos and Becca are in one of those PR relationships?" Your friends nod. "And what's the rumor that needs to be put to rest?"

Charles bites the inside of his cheek. "Carlos was with a young, super-nice woman for years. When they broke up, there was a rumor that he had a secret family and even a son. That this was the reason for the break-up. And that triggered a few conversations at Ferrari." He shrugs his shoulders. "And then they pulled Becca in for him."

You furrow your eyebrows. "Pulled her in? How do you find someone to willingly agree to a fake relationship like that?"

Kika catches your attention. "Some racing teams have a cooperation with certain modeling agencies for such cases. Which of course makes the whole thing even more conspicuous. But just think how much publicity the girlfriends get from it. It definitely doesn't hurt the modeling job."

"But you also have to understand that millions of euros are attached to a driver's reputation," Pierre explains. "Fans buy tickets to see their favorite driver. They buy merchandise like shirts, caps or whatever to show their loyalty. And loyalty is not exactly low. Ask Charles. One priest has his whole Instagram page dedicated to him."

As you look at your roommate, he can only nod. "That's true. Fans put their favorites on pedestals, praise them to the skies and would defend them to the bitter end. But a rumor that is so serious and has consequences like falling sales figures - anything is better than fans who refuse to support their favorites."

"And why do you think it won't be good for much longer?" Charles looks nervously around the room as if he doesn't know what to say, and his friends also avoid your gaze and your question. "Guys, I don't know these people. So, whatever you tell me - I can't do anything with the information anyway. Is there another woman?"

"It's not exactly another woman," Kika mumbles into her glass and all heads turn in her direction. "What is it? Like she's going to run to the nearest news agency and tell them that the Spanish Ferrari driver isn't exclusively into women."

You raise your hands placatingly. "In case it's not clear - of course I'll keep everything that's said around the table to myself. I'm not crazy and risking our friendship."

"I didn't expect anything else," Charles replies with a smile that could melt glaciers. "I couldn't bear it if we weren't friends anymore either." 

As you look at him and mindlessly lick your lips, you feel Kika's elbow gently on your arm. 

"What do you think? Do you fancy some tiramisu?" 

Your gaze lingers on Charles and when he presses his leg a little harder against yours, your breath hitches. "I'm craving it."

And indeed. The tiramisu isn't as good as the one at the restaurant where you met Kika and Pierre, but it comes close. You try to look away from Charles, but every time you look at him, his eyes are already on you. Something that makes you even more nervous than it should. 

When you get into the car a short time later, unnoticed, you glance briefly over the seats back into the trunk. "Where's the new bed?"

Charles straps himself in and has the seat belt fastened against his torso. "They'll deliver it between Christmas and New Year and set it up straight away. Then I won't have all the work and Pierre won't have to lug it around with me."

"For which I am very grateful," replies the Frenchman, steering the car through the streets of Monaco. "I don't even know how we're going to transport this mirror without breaking it. It was already barely possible to get it into the car."

"That sounds like a you-problem," grins Kika, looking at her boyfriend through the rear-view mirror. "You're the strong men. You'll find a solution while we get all the little things into the apartment. Right?"

The question is directed at you, but apart from a nod, she can't expect anything else in response. Charles's fingers are once again wrapped around your calf, his thumb gently stroking your warm skin and you can't think of anything else but the feeling of warmth that spreads through you from this small touch. 

It takes a good hour for both the mirror and the rest to get to the upstairs in your apartment. After Pierre involuntarily teaches you several swear words in French and Kika decorates your entire windowsill with fake plants, they quickly make a run for it, worried that you're both going to take even more advantage of them than you already have. 

"We've had a good day so far," you call out to Charles from the kitchen as you pour you both a glass of water each. You don't know where he is, but he will probably have heard you anyway. 

"Definitely," comes his voice from the living room. As you follow it, you see Charles sitting on the large couch, his head back and his eyes closed. Only now do you notice how thick his neck is. Is it from all the training for Formula 1?

"Here." You hold his glass of water out to him and he opens his eyes to accept it. As you sit down, he takes a sip. You watch his Adam's apple bounce as he swallows. 

"Thank you," he replies quietly and rests his arm on the back of the couch. A sign for you to lean against him, which you definitely don't refuse. 

As you snuggle into his side and breathe in his unmistakable scent, you feel tiredness overtake you. "But it was exhausting."

""Mh-mhh." 

"Thanks again. For my early Christmas present. Even though it wasn't necessary," you joke, but as rigid as Charles is sitting next to you, he doesn't seem to be in the mood for jokes. And as you follow his stare, the roses on the white piano come into your field of vision. The reason why you suggested the trip to the furniture store. And suddenly your tiredness is blown away. 

"Do you happen to know anyone who has something like a fire bowl or something?" you ask your flatmate. 

This question seems to break him out of his spell. His gaze wanders from the roses to you and he raises an eyebrow in confusion. "A fire bowl?" You nod. "Joris has a rooftop terrace and we've had bonfires there before in the summer." He licks his teeth once. "What do you need a fire bowl for? You're not thinking about sitting around a fire with sticks and marshmallows in winter, are you?"

"Not exactly," you reply and get up from the couch. As you look down at him, you hold out your hand. "Come on, mon joli. I have an idea."

[stiles-banshees]

congrats on ollie's successful f1 debut!

[stiles-banshees]

this is better than a sex scene

[stiles-banshees]

the tiramisu references i’m dead

deal - cl16 (24/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Furniture shopping is more exciting when there's talks about buying new stuff - like a bed.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut), fluff, Kika is the bestest friend on this planet

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hello loves! part twenty-four is here and I hope you enjoy it! feedback is appreciated!!!

The fact that Kika is just lying on your bed instead of snuggling up completely in your fluffy blanket is a miracle. 

"I liked the light blue mom jeans best," she says as you stand in front of the large mirror leaning against the wall next to the door to your room and look at yourself. "With the white oversized turtleneck - smash."

You look at her through the mirror. "Haha."

"I'm serious." She leans on her elbows and tilts her head. "If you wear white sneakers with it, it'll even work with the sandwich method. I've seen it on TikTok. And I swear to you - people will turn their heads to look at you."

"I don't want people turning their heads at me," you confess quietly, adjusting the soft fabric of your top. "I just want to look halfway okay."

"Trust me. You look more than okay."

After Kika and Pierre have stormed your apartment with their spare key - which at first annoyed you, but in the next moment made you feel quite relieved - your girlfriend has taken it upon herself to unpack your suitcase and pick out an outfit for you that matches your trip to the furniture store.

Unpacking your suitcase simply consisted of pulling out one item at a time and tossing it aside if it didn't meet her expectations. The pile of clothes next to the bed is the result of her search.

" Let it go," she warns you as you adjust the position of the hem of the sweater on your shoulder. "You look good. When I think about my first outfit as Pierre's girlfriend - it was pure horror."

"But I'm not a girlfriend," you reply as you reach for the jeans Kika is holding out to you. "I'm his friend. His roommate. Nothing more," you exhale, "and nothing less."

The Portugese woman watches you slip into your pants. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Caught off guard, you look at her. Are your feelings for the Monegasque so obvious that she can even see it on your face? Is your affection written all over your forehead? You can't name your emotional state, you can't say a word that could even begin to describe what you feel for Charles - but there's no question that it's definitely something other than pure friendship. 

No matter how often and vehemently you try to convince yourself that Charles is your friend, you are an incredibly bad liar. 

"I remember being incredibly nervous the first time we went out in public. I think I changed outfits three or four times before I was halfway happy."

Oh.

You sit down on the edge of the bed with her. "I want all of this. I want him." You clear your throat as Kika gives you a meaningful look. "His friendship, that is. And I'm also willing to take the risk of people not liking me and talking badly about me." You clasp your hands in your lap.

Kika sits up straight. "But?"

You curl your lips into a thin line. "I - I don't know." How do you explain to her that you're worried that his fans could dislike you so much that they doubt Charles? You're going public as friends, something that bothers you a little more than it should. But the Monegasque has also said that people will think what they want. 

What if they hate you so much - your looks, your mediocrity, your being - that Charles catches on and he realizes they're right in their opinion?

"I just want to make a good impression."

Your friend reaches for your hand. "You will. And after all, you're just friends. The public's opinion isn't all that important." You don't see her look, which says so much more than what she actually says.

"Right."

Kika lets go of your hand and stands up from the bed. "I'll be with you the whole time. We'll work it out. I promise." She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. "So, let's get going. This room is pretty bleak and could use some color," she says before pulling you off the bed and out of the room.

As you slip into your shoes at the front door, the men join you.

"So, Pierre and I are sitting -" Charles begins, but suddenly stops when he sees you. His eyes wander over your body and goose bumps spread along their path. He remains silent until Pierre nudges him. "Uhm, sorry. Yes. We - um - we're both going to sit in the front of the car because -" He scratches the back of his neck nervously, but can't take his eyes off you. "The plan is for Kika and you to go through the furniture store together and Pierre is coming with me. Just so that we are seen together as little as possible, but are still out and about together," he explains. 

You understand why this is all going to happen. He wants to protect you and you want to let him, but you can't stop your heart from getting a little bruised. 

When Kika notices your offended look, she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "So much planning for simple shopping with friends? Is that really necessary?"

As you look up from your shoes, you look straight into Charles' beautiful green eyes. Something that looks exactly like how you feel flickers across his face. "It is." He stands up straight. "Shall we?"

Kika smiles gently at you. "Let's liven this place up a bit, then." She grabs Pierre's hand and together the two of them walk out of the apartment towards the elevator, while Charles and you stay behind. You both look after them. 

"Is everything all right?" asks the Monegasque and stands next to you. 

"Everything's fine," you answer him curtly. You don't dare look at him. 

"Y/N," he says as he gently grasps your wrist and turns you towards him. "Mon amour, you know why I'm doing this, don't you?" His hand slips a little lower so your fingers can intertwine.

"'Mh-hmm." 

"Hey." His other hand rests gently against your cheek, making you look at him. "Hey." His thumb gently strokes your cheekbone. "I'm trying to protect you. That's my priority. Making sure you're okay is my priority. And if that means we can't walk through any stores next to each other for now, just so the public can get used to you, then I'll put up with it." His gaze twitches briefly to your mouth. "Even if it's not what I want."

You nuzzle your face against his warm hand. "And what do you want?" you ask softly. 

"You." 

His answer makes the blood sizzle in your veins. It feels as if the warmth of his skin is burning through your face, as if the nerve endings under your skin are sending little electric shocks through your muscles and forcing your heart to stop. You take a deep breath.

"I want you near me." He squeezes your hand twice before pulling away. Your skin feels cooler without his touch. "But I'm responsible for what happens in public. And I don't want to risk anything happening to you because of me."

You nod weakly before wordlessly following the befriended couple. You hear Charles behind you, but you don't wait for him as you walk quickly to the others. The atmosphere in the elevator is tense as you are transported towards the underground garage, but no one tries to ease the tension. Kika and Pierre look at each other a little uncertainly, something that doesn't escape your gaze, and you can't blame them. The situation is just awful.

Pierre has thought far ahead, because when he presses a button on his car key, a large SUV opens up in the underground parking garage, sure to fit some decorative items. Charles' Ferrari, or God forbid your old Renault, might have been able to fit a picture frame, or at most a small mirror. 

You sit behind Charles, who has taken a seat in the passenger seat. Kika and Pierre are talking through the rear-view mirror while you look out of the window.

The longer you think about what Charles said - or didn't say - the more uncomfortable you feel. The hem of the sweater seems to have slipped, the collar feels too tight and the sleeves are scratching your elbows. You're not sure what you were hoping for, what the right answer would have been. But you're not particularly happy with the one you got. 

You also want to be close to him, permanently. And you can also understand why the plan involves you staying away from each other inside the furniture store. But is that really necessary if you're just friends? Has he done something similar with his other female friends, or are you the only one who has to put up with this fuss? 

Your thoughts are going round and round in your head, but as if by magic they suddenly come to a standstill. But it's not magic, it's Charles' hand that has squeezed past his seat on the right and is now gripping your leg. You feel his fingers slide under the fabric of your jeans, where they rest against your calf. 

You try to regulate your breathing, but you can hear the blood pounding in your ears. Charles touching you is nothing new. You've been touching each other non-stop since last night, which doesn't help your feelings or your friendship, but it still feels indescribably good. 

It feels right the way his calloused hand wraps around your soft calf. It felt right the way his thumb stroked your cheek. It felt right to lie half-naked next to him in bed. 

It felt right to want him as something more. More than a roommate. More than a friend. 

And that's exactly why you slide your foot towards the car door, so that Charles can touch you more easily. You block out the voice that keeps whispering hypocrite to you as best you can. And the warmer his skin feels on yours, the tighter his fingers close around your calf, the better it works. 

"I'll let you both out right at the entrance and we'll park in the back of the parking lot," Pierre interrupts your thoughts before they're no longer PG. "You can go inside and we'll follow. That's the easiest way."

"Thank you very much," Charles says. "I'm sorry we're shamelessly taking advantage of you."

Pierre has to grin. "You're welcome to give me a position in Bahrain, then we'd be even."

"You'd have to get close to me on the track first."

The two men argue amicably until the car comes to a halt in front of the deserted entrance. Just as you are about to open the door, Charles's fingers gently squeeze your leg twice and you have to suppress a smile, otherwise Kika would tease you endlessly. As you both get out and the car drives away, she latches on to you. 

"Are you ready?" she asks as you walk towards the glass door together. 

"Definitely."

Kika has very good taste in decorating and if she hadn't become a model, she could definitely have worked at Ikea putting together those fake rooms. As you push a shopping cart in front of you, she skips through the aisles, grabbing anything that matches in color or style. Picture frames, vases, mirrors and fake plants that would look good on the windowsill in your room. 

She's examining which of the candles in front of her would go better with the vases in the shopping cart when your cell phone vibrates in your pocket. 

Charles: If one of the candles burns down our apartment, I'll have to charge you rent. 

Confused, you read the message before looking up and around. Charles is standing about twenty meters away from you, smiling at you over the shelves. You bite the inside of your cheek.

You: You don't need my money, Mr. Ferrari. After all, you make millions a year. 

You raise an eyebrow challengingly as Charles reads your message. You can see his grin clearly, even from this distance. 

Charles: If you burn down my expensive apartment, I'll have to find a new one, and they're not exactly cheap in Monaco, as you know. 

You: I thought it was our apartment?

Charles: If you let it burn down, you're welcome to keep it.

You: So you'd let me keep it? Our apartment?

Charles: I'd give you anything, mon amour. You just have to ask for it. 

You don't have time to think about his answer because Kika throws a stuffed animal dinosaur in your face. 

"Are you done flirting?" she asks, playing annoyed. "I'm trying to decorate your room and you'd rather flirt than help me."

You feel the blood rush to your face. "Excuse me?"

Her grin almost reaches your ears. "Gotcha."

"You can't possibly have caught me doing something I wasn't doing," you try to wriggle out of it, but Kika has bitten down like a little terrier.

"And why are you looking like you've eaten the last spoonful of tiramisu without asking if anyone else wants the rest?" 

"I haven't eaten any tiramisu," you defend yourself and hug the green stuffed animal tightly to your chest. 

"Not yet," she says gently and puts one of the candles in the cart with the rest. "But I'm afraid you could get diabetic if you're not careful with the tiramisu. A small piece is fine, but a double portion could almost be too much." 

You narrow your eyes. "I haven't eaten any tiramisu." Without taking your eyes off her, you put the green dino in the shopping cart too. "And I don't intend to."

"You're a bad liar," she says and stands next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around you. "But that's all right. I still love you. And when your room looks really cool soon, I'll take the outfit pictures for my Instagram in front of your mirror."

She gives you a peck on the cheek and you roll your eyes. "Charles was right. We need to change the locks, then you can't disturb us anymore."

"Disturb? Disturbing what? Eating tiramisu?" she grins and you would have loved to suffocate her with the green dino. Apparently Kika can read minds, because she quickly lets go of your arms and continues to skip happily through the corridors while you follow her with the shopping cart. 

"How much do you think the things you picked out for me cost?" you ask her as she picks out more plants.

She takes a look at the shopping cart. "Something between two hundred and five hundred euros," she replies with a shrug.

"Kika, that's too much. Way too much," you try to stop her as she walks over to the rugs on display. "I can't pay for it. I'm unemployed, remember?" You're about to turn the shopping cart around and return the selected items to their rightful places, but Kika stands in your way. 

"Charles offered to pay for this," she says, confused, resting her perfectly manicured hands on the metal grille of the cart. 

"He what?" you ask, looking around in the hope of spotting Charles somewhere. But he's nowhere to be seen.

"Pierre sent me a text message to leave the car at the checkouts when we're done. He said that Charles wanted to pay for it and that we should wait outside for them," she explains, tilting her head. "I thought he would have told you. I know you're unemployed, but because of the text message, I thought that - I assumed we could just pick out nice items without looking at the price."

You run your tongue over your teeth. "Give me a moment, please," you say briefly and leave her standing there with the shopping cart. 

You walk through every aisle, looking over every shelf in the hope of seeing Charles standing somewhere. And when, after ten minutes, you spot his brown curls in the furthest corner of the store, you don't care if the two of you are seen together. He's standing in front of a gray, hip-high box spring, with nice, dark bedding and comfortable-looking pillows placed on it. When you stop next to him, he doesn't look at you.

"I want to buy a new bed," he begins the conversation. "The one I have now is too low for me. What do you think of this one? I've tried it out. It's really comfortable and the perfect height for -" He falls silent before he can finish the sentence. 

"Kika says you want to pay for my things," you change the subject without answering his question. You don't take your eyes off the bed either. 

"That's correct."

"I don't want that," you say tersely. "I don't want you to pay for it."

"But I want to," he replies, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "Think of it as a gift."

"As a gift?" You raise an eyebrow. "As a gift for what?"

"For your friendship."

"You can have my friendship without buying me new things," you assure him, but you fall on deaf ears. 

"But I want to. I have so much money that I can't spend on my own, so I want to buy you nice things." He leans a little towards you so that your hands touch. "How expensive are the things? One thousand, two thousand euros?"

"Kika says five hundred at most."

"Then think of it as a small, early Christmas present," he says gently. Before you can object, he continues. "I want you to feel comfortable and if it costs me some money, then so be it. And it won't hurt my bank account in the slightest. So just say thank you and accept the gift."

"Thank you," you whisper reluctantly, but you know that it wouldn't do any good to go against his wishes. "Did you find something you want to buy?"

He smiles. "This bed, apparently. And bedding. And a mirror."

"Doesn't sound bad. I just hope you have as good a taste as Kika. After all, our things have to match," you joke.

Charles turns his head in your direction. "Then lie down on the bed, mon amour. I'd like to see how you look on it before I spend thousands of euros on it." As he says it and his fingers curl around your wrist, that feeling blossoms in your chest again.

You want to throw him on the bed in front of you, kiss him until you can't breathe and touch him until you can see stars. You want to feel his warm skin under your fingertips, feel his muscles tense as he pulls you on top of him and presses you against his firm body. You want to feel his weight on you as he lays you down on the bed and his lips trail down from your mouth. You want to - 

"Do you really think I'm going to try sleeping without you again when we've figured out that we both sleep better when we're together?" he asks, gently stroking the thin skin on your wrist with his thumb. You hope he can't feel your racing pulse underneath. "When we first met, you said that you hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. And if it means I have to hold you in my arms so you can get a good night's sleep, then so be it. And it's not as if I don't enjoy having you close to me."

Before you can answer him, you feel a person standing at your other side and when you look, Kika is standing there. Her gaze flickers briefly to your hands before she turns to the bed as well. "Do any of you fancy a bite to eat?" she asks. "There's a restaurant nearby that serves incredibly good tiramisu. And it's never busy. We can go there if you like." She turns slightly in your direction and nudges you. "What about you? Do you want some tiramisu?"

More like a need than a want.

[stiles-banshees]

y/n charles so special to me oh my god

deal - cl16 (23/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: There's nothing sweeter than unexpected visitors.

Warnings: 18+ (just be prepared for some words), fluff (like a lot), Pascale is the sweetest thing on this planet, teeny tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hello everyone! I hope you all are doing okay after the Ferrari-Carlos-Lewis thing, because I'm still in denial. this is mostly fluff, because I couldn't manage you dealing with more bad stuff this week. love you! feedback is appreciated!

Before you can say anything or even react, the blonde woman lets go of your hands and snatches one of the magazines lying on the coffee table in front of you. She rolls it up with her slender fingers before smacking Charles across the back of the head. 

"Maman!" he exclaims angrily, rubbing his head. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

The woman holds the magazine under his chin so that the Monegasque has no choice but to look her in the eye and return her stare. "That's no way to talk to your mother." She puts the magazine back in its rightful place before turning to you again. "Try again, chéri."

Your friend has to hold back a grin before he spreads his arms out and hugs his mother. "Good morning, Maman. It's really good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, mon chéri," she replies lovingly, stroking his broad back once with her hand before releasing herself from the tight embrace. She puts her hands to his cheeks to study his face. "I didn't know you were back home."

Charles tilts his head, his mouth forming a thin line. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know," he replies meekly, taking her hands from his cheeks so that he can press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"I can see that." She pulls her hands from his and then turns to face you. When she looks at you, you stiffen. All of a sudden, you feel as if you're naked in Charles' clothes, she's looking at you so piercingly. "I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself properly yet. I'm not usually as rude as my son." Charles rolls his eyes as her smile is affectionate and gentle. Then she wraps you in a hug that is careful, but firm nonetheless. It's a good hug. "I am Pascale. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." After you've also introduced yourself, you return her smile. 

"Now that you two have met," Charles interrupts your conversation. "How do we come to be honored with your company, Maman?"

As if it was her own home, her own four walls, Pascale leaves the hallway and goes into the kitchen, where she grabs a cup and makes herself an espresso at the coffee machine. Like two lost puppies, the two of you follow the beautiful woman. "I was called in tears last night." When the loud buzzing of the machine stops, she takes a sip of her coffee before placing it on the countertop. "Can someone explain that to me?" With her eyes glued to her son like an annoying price sticker on a new plate, you're off the hook. 

"I didn't think she'd call you."

She?

"And I didn't think you'd just kick her out of the apartment without giving her some warning," Pascale replies sharply, raising an eyebrow to show her disapproval of Charles' behavior. "She called me in the middle of the night, upset with you and crying bitterly because you kicked her out of the apartment with a simple text message."

Something flashes in your mind. When you followed Charles back to the bedroom last night, he was typing away on his cell phone. And when you told him that he'd be crazy if you went with him to the apartment where his ex still lives, he assured you that she wouldn't be there. 

You didn't expect him to just throw Annika out of the apartment so that you would have a safe place where Raphael couldn't harm you.

"Maman." Charles raises his hands placatingly. "It wasn't like that."

"So you didn't send her a text message telling her to pack her things and leave within thirty minutes?" When Charles doesn't reply, but simply stares at his mother open-mouthed, she runs her fingers through her hair in bewilderment. "I didn't bring you up like that. Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Maman -"

"No 'Maman'." Judging by the look on her face, she would like to hit him over the head with the magazine again. "Do you know what the consequences could be?"

"Maman -"

"She could go public with it!"

"Maman -"

"And - and damage your reputation! She could -"

"Maman!" Charles almost shouts at his mother to break out of her mental spiral. She looks angrily at her son, who takes a small step towards her. He lowers his hands. "Annika cheated on me."

As if all the air had escaped her body, Pascale plops down on the chair where you were eating pancakes just a few minutes ago. She puts her face in her hands and takes a deep breath before looking at her son again. She tries to blink away the tears in her eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you, mon chéri?"

Without answering, Charles closes the distance to his mother and holds her tightly in his arms. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and closes his eyes. "It's all right, Maman. Please don't worry, okay?" He squeezes his mother a little tighter as her arms wrap around his middle. "It's all right. I'm all right. I'm in good hands here."

Pascale's gaze flickers to you and a small smile crosses her beautiful face. You recognize Charles in it. "You'll take good care of him, won't you?"

You feel the blood rush to your face. Suddenly it feels wrong to be witnessing this loving conversation between mother and son. "Of course." With everything I have.

"Very well, chéri," Pascale finally says, gently pushing her son away. "Your brother is coming to visit tomorrow. As you haven't seen each other for a while, I'd like you to come to dinner. He would definitely be happy to see you." She looks at you again. "You too, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, Charles looks at you and shakes his head, barely noticing, so you don't turn down her invitation. "All right, maman. We'll be there." He nudges her lightly with his elbow. "As long as there's pasta e pollo."

Pascale rolls her eyes. "You're incorrigible, Charles." She smiles at him anyway. "Your new girlfriend gets to decide. After all, she's the new addition to our family and I want to make a good impression."

"Maman, she's -" Charles tries to explain himself, but his mother merely raises her hand to silence him. When Charles and your eyes meet, you feel warm. And when he pushes his lower lip forward, he looks so cute that you can't help but agree with him. 

"Pasta e pollo sounds great."

Pascale gets up from her chair. "Very good. Then I'll get everything ready for tomorrow." She strides past you towards the front door and you follow her again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. I'll let you know the exact time, mon chéri." She kisses Charles' right and then left cheek before repeating it with you. "Tomorrow we'll have enough time to talk about all this. And to get to know each other better."

"I can hardly wait," you answer her honestly.

"That's very nice. Then I'll see you tomorrow evening. Bonne journée," she wishes you before disappearing from the apartment just as quickly as she came in. As the door closes behind her, you both exhale deeply.

"I'm so sorry." Charles turns to face you.

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Sorry for what exactly? Your mother suddenly showing up here?"

He runs his hand through his hair and leans back against the closed door. "That you're now forced to spend the evening with my family. And that I didn't make it clear that we're just friends."

You run your tongue along the inside of your teeth. "It's okay, there's plenty of time for that." Then you smile. "Your mom seems nice. I have no problem spending time with her."

He laughs briefly and then leans his head against the white wood. "It's not my mom that worries me. It's my brothers. They can be really - you know - brothers sometimes."

You walk towards him and lower your arms. "Why? Are they that bad?"

He grabs one of your hands and plays with your fingers. His eyes search yours. "I think it's better if you make up your own mind about them."

"So they're that bad?" you joke, allowing him to pull you closer so that you're standing between his legs. "If they're anything like you, I think I'll get on well with them."

His free hand rests on your hip. Despite the layers of fabric, you can feel the warmth of his skin. "Then you'll hate Arthur." His fingers press gently into your flesh before something behind you catches his attention and he releases you - too quickly for your liking. As you turn around, the piano catches your eye and the roses standing on it. 

"What's the plan for today?" you ask him, trying to draw his attention back to you. You release his hand from your hip, but only to pull him into the kitchen so he doesn't have to look at those stupid roses anymore. "Do you have to do anything? Gym? Or do you have any appointments?"

Charles sits down in his chair and fishes his cell phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. "I don't think so," he answers and takes a look at his online calendar before placing his cell phone on the counter in front of him. "I don't have any appointments or commitments to meet until after Christmas. Until then, I'm all yours." His smile is sweet as sugar and your heart skips a beat.

You want to grab him by the collar of his shirt, pull him across the worktop and kiss him until you can't breathe. Touch him until the countertop is used for something other than cooking, but this morning you convinced yourself that this friendship is the right and, above all, the only way this can work. And that you wouldn't do anything to sabotage this friendship.

"How about we use this time wisely then, huh?" You reach for Pascale's coffee cup and rinse it. 

"Do you have an idea?" He raises an eyebrow and has to stifle a smile when he sees your grin. "Of course you have one. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked like that. Fire away."

"So," you start and put the cup back in its place in the cupboard. "We've finally spoken and we've agreed to stay in this apartment together."

"As friends," the Monegasque confirms the thought you just had, even if you don't understand why he has to say it out loud. 

Your eyes dart towards the hallway, knowing that the white piano with the red roses is just a few meters away. "What do you say we go out today and buy some new things for the apartment?" you suggest. "Then I could get things for my room and maybe something else to make it feel a bit more like home."

"You mean to make it feel like it's your apartment too?" Charles leans back in his chair a little and runs his hand through his hair. 

"Only if that's okay with you. After all, it's your apartment and I could understand if you wanted to leave everything as it is at the moment and -" you babble nervously without thinking about what you're saying. You look at him worriedly and try to read his face to see if you might have crossed a line. 

"That's actually a good idea," Charles finally replies, smiling at you. "But are you ready for it?"

"For what?" you ask, confused, leaning against the countertop, which - unfortunately - is only used for cooking.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "For being seen outside. With me." He looks at you like a kicked puppy that's been abandoned on the street in the middle of the night.

"I told you I have no problem with that," you assure him and walk around the kitchen counter to sit next to him. You reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers. "We're friends, Charles. We know we're friends. And I don't care what anyone else thinks they know about us." You tilt your head a little to one side. "Our friendship is real - and that's why we're going right out there to buy some new stuff for the apartment."

His smile almost makes your heart stop. "For our apartment," he corrects you, his green eyes twinkling.

"Our apartment," you repeat softly. 

"Okay." He lowers his gaze to your hands, and the way his fingers wrap around yours makes it feel like they're perfect for each other. The two of you spending time together shouldn't make you this happy. "But we'll only go on one condition."

"What's that?" 

"We're not going alone. We're taking Pierre and Kika with us so that it doesn't look like we're shopping for furniture for our apartment as a couple in love." The fact that he doesn't want to go out alone with you feels like a punch in the gut. When he notices the hurt look on your face, he squeezes your fingers gently twice. "It's just to protect you, Y/N."

The fact that he doesn't trust you to do this hits you harder than it should. How many times do you have to tell him you're ready? That the opinions of others don't matter to you as long as you have Charles by your side? Does he really think you're that weak?

"I don't need to be protected," you reply sharply and take your hand away from him. 

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he tries to reassure you, but the fact that he's talking down your feelings doesn't make things any better. 

"Maybe not," you say annoyed and get up from your chair. "But there will come a point when we're on our own. And then everyone's going to be talking shit about us, I get it. And I get that it's going to be bad." You don't care that you're acting like a defiant child. The fact that Charles doesn't want to be seen alone with you hurts more than you would ever admit. "So why not today?"

The young man in front of you looks away from you with a crestfallen expression before also rising from his chair. When he reaches for your hand again, you allow it. "I want you to be able to turn away from me if it gets too much for you. I want you to have the chance to live a normal life if you do decide against me." His other hand rests against your cheek and you snuggle up to him as if it were a reflex. "I don't want you to regret meeting me."

The fact that he thinks you could ever regret befriending him stabs straight through your heart. He wants to protect you from something you both have no control over, and although you'd like to stroll through Monaco holding hands with him, you can understand him.

He is trying to protect both you and himself. And you can understand that all too well. 

"All right," you give in and smile gently at him. "Then ask them if they're free and up for it today. It could be fun."

Charles lets go of you and the warmth that had been flowing through your body immediately disappears. While he talks to Pierre on the phone, you go back to your room to get changed and think about what would look good in your room. 

Different curtains wouldn't go amiss, and some candles and a small mirror would look good on the white chest of drawers opposite the bed. You might also find some new bedding that -

"Y/N?" Charles' voice echoes through the apartment. You find him in the doorway of the master bedroom, where he glances over his shoulder in your direction. "Pierre and Kika are about to head out, then we'll leave together." 

"Okay," you reply, glancing past him into the room. There are a few things lying around that are definitely not his, and the decor doesn't suit him very well either. "So this is your room?" 

"Uh-huh." He wrinkles his mouth a little. 

"What's wrong with it? Apart from the obvious, of course."

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Everything. I don't see anything in it that I wouldn't change."

You'd be only too happy to set the whole room on fire if it would certainly help him. Just like the roses that have burned themselves into your memory. You nudge him with your elbow. "Then we've got a lot planned for today." You look at each other and when he reaches for your hand, you have to smile. "You don't have to go through this alone, Charles. We can do this as long as we're together."

His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips. "Together," he says softly in return, leaning down a little towards you so that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. His warm breath caresses your face as his free hand finds its place on his hip again to pull you against him. You feel his hard body against yours, his heartbeat under your fingertips as you place your hand on his chest. You feel his warmth as his nose bumps against yours, his hip against your stomach as he presses you against him. You feel his -

"Are you ready?" Pierre's voice comes out of nowhere as he and Kika walk through the front door. Thank God the bedroom is further back so they can't see you. 

Instead of letting you go, Charles presses you tighter against him so that you can feel him everywhere. "I think we need a new door lock," he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. "Then no more uninvited guests can come in when we're together." 

When he finally breaks away from you, you have to take a deep breath. Although you've decided that you don't feel anything for him apart from friendship, he triggers something in you that no one before him has ever managed to do. 

You desire him. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet, you crave him, his touch, his skin on yours. And his words echo in your thoughts, making you dizzy. 

Together. Together. Together. 

You rub your face once and look after Charles, who briefly disappears in the direction of the living room, the opposite direction from your friends.

What you can't see, however, is him shoving his hand into his pants to control his raging boner, which is pressing almost painfully against the seams of his boxers. How is he supposed to put up with that when you live together?

Together. Together. Together.

[stiles-banshees]

Peroni Nastro Azzurro -> Proud new partner of Scuderia Ferrari

[stiles-banshees]

i am not my mother and i am not my father but a third worse thing

[stiles-banshees]

PASCALE WHY

deal - cl16 (22/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: This friendship is off to a great start. Or something like that.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff because you all deserve it, tiny but of angst (because it wouldn't be my work if there wasn't angst in it), google translated French

Word Count: 2.9k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: tadaaaaaa. did my best and I hopefully have time to update this story weekly. feedback is appreciated!

The other side of the bed is empty when you open your eyes. 

Sunlight beams through the window and warms your face as you stretch your arms and lie back. A loud yawn escapes your mouth, but you are so well rested and relaxed that you don't care who can hear you. 

Charles is probably hanging around the apartment somewhere and you can't help but smile at the thought of him. 

You didn't expect you two to talk so soon, but now that the weight is off your shoulders and the secrets - both your unemployment and the Formula One thing - are out in the open, you feel a lot better. You slept well, snuggled up to Charles with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. His warmth gave you security and comfort and although the road to this moment has been quite bumpy and rocky, you're glad you've finally arrived at this point. 

Pure friendship. 

It's the right thing to do, you tell yourself. This friendship is more important than anything else in this world. I'll be damned if I'm going to destroy the only good thing I have.

You lock your feelings deep inside you, bury them under many and thick layers of friendly affection so that no daylight can reach them. What remains inside you is silence, a pleasant, comforting silence. 

You don't have to worry about what his pet names mean to you. You don't have to worry about eventualities that will certainly not become reality anyway. You can be there for Charles, as a friend - as someone who is there for him. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand up. There are some fresh clothes for you on a small chest of drawers - a turquoise shirt and short gray Puma sports shorts - which you quickly slip into. As you open the door to your room, the smell of batter fills your nose. 

"Bonjour," Charles smiles at you as you enter the spacious, modern kitchen and sit down opposite him at the kitchen counter. Unlike last night, this time he's wearing a shirt and gray sweatpants, which hang low on his hips but still let you feel a little sigh of relief. With spatula in hand, he scrapes the pancake out of the pan to put it on a plate and slide it over to you. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well," you answer him and reach for the Nutella that is already in front of you. "And you?"

"Likewise." He turns off the stove and sits down next to you with another plate of pancakes. His knee nudges yours, but neither of you pulls your leg away. "The recipe is from my teammate. He says they're the best pancakes ever and I thought we could try them together."

As you spread the Nutella evenly on your pancake, you hand him the jar. His fingertips gently brush your hand. "So if they don't taste good, it's not your fault?" you grin and use your knife and fork to cut off a small piece before popping it into your mouth. 

Charles watches your every move. "That's right. So? Did he lie?"

You shake your head. The pancake in your mouth is warm and soft and fluffy, vanilla is definitely one of the ingredients and as you swallow the piece, a little of the delicious taste remains. "It's really delicious," you reply and spear another piece with your fork. "But I think it's also down to how the pancakes are made. The batter can be as good as it wants to be, but if it's made incorrectly - nope. Then it can't be saved."

Your Monegasque friend pours a little orange juice into the empty glass in front of you. "Was that a compliment to the chef?" A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows. 

You playfully punch him in the shoulder with your fist. He pretends to almost fall off his chair. "My statement is to be considered purely objective."

Something flashes in Charles' green eyes, but before you can pinpoint it, he turns his gaze back to the breakfast. "I've heard you say that before," he mumbles before taking a bite. "But it really tastes great. I'll have to tell him when I see him again soon."

"What does your nutritionist say about you smearing so much Nutella on your pancake?" When he puts his index finger to his mouth, you have to smile. "Do you have to go back? To Italy?" The thought of Charles leaving you alone here in this big apartment makes you swallow hard. You only really talked to each other a few hours ago, does he really have to -

"No," he unintentionally interrupts your train of thought. "I don't think they want to see me there again so soon after I left yesterday. But that's just the way it is." He shrugs his shoulders. "More time for us." Before you can ponder the meaning of that sentence, he continues. "I know we've already talked this morning about what to do next, but I think we should discuss it again."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The brunette purses his lips. "You said that you still want to be friends with me despite my job - and I think that's great - but you should really be sure."

"I am sure," you reply without hesitation.

"But you have to know what all this would mean for you if you take this," he points first to you and then to himself, "on. Dealing with all this is more difficult than you can imagine."

"All right," you reply, shoving the last piece of pancake into your mouth before washing it down with orange juice. "Go on then, Mr. Charles Leclerc."

He looks at you with a look that can't mean anything other than "Really?" before clearing his throat. "I've been in the public eye since I was little. It used to be karting, now it's Formula One. I'm used to people recognizing me, approaching me on the street and wanting to take photos. It's normal everyday life for me."

"Sounds a bit conceited," you joke, but Charles' expression suggests he's not in the mood for fun. "Okay. Je suis désolé."

"As soon as I leave the house, people talk about it. What I'm doing. Where I'm going. Who I'm spending time with. And my friends are set on the fact that when we're out and about, we can never be fully undisturbed." He chews on his lower lip for a moment. "With my female friends, things are a little more complicated."

"Meaning?"

He takes a deep breath. "As a Formula One driver, it's quite difficult to maintain friendships with the opposite sex. As soon as you do something together without anyone else around, it's portrayed as a date in the press or on social media. According to TikTok, I've had four new girlfriends since Annika and I split up. But nobody cares that they are the wives and girlfriends of my best friends. People see what they want to see. Even if it doesn't reflect the truth at all."

Without hesitation, you reach for his hand and stroke the back of it with your thumb. His skin is soft. "I'm terribly sorry about that. It must be awful."

Charles turns his hand a little so you can intertwine your fingers. "It's nothing new for me. It's more difficult for my friends. They are insulted, called names, judged. And all because they want to spend time with me, because that's what friends do. It's not fair. Not for anyone."

Now you understand why it's so important to Charles that you know this. His friendship has a price. And from what he tells you, it's not exactly cheap.

"The pressure on you would be huge. People will have opinions about you that you won't like. And no matter what you do, no matter how good you are - you won't be able to change them. And at some point, you'll be approached on the street without me, just because we're friends. The first time Joris was asked for a photo, he was completely taken aback."

You can see how much this is taking its toll on him and you don't even want to know how many friendships his name has already cost him. It's understandable that not everyone wants to take this risk, this life.

You squeeze his hand twice to attract his attention. When he looks at you, you smile. "Doesn't sound so bad," you try to cheer him up. The attempt fails miserably.

"I don't think you understand me." He shakes his head slightly and removes his hand from yours. "That's no small sacrifice. And there's no turning back once you do. You'll have no privacy once you leave this apartment. You'll be the talk of the town. About what you do, what you say and what clothes you wear. And all because we're friends."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me then?"

He lowers his eyes again. His voice is quiet. "Just - me."

Your heart breaks for him. 

How can he not know how wonderful he is? Ever since you've known each other, Charles has always given you the chance to get out of things. He's let you have the bed, driven your rickety Renault to protect you from the public, pushed you away - disgustingly, but still. And all so that you could have a choice. 

You'd like to take him in your arms and hug him tightly, hoping you can patch up his shattered parts. And so you do. You get up from the chair and wrap your arms around him so tightly that he gasps in surprise. He slides off his chair into a firm stance so that your hands slide a little lower down his back. A moment later, when you feel one of his hands on your spine and the other in your hair, you press your cheek against his hard chest.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do," you murmur against the soft fabric of his shirt, whereupon he presses you a little closer to him. 

"How do you see me?" he whispers against the top of your head. You feel his lips on your scalp. "Like a crazy, jealous guy who shows up at your place in the middle of the night and starts a fight with your ex?"

"You're an idiot." You lift your face from his chest and tilt your head back so you can look at him. He looks down at you. "You're such a wonderful person, Charles. And I would be honored if you wanted me as a friend."

"Are you really sure?" His warm breath brushes over your face. "There's so much you -"

"I'm sure," you interrupt him. 

"There's a series on Netflix you can watch so you can get a better understanding of -"

"I'm sure."

"Y/N, please -"

"Don't you want to be my friend?" You want to take a step backwards so you can really look at him, but he's so comfortably warm and his gaze is so heartbreaking that you don't want to let him go under any circumstances. 

"I want nothing more than that. Really." The hand that was in your hair a moment ago rests against your cheek and your thumb strokes it gently. "But there's so much you have to give up. And just for me."

You nestle your face against his warm skin. "You're all I have. And that's all I need."

His gaze softens and he gently kisses your forehead before holding you close one last time and then letting go. "The Netflix series isn't that good anyway. It doesn't reflect what really happens on race weekends." He sits back down at the counter and grabs another pancake. 

You join him. "I'm not surprised. Netflix will do anything to make money and twisting reality to make it more marketable is nothing new." You copy him with the pancake.

"Exactly. And if you want to know anything, you can ask me. Your friend - the Formula One driver," he grins, shoving a bite between his two jaws. 

"You said yesterday that this season has been a throwaway. What do you mean?" you ask him, emptying the bottle of orange juice into your glasses. 

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "The car and the strategies didn't work as they should have. The Scuderia made more cock-ups than you can stand."

You have to suppress a grin. "Then wouldn't it be smarter to call it the Screwderia?"

His gaze is emotionless as you look at him. "That's the worst joke I've ever heard." He smirks. "But you're right about that."

It's obvious that your friend feels a lot more comfortable now that he's told you the truth. The passion with which he talks about the sport is infectious, and you listen to him as attentively as you can. There's a sparkle in his eyes, his smile almost reaches your ears as he talks about his victories and podiums. 

How could you not want to be friends with him?

When you're done with breakfast, Charles sends you to explore the apartment while he does the dishes. After brushing your teeth and getting a bit more ready - you keep your clothes on, they're comfortable and Charles' after all - you wander through the rooms. 

The living room is kept simple, with white furniture and a comfortable-looking couch where you can watch the second part of Cars. Next to it on a shelf are several trophies and even helmets, which you take a quick look at.

There's even a white piano. A red rose arrangement with the word Love is placed on it. As you run your fingers over the wood of the instrument, you hear Charles enter the room. 

"The roses are from Annika. They're not real, so they can stay longer." He steps from one foot to the other. 

"Why haven't you thrown them away yet?" you ask him as you turn to face him. 

He shrugs his shoulders. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. And Annika was still living here until yesterday. So..."

You nod weakly and change the subject. "Have you been practicing here?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to play because of Formula One. It was good to play in the bookshop. Even if it was completely improvised."

You remember every single note. The passion he poured into the keys to create an incredibly beautiful piece of music. The passion he felt. How beautiful he looked in the warm light. "It was beautiful. It really was."

"It's your song." He smiles lovingly. "It's as beautiful as you are."

Like magnets, you move towards each other. As he holds out his hand, you place yours in it so that he can gently turn you in a circle before pulling you close. Your hands rest on your chest and you feel his strong heartbeat under your fingertips as you smooth down his shirt. His hands are on your lower back, pressing you against him so that you arch towards him. 

"Charles."

"Mm-hmm." His gaze flickers back and forth between your eyes and your lips, making your eyes beat faster. 

You hypocrite, you hear your conscience say as your one hand slides to the nape of his neck and plays with the fine hair there. Charles closes his eyes and something you can only categorize as a moan escapes his throat. 

"Please don't stop," he whispers and leans his forehead against yours. The tips of your noses nudge against each other. 

"With what?" you ask softly, even though you know exactly what he means. 

"Touching me." His voice sounds almost like a deep groan. "Tu me fais tellement de bien.“ you feel so good.

You would never stop. It seems like an invisible boundary was torn down last night and you haven't been able to stop touching each other since. His knee against yours at breakfast. Your embrace. Your half-naked bodies pressed together a few hours ago when you were talking. 

Even if you wanted to, you couldn't stop touching him. 

Hypocrite, repeats the annoying voice in your head. 

Without thinking about it, you arch towards him another inch and Charles draws in a sharp breath. 

"Charles?" A woman's voice sounds from the hallway and the Monegasque opens his eyes. „Chéri, tu es à la maison?“ darling, are you home?

Your eyes search his as he suddenly breaks away from you and takes a step back. Panic is practically written all over his face. 

"Who's that?" you ask silently, but get no answer.

The footsteps from the hallway come closer and when you turn around, a woman is standing in front of you, looking first at you and then at Charles before her gaze lingers on you. "'Qui avons-nous là?“ who do we have here? she asks, walking towards you before grabbing your hands and giving you a kiss on the left cheek, then the right. 

"Maman, que fais-tu ici?" mom, what are you doing here? Charles asks hesitantly, taking a step towards you both. 

Maman?

[stiles-banshees]

oh hell yes i needed this

deal - cl16 (21/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The truth comes under purple skies.

Warnings: angst, but mostly tooth rotting fluff because you deserve it

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: a little late happy birthday to me! sorry for the wait. I love you.

Although you keep your eyes closed, you know that it is still dark outside.

The air in the room is cool against your face, while your tired body is kept comfortably warm under the heavy comforter. It is just as warm against the free, uncovered parts of your body as Charles' soft skin.

His arm is wrapped around your middle, his fingers are tightly intertwined with yours and his thumb strokes gentle circles over your hand. A tender, loving gesture that you're not sure whether it's meant to calm your nerves or his own. 

You haven't changed your positions in bed since you fell asleep pressed tightly together a few hours ago. Charles's chest is still pressed against your back and if you were to focus on it, you could certainly feel his heart beating hard and steady. But you don't. Your thoughts revolve around breathing as normally as possible so that it still looks like you're asleep. 

You don't want to be awake. 

Being awake would involve thinking, and you definitely don't want to think about the last few days. You don't want to think about how Charles told you that you would jump into bed with Lando at the next opportunity. You don't want to think about Raphael coming to your front door last night and calling you a whore. And you don't want to be reminded that Charles jumped to your side and defended you without so much as batting an eye.

All you want right now is to lie here, in his strong arms, wrapped in his scent and warmth. Deep down, you know you can't be angry with him. Lando's words flit through your head again and again about how you both want to protect each other, and even though you've only known each other for a few days, you can tell Charles so well that it's exactly this part of him that makes him who he is.

But you still don't know why he treated you like that.

You breathe in deeply, take in his scent - a mixture of sandalwood, peppermint and a smell that you can only describe as Charles - and press your face into the soft pillow. Although you had been furious with him, you had missed his closeness over the last few days. 

The thumb that has been tenderly drawing figures on your hand pauses.

"I'm sorry." Charles' voice is little more than a whisper against your shoulder blade. As his warm breath brushes over you, your muscles tighten. "No apology in this world can make up for what I did to you. I betrayed your trust, hurt you, and left you thinking I didn't care about you." When you don't answer him, he continues. "I am so incredibly sorry. And I won't ask for your forgiveness or kindness, because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. And I'm sorry I couldn't be better for you."

Your heart beats so fast against your ribcage that you fear it will break your bones and jump out of your chest. His touch feels like your skin is burning. When you open your eyes, you see purple clouds in the morning sky through the window. 

Carefully, you turn in his arms, whereupon his embrace loosens a little, but his arm remains on your hip. His eyes are closed, as if he doesn't dare to look into your face. His eyebrows are furrowed and there are a few wrinkles between them that you would love to smooth out with your fingers.

You decide to run your fingers over his bare shoulders. His muscles twitch under your fingertips. "Why did you do it?" Charles remains silent, so you tentatively place your hand against his cheek. You feel his stubble scratch your skin as he exhales deeply, as if he hasn't taken a decent breath in a long time.

He opens his eyes and there is an anxious gleam in the otherwise beautiful green. His gaze searches yours as he nuzzles his face against your hand. "I was jealous."

Jealous?

A small glimmer of hope flares up inside you. Maybe everything you've experienced together - the viewpoint, your movie night, the bookstore, the tiramisu - is based on something other than friendship. On something more. Maybe there was more to every conversation, every look and every smile than just the friendship you nailed down to protect your heart. Maybe you were just talking past each other the whole time. Maybe –

"I was jealous of how well you got on with Lando. I thought that if you got to know each other better and became more than just friends, then we wouldn't be friends anymore. I thought -" He pauses for a moment. "I couldn't bear it if I lost you because of your relationship."

You try to suppress the punch in the pit of your stomach and swallow the frog in your throat. "You hurt me and pushed me away because you didn't want to get hurt yourself?" Your heart breaks a little for him. You finally smooth out the wrinkles between his eyebrows with your thumb. His arm wraps around you tighter and presses you together. His fingers stroke your back and goose bumps spread across your body. 

That's exactly what Lando said. That Charles pushes the people he cares about away to protect himself. Something you can well understand, after all, you were planning to do the same to him. Only not so drastically. 

But Lando also told you something else about the Monegasque. "But that's not all, is it?" An image flickers in your mind's eye of Raphael holding out his hand to introduce himself to Charles. "You didn't just want to protect yourself. Or am I wrong, Charles Leclerc?"

As you say his name, a shiver jerks through his body, as if he's suddenly cold, and his hand freezes against your spine. "You're not." His tone is cooler, more distant than it was a few moments ago, and the tension in the room is palpable despite the purple clouds and morning calm as you place your hand on his bare chest. His heart is beating fast and strong.

"I - I think we both rushed into this friendship far too quickly." You try to put as much warmth into your whisper as you can, even though deep down your heart has caught quite a tear. "We've known each other for five days. And so much has happened in that time that takes some friends years. Our trust in each other went from zero to one hundred." You run your finger over his collarbone, your gaze following him.

Panting, he sucks air into his lungs at your touch. "What do you suggest?"

You purse your lips. "Maybe - maybe we should get to know each other better first. Get to know each other properly so that this doesn't happen again. So that our living together is easier."

Charles tightens his grip around your middle, his legs tangle with yours. "Living together? Does that mean you're staying with me?"

You nod slightly, but grab your arm with your hand to pull away from him. Something flits across his face, but as quickly as it came, it's gone again as you place his hand between your faces on the pillows. "But maybe a little distance will do us good. So we don't mess this up."

His fingers interlace with yours. "I'll do everything I can to make this work."

"That makes two of us," you smile, missing his touch on your body. You miss the warmth pulsing through your veins under your skin. But it's the right thing to do. At least that's what you try to tell yourself. You take a deep breath. "I - I'm unemployed, by the way." You look down at your hands. "I was fired from this magazine before we met. I'm looking for a new job so that I can continue to live in Monaco, because my savings won't last forever. That's why I'm so grateful to you for standing up for me with Joris. About the rent. I can't thank you enough for that."

"But you don't have to," he replies quietly. "Friends help each other. They're there for each other. I can understand why you didn't tell me. Nobody likes to talk about the fact that they've recently lost their job." 

"Thank you," you whisper back. You feel a weight fall from your shoulders. You suddenly find it easier to breathe. But now it's something else that's plaguing your thoughts.

And no one but Charles can give you the answer. "Can you please explain to me what happened yesterday? With - with Raphael?"

The Monegasque briefly lets go of your hand so that he can play with your fingers. He doesn't look at you. "Do you remember the night we watched Cars together?"

You nod. How could you forget that night? The wine, the movie, the flirting that apparently wasn't flirting. Ouch. 

"We talked about Formula One and how you used to watch it with your grandfather when Michael Schuhmacher drove for Ferrari." His gaze is literally glued to your fingers. "When we first met, I told you that my work had something to do with cars, and I wasn't lying."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. If he's a mechanic or engineer for one of the racing teams, that woiuld explain why he has to travel so much for work. "Is that where all the cool photos on your phone come from? Because you fly across the globe with Formula 1 to work on the cars?"

Your flatmate purses his lips. "I don't work on the cars. I - I drive them." He licks his lips once. "I'm a Formula One driver for Scuderia Ferrari."

"Don't fuck with me," you reply, wanting to pull your fingers out of his grasp. But he holds on to them and when he lifts his gaze and looks you in the eyes, you know he's telling the truth. And his confession makes you see the last few days from a different perspective. 

The conversation between Charles and Joris, shortly after he suddenly appeared in the apartment, pops up in your mind. "When we met, that night - you were on the phone with Joris. You said something about headlines."

He nods slightly. "A few weeks ago, the season ended and Annika and I broke up. I stayed away from here as long as I could because I didn't want to be confronted with it. And when I got to my apartment for emergencies, there you were. With a valid tenancy agreement. I couldn't just throw you out the door. You could have gone public and then it would have made the headlines. Something like "Charles Leclerc throws poor woman out of rented apartment". It was a risk I couldn't take." He furrows his eyebrows again, but this time you hold back.

"You have a nutritionist."

Again he nods. "For the races, I have to follow a strict diet to make the car go faster. Unfortunately, pasta and thick sandwiches aren't part of it, so please don't tell him." 

Fragments of the last few days appear one after the other in your mind's eye, which you try to sort out and work through. "The bistro you went to after the bookshop had already closed, hadn't it?"

"Yes. But when do you ever have a Formula One driver on your doorstep who needs two sandwiches?" He shrugs. "One photo and we've had our dinner."

You lick your tongue over your lips and you don't miss the way Charles' eyes twitch to your mouth. "We went everywhere in my car. Why?"

"You've seen my car." He's referring to the fancy Ferrari in the parking garage. "With its stripes, it's not exactly inconspicuous. Especially since everyone knows the car is mine." He runs his thumb over the side of your index finger. "As soon as the car rolls down the street, everyone knows it's me. And everyone takes photos of it. I couldn't risk you getting caught up in all this because of a stupid car. And especially not because you couldn't choose it until now. Your sweet tin can was the only way we could get around the city together without attracting attention."

You clench your jaw. "The meetings in Italy. What about it?"

"The headquarters are there, in Maranello. Before the winter break, the team wanted to get together again and discuss what went wrong this season and what we can improve."

"And you could just leave like that?" you ask him.

He shakes his head. "Not really. But in my opinion, there wasn't much to talk about either. The season was a throwaway." He shrugs his shoulders. "I was actually a little relieved when Lando called and asked me to go home."

So you were right. The Brit did call Charles. "And what did he say?" 

"Exactly what I needed to hear." He smiles slightly. "He threw a lot of swear words at me and made it clear that I'd be the stupidest idiot in the world if I screwed up this friendship."

You don't know what to do with this information. The fact that Lando called Charles and made a slug out of him doesn't bother you much, because the Monegasque needed the push. But there's also something about the fact that Charles didn't come up with the idea of straightening things out himself. That one of his friends had to step in for you first so that he would get off his butt and stand up for this friendship. That Lando -

"What about Lando? And Pierre? And Kika? Are they part of Formula One too?"

Charles purses his lips into a thin line. "Lando and Pierre are also drivers. Kika is a model."

Bile rises in your gullet as you release your hand from his and turn onto your back, closing your eyes. Everyone knew, they even work in the same field, and no one thought to let you in on it. The whole thing could have gone down the drain. People could have recognized you both, taken photos of you and spread the word. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I -" Charles exhales. "I was just scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

"My job - my name - brings a lot with it. A lot of good things, like seeing the world, getting to know cultures and not having to worry about things like money. But there are also negative things, like a lot of pressure, fake friends, no privacy." He also turns onto his back. "I don't want you to choose something you don't want because of my name. I thought - I thought if we stayed in our little bubble, our little world, that - I don't know. It was just nice to have someone as a friend who wanted to be friends with me because I'm Charles. And not because I'm Charles Leclerc."

You have to smile. "Actually, I'm only friends with you so that I can live with you and save on rent."

"Haha."

You clasp your hands behind your head. "I can understand, I think. That you have to be careful who you surround yourself with. And that there are a lot of people who only use you because you're you. It sounds very lonely."

Charles snorts softly. "It can definitely be lonely."

"Then let me assure you that I don't want to be friends with you because of your money or your name." 

"But?"

"Do you really need reasons?"

"It certainly wouldn't hurt my ego," you can practically hear his grin. 

"All right," you reply. "I want to be friends with you because you're kind and considerate of your friends' feelings. Because you trusted me with your favorite place, even though you didn't know me. Because you introduced me to your friends because you thought it was inevitable anyway if our friendship strengthened." You take a deep breath and exhale. "I want to be friends with you because you're funny and make me laugh. Because you have a big heart. Because -" 

A feeling bubbles up inside you. You've felt it before - the day after your movie night, when you were reviewing the evening. In the not entirely innocent dream you had about Charles. And when you shared the bed after the bookshop.

It's warm, like a warm blanket, strong like a good hug and bright like Charles' eyes when the sun shines on his face. Charles is not just your roommate. Or your friend. Charles is so much more. Charles is your home.

Before you can complete the sentence, the Monegasque interrupts you. "That's good. That's good enough for me, thank you." He smiles. "It's nice to have you as a friend. Even if I don't deserve it, the way I've treated you."

"Mm-hmm." 

"Maybe you should sleep on it one more night and then decide if you really want it. There's so much more that comes with a friendship with me." When you yawn, he has to laugh. "You see? Maybe you're not even able to think straight right now. And then I push you into a friendship that you don't even want."

"I'm sure," you reply tiredly and you notice how your eyes get heavier. 

"But -"

Before he can finish his sentence, you reach for his hand and interlace his fingers with yours. You try to ignore the fact that this makes your heart beat faster. "I'm sure of it. Believe me." 

When you gently squeeze his fingers twice, he replies with the same gesture. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Then it's a good thing you don't have to find out," you smile and as you yawn again, Charles pulls you closer to him. Like a magnet, you slide across the bed towards him, unable to resist as your face finds its place against the crook of his neck. 

He lets go of your hand, but only to wrap his arm around you. His hand rests on the bare skin of your hip, while his other hand pulls your leg over him so that you're half lying on top of him. You are enveloped by him, fully and completely, and as you place your hand on his bare chest, you feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. 

You try to convince yourself that it's not beating for you, but as you snuggle even closer to him and your lips touch the soft skin on his neck, you feel it skip a beat. But maybe you're just imagining it. 

"I'll be better from now on," he whispers and tentatively presses a kiss to your forehead. Goosebumps spread all over your body, but not because you're cold like he thinks, which is why his arm presses you even tighter against him. "I don't want there to be another moment when you doubt how important you are to me, mon amour."

"You can teach me a little French," you reply. "Then you can hide less from me if I speak your mother tongue too," you joke. 

Charles feels your smile on his neck and he is glad that you can't see the blush on his face. 

"Anything you want. I'll go to the other side of the world for you if I have to."

"But not until tomorrow, all right?" You gently caress his chest with your fingertips and Charles draws in a sharp breath. "Now it's time to sleep. And don't you dare steal my blanket in the night."

Charles would love to pull you on top of him, kiss you and promise you that you're safe with him and that he won't let anything happen to you. But he holds back, just lets his fingers dance over your skin. 

He promises in the purple morning light. "Deal."

[stiles-banshees]

post-race hair >>>

gif creds: @formulagazoo @rb19 @jasonkelce @il-predestinato

#god hes so pretty #just look at him #i’m about to combust

[stiles-banshees]

The Deal (2015)

[stiles-banshees]

the compilation of Charles’ hands in 2023

[stiles-banshees]

do you ever just go YOU CAN SEE THE CELEBRATIONS STARTING, HE’S GOT ONE MORE CORNER THE FAMOUS PARABOLICA TO GO, MERCEDES THREW EVERYTHING AT HIM TODAY CHARLES LECLERC HAS COPED BRILLIANTLY! HE WON IN SPA HE WINS IN MONZA, CHARLES LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF THE 2019 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX or are you mentally stable