*ੈ✩‧₊˚ When We Are Together

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ when we are together

| Charles Leclerc x female reader

Content warning(s): FLUFF eventual smut 18+ mdni, mutual pinning, friends to lovers, unprotected sex, english is not my first language.

Summary- It took quite some time for you and Charles to realize that you were truly meant to be together.

word count 4.7k it's a bit long, but I swear it's worth it.

Charles Leclerc has the most captivating eyes you’ve ever seen. Sometimes, they shimmer with a beautiful shade of green, flecked with honey, and at other times, they resemble the majestic blue of Niagara Falls. Regardless of their hue, you find yourself captivated, able to admire them for hours, even days, lost in their beauty.

You first met Charles back in 2014, on a rainy Thursday night. He and his friends burst into your favorite café, shattering the serene quiet with their adolescent banter and laughter. Amid the lively chaos, Charles seemed to glow with an infectious vitality, his face perpetually adorned with a radiant grin.

Unfortunately for you, the café was unusually crowded that evening, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when his pair of striking eyes met yours for the first time ever. "Sorry, would you mind sharing your table with us?" he asked, his voice as captivating as his gaze.

"Of course not, please sit," you heard yourself say, scooting to the corner to make room for them.

"Do you play?" one of his friends asked, displaying the Uno cards they had brought along.

"Uh, not really," you replied softly, fingers tracing the pendant of your necklace. Despite your attempt to remain composed, the sudden surge of energy around you left you feeling somewhat overwhelmed. The calm ambiance you had been enjoying was swiftly replaced by an unbridled liveliness, making you feel strangely diminutive in comparison.

"Give it a try, I swear it's super fun," he urged, his enthusiasm always infectious to everyone around. Little did you know that simple invitation marked the beginning of years where you found yourself incapable of saying no to him.

That night, you discovered that Charles Leclerc was fiercely competitive, his energy palpable as he fussed around his seat, grimacing and sighing whenever he was losing, and occasionally even letting out a scream directed at his friends—but never at you. You also realized that you both attended the same school yet had never crossed paths before. This was likely because you spent all your free time in the library, while he was always engaged in lively conversations with anyone who would listen.

Even though you hadn't actively sought out Charles's friendship, he made it his mission to befriend you. He would flash you a warm smile and wave at you in the school hallways, trailing behind you as he yapped on about karting and racing. He even accompanied you to the library (although he often ended up falling asleep, it still counted!). And on top of all that, he would walk you home after school, casually mentioning that his house was in the same direction, so he might as well accompany you.

2016

It became challenging when Charles left school to focus on his racing career. Despite this, he still crashed at your house most of the time, practically becoming a permanent fixture there. Your mom now prepared meals for five instead of four, often shooting you suggestive glances whenever Charles would praise your intelligence and express his desire to spend more time with you now that he couldn’t see you at school anymore.

Even your dad and brother had grown accustomed to his presence in your home, to the point where Charles would sometimes inadvertently spend more time with them than with you, getting caught up in their lively discussions about races airing on TV.

"You like them more, admit it," you tease, poking his cheek on a casual Friday evening while the two of you lay in the grass of your favorite park. It was the middle of spring, and he had suggested going for a run, but after the first two kilometers, your lungs and legs had given out, screaming for a break.

"I don't," he says, gently catching your wrist, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "But they let me talk about racing as long as I want," his fingers trace the delicate lines of your knuckles and veins.

"I let you talk about racing all the time, even though I don't understand half of what you're saying," you pout at him, your voice softening with affection.

It's true. Ever since you were seventeen, you've let him chatter on about racing endlessly. Even back then, when you didn't understand a single thing about it and resorted to googling terms like 'rear wing' and ' suspension' at night, you still listened intently. Because seeing his eyes light up with passion, cheeks flushed, and a wide smile on his face was worth it all. You loved watching him talk about racing.

"Fair enough, mon ange. You're my favorite, you always have been and always will be, happy?" he says teasingly, grinning at you before pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"No," your pout deepens, and he can't help but let out a chuckle. You're adorable, he thinks

"What can I do for you to forgive me?" he asks, his gaze locking with yours. You're not sure if he's aware of the power his eyes hold over you, their deep blue hue pulling you in, inviting you to lose yourself in their depths.

"Carry me back?" you jest, reaching out to him with a mischievous grin. He laughs, but obligingly stands up and turns around, offering his back for you to climb onto.

2017

You certainly understand the meaning of "suspension" now, but you wish you never had to. If you thought Charles leaving school was tough, you never imagined the agony of not seeing him for weeks. You had grown so accustomed to his presence that now, in his absence, you feel empty, as if a piece of you is missing.

On the other hand, if someone were to ask your mom, she'd likely tell you that you're overreacting. After all, you talk to Charles every single day through every imaginable form of communication—texts, calls, emails, social media posts comments, even postcards. You name it, and the two of you have probably already covered it. She's actually impressed that you two haven't resorted to smoke signals yet.

Either way, she drives you to the airport on the day he's coming back. She stands next to Pascale, just a few steps away from where you are, surrounded by his brothers.

"Thought one of them would have confessed by now," Pascale whispers to your mom as they watch you tease Arthur alongside Lorenzo.

"I thought they’d be dating by now," your mom snorts, and Pascale joins her in a laugh.

It’s as if your body is possessed the moment, you see him step through the doors. Your legs carry you forward at full speed, drawn to the sight of his messy hair, tired eyes, and familiar hoodie. He notices you just in time, catching you in his arms, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

"Miss me that much, ange?" he teases.

"Shut up," you retort, and he falls silent, savoring the way your legs wrap around his waist and your arms encircle his neck, pulling him closer. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, letting your scent envelop his senses.

"I did miss you," he whispers into your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm signing with Sauber, but don’t overreact—I haven't even told my mom yet. I wanted you to be the first to know."

His breath brushes against your neck, and you have to summon all of your strength not to let out a squeal. Instead, you tighten your hold and whisper back to him, “So proud of you, cœur,” your feet touching the ground again. With a final smile, you release him, allowing him to reunite with his family.

2019

Ferrari's garage buzzes with precision as the final details for the Monza GP are attended to. You weave through the crowd filling the Ferrari lounge, your family already dispersed, likely exploring, and soaking in the pre-race excitement.

"Where's your mom?" you call out, raising your voice to be heard over the noise once you spot Arthur. "I haven't seen her yet, and it's about to start."

Although this isn't your first time attending a Grand Prix, it's the first with such a massive crowd. Normally, it's just you, Charles' family, and occasionally Seb's wife. You've never experienced this level of hustle and bustle before. It's a bit overwhelming, but you'll manage—for Charles.

“Didn't he tell you?" Arthur asks, puzzled, as you respond with a questioning look. "Mom’s in the grandstands. He couldn't get her a paddock pass."

"Unbelievable," you mutter under your breath. "Is he still in his driver’s room?" you ask. Arthur nods, grinning as he already anticipates what's about to happen next.

You make your way to Charles driver’s room in what you can say is the fastest walk you have achieved in your life.

“Leclerc” you say in a stern tone of voice knocking at the door of the room.

He opens the door, taking you by the wrist to pull you in before closing it behind you. He already knows why you're here, but a playful smile spreads across his face at the sight of your annoyed expression.

"Arthur is such a gossip," he says, his tone teasing. You resist the urge to slap him, recognizing that playful tone he always uses when you’re annoyed. He enjoys it—he really does. You look so cute when you're angry, with your hands on your hips and your mouth twisted in a grimace.

"You let your mom sit alone in the grandstands," you nearly scream, and he looks at you, guilt written all over his face.

"She decided to come too late," he tries to explain, already aware it won't help his case. "I was out of paddock passes by then."

"I could have given her mine," you interrupt, and he smiles adorably at you. Of course, you would have given yours to his mom. You were probably her favorite, even above her three children.

"I'm going to sit with her," you declare firmly, the smile on his face morphing into a mischievous grin as he reaches for a piece of paper from one of his drawers and hands it to you.

Charles Leclerc knows you all too well, always a step ahead, as if he can read your mind and predict your every move and decision before you even make it. It used to be unsettling, but now it's like second nature.

"Cheer for me, ange," he says, handing you the GP ticket for the seat next to his mom.

He walks you to the exit of the Ferrari motorhome, kissing your forehead before reluctantly letting you go, only after you assure him that you won’t make it to your seat on time if he doesn’t release you quickly. He stands there, watching you walk towards the paddock access, turning around to give him a small wave before disappearing from his sight.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Seb asks, observing the dreamy smile on his face.

"I wish," he murmurs wistfully.

2022

On your twenty-fifth birthday, you find yourself grappling with a quarter-life crisis like any other twenty-something human in the world. No one can say a single thing to you, whether good or bad, without potentially bringing you to tears. It's as if no words seem capable of consoling you.

So, seeing your fragile state, you decide not to celebrate your birthday this year—a decision you come to regret the day before your birthday when you attempt to arrange a small dinner with your loved ones, only to discover that they have already made plans. While you understand their commitments, it doesn't prevent you from breaking down in tears at Charles's apartment, clinging to one of his blankets as you indulge in birthday pancakes, he's prepared for you.

"Please, ange, don't cry. You're breaking my heart," he murmurs softly as he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. "We can still plan something for tomorrow. My brothers will be free, and my mom would cancel anything for you. Your family has already said yes," he suggests, trying to lift your spirits with solutions.

"It's just not the same. My birthday is today," you whine, pushing the empty plate aside before snuggling closer to Charles's side.

"What about we celebrate just you and me? How does that sound?" he suggests, but you only bury your face further into his side. "We can go have dinner at that restaurant you love, the one with the plants hanging from the ceiling."

He senses your thoughts as your whimpers die down, and you peek one eye out from his shirt. "Can we get gelato too?"

"Yes, of course! Whatever you want, Ange," he agrees, gently removing the strands of hair that cover your face.

After catching a few episodes of Bridgerton, you head out from his place, planning to shower and get ready back at your own spot for the dinner ahead. There's a promise to reunite later, this time at your apartment.

He stands outside your door, holding a small box between his hands, playing with the corners of the envelope. It's your gift, meticulously chosen to be perfect for you, the only one that always takes him a lot of time to select. As you open the door, he admires one of his favorite dresses of yours, a stunning green shade that makes your skin glow.

You finish putting on your earrings, giving him an apologetic look for the lateness. "I just need to put perfume on, and I'll be ready."

He nods and watches you step inside your room, leaving him alone in the living room. His eyes wander over your walls adorned with pictures of you and your family, a few with friends you've made over the years. But his gaze always returns to the picture standing above your fireplace—a moment captured where he's holding you close, hand at your waist and the other at your head, bringing you in for a kiss on the cheek. You have a playful look on your face, but he remembers the joyous laughter that followed, the day he realized he was in love with you.

“Shall we go?” you ask bringing him out of his daydreams.

“Actually, I was going to ask you to open my gift first” he handles you the box his fingers brushing yours. “You need to read the paper first” he says, and you nod unfolding the paper sheet attached to the box.

He seizes the moment to admire you, your beautiful, expressive eyes focused intently on the paper while your pink, rosy lips nibble with concentration. God, he just wants to cup your face in his hands and taste them, a desire he's harbored for years now. He wonders how much longer he can resist.

"You bought me a star," you say, catching him off guard. He only nods, momentarily unable to trust his voice.

"Look inside the box," he finally manages to say, urging you to open it.

Inside the box lies a delicate silver star necklace. You take a moment to admire it before carefully lifting it out, holding it between your fingers to inspect it. That's when you notice two sets of dates engraved on the back.

"The day the star was born and its coordinates," he explains. "May I?" You nod, allowing him to fasten the necklace around your neck. His warm fingers against your skin feel comforting, and once he's finished, he takes a moment to admire how it rests against your chest.

"The reservation," you choke out, your mind foggy after being under his gaze for so long.

Of course, Charles had orchestrated a surprise birthday dinner with all your closest friends and family, despite your decision to cancel all birthday celebrations. As the evening unfolded, you found yourself stealing glances at him more and more frequently. He sat beside you, his hand resting on your thigh, and suddenly, the weight of the necklace around your neck felt heavier as the realization dawned upon you: you were in love with Charles Leclerc.

2023- December

Your friends were on the brink of insanity (more so than usual). The tension had reached new heights throughout the year, yet neither of you seemed to grasp the obvious.

Joris was tempted to dive off the yacht every time Charles not-so-subtly stole a glance at your ass, or vice versa. Meanwhile, Andrea found himself uncomfortably caught between your flirtatious gazes and the prolonged silences that followed. And as for your moms, they were simply tired of arriving at your houses only to find the two of you cuddled up together on the couch, fast asleep.

And yet, every time someone dared to ask, "Are you two more than friends?" The response was always a dismissive, "We're just friends." you brushed off any insinuation, insisting it was all normal behavior. But with each passing moment, it became increasingly evident that you were simply avoiding the truth.

God, please have mercy on them.

2024 – May, 26

After the celebrations subsided and the echoes of sobs and cheers faded into the night, you found yourselves back in Charles' home, seated beside him on the familiar comfort of his couch.

In the soft glow of a small desk lamp, the two of you sat in silence, each lost in your own thoughts. Tears stained your cheeks, remnants of the emotional rollercoaster of the day, while Charles' face was cleansed, washed free of any traces of tears.

“I won” he murmurs softly.

“You won” you echo, your voices intertwining in the quiet of the room. "Are you heading out to celebrate?" you inquire, twirling your pasta absentmindedly.

"Yeah, I think so. Do you want to come with me?" he asks, his eyes hopeful, like a puppy waiting for you to accept.

"Only because it's Monaco," you reply playfully, rising from your seat and reaching for his empty plate.

He shadows your every move, a constant presence since the day he first met you. He stands by your side as you rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher.

"I know you want to do it, just go for it," you encourage him. And with those words, he begins to recount every detail of his race, starting from the very beginning. He recall the morning when he woke up to breakfast with you, his mom, and his brothers, though he conveniently leaves out the part about how breathtaking you looked in just a tank top and shorts.

You lean against the kitchen island, watching him talk, and memories flood back of all the times you've been in this exact position. Charles has evolved over the years—his looks have changed, and he has matured in many ways. Yet, whenever he talks about racing with you, he reverts to being your Charles, brimming with passion and a light bright enough to illuminate the entire world.

You’re well aware this isn’t the first time you’ve noticed, but Charles Leclerc has the most captivating eyes you've ever seen. Sometimes, they shimmer with a beautiful shade of green flecked with honey; at other times, they resemble the majestic blue of Niagara Falls. Regardless of their hue, you find yourself utterly mesmerized, able to admire them for hours, even days, lost in their beauty.

He makes you feel valued, seen, safe, and adored. You must have been staring at him for a while because he looks at you with a curious expression, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You, okay?" he asks.

You can't resist anymore; you're done holding back. The next thing you know, your hands are gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. Rising onto the balls of your feet, you meet his lips for the first time. He tastes of champagne and chocolate, so sweet and intoxicating that it’s instantly addictive.

There's something undeniably magical about kissing Charles Leclerc. Perhaps it's because it's your first time kissing each other after a long time of yearning, but it's mostly the way he kisses you—tenderly, frigid at the edges and with such care. It transports you back to high school, where every love felt like an explosion of giggles and butterflies in your stomach.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate you both after you parted ways. Charles's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his breath coming unevenly.

When you opened your eyes, you saw his cheeks flushed with a radiant pink, his eyes wide with surprise. Normally, you would have teased him for being so flustered, but a quick glance at his slightly parted lips made you cringe inwardly.

"Sorry," you offered weakly, your voice barely above a whisper as you attempted to escape the kitchen. However, his arms rested on the kitchen island, trapping you in place.

"Again," he said, almost breathless. "You caught me off guard." He swallowed hard, his nose now mere inches from yours. "I didn’t do it right. Please, let me try again."

And who are you to deny him? You lean in, pressing your lips to his once more. This time, he isn't caught off guard. He steps closer, pulling you in tightly. The tips of your noses brush together, and you feel his hands slide to the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly to sit you on the kitchen island. He gently opens your legs and steps between them.

You gently push him back, whispering, "Wait," as you step off the island. His eyes widen with concern.

"Did I do something wrong?" You shake your head, offering a sheepish smile.

"No, not at all," you assure him. "Let's go to your room." He follows you without hesitation.

Charles short-circuits for a moment, watching you sit down on his bed. Sensing his hesitation, you stretch out a hand, pulling him closer. As he bends in front of you, you catch his lips with yours once more. He only needs a second before he regains control, responding with fervor, his movements sure and confident.

“God, you are so pretty, I can't think straight,” he murmurs. You open your mouth to mock him, but he interrupts, parting your legs with his knees before kneeling between them.

“So pretty,” he repeats, his voice low and reverent, as he massages your bare thighs with tender, his hands slipping under your skirt hiking the material higher “fuck beautiful you are so wet” his fingers graze your soaking panties, drawing a gasp out of you, lithe fingers rubbing and pitching your clit through the thin fabric.

“Fuck” you whisper under your breath “Charles please.”  Seeing you grow purely frustrated was utterly amusing to him. The way your eyebrows curl and furrow, jaw slightly tensing.

“Tell me what you want” he commands, kissing all over your inner thighs. moving a thumb to press in between your folds against your panties.

After that his kisses got closer to where you craved him kissing at the outskirts of your panties, moving to lay the flat of his tongue against your clothed pussy just to feel you twitch under him.

“Charles please, need you to­— eat me out” you huff out in a short singular breath. He lifted his head and began to peel your panties off of you sliding them all the way down your legs using his mouth.

“Whatever you want Ange” he says in a low gruff. The moment he finally hovers his mouth over your sopping clit Charles gently strokes a thumb up and down opening you up to slowly create a single lick to make you whimper.

One taste and he was hooked, you tasted so fucking sweet on his tongue he was pushing forward tongue-first and nose- deep into you occasionally prod against your entrance. You slumped back against the bed, trying not to close your legs at him at this point.

“God, ange, you taste so good," he murmurs, his breath hot against your folds. Just when you thought your situation couldn't get any more intense, he starts speaking into your pussy proving you wrong.

The room filled with the sounds of your overzealous moans and the noises Charles tongue made, sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking and nibbling “Look at her” he breathes broken away from your cunt, watching the way you twitch for him to return his tongue to you. “How’s it feels, ange?” You stare at him mesmerized as he spit on your pussy legs squirming a bit.

“Good” you gulp nearly choking on your own saliva.

“Uhm just good?” his gaze flicks up to you. Catching you with such an expression of pure needs, His eyes hungry on yours as he tips his head to the side “talk to me pretty girl.” He’d tease, bringing a long suck towards your clit. You let off a moan once he playfully nibbles near that particular spot with his teeth.

Your lip’s part and a breathy sigh escapes you “please” your voice almost gone.

“Can’t hear you amour” he takes two fingers and presses them against your pussy lips before spreading them apart glancing down a pretty cobweb of his own spits and nice wad onto your pussy

“Please Charles” Charles gives your cunt a sweet little kiss and he feels it start to hastily pulse from it. He knew you were getting close. “don’t be mean please.”

He looks innocently at you one finger finally starting to sink deep into you watching the way your cunt greedily swallows it. He lets out some breathy little sound as he slips a second finger into you, slow against your walls sliding in and out watching the sheer coat of your taste gather along his fingers.

Your back arches up off the bed as his fingers curl upward against your walls, feeling the way you squeeze around him “Charles I am gonna..I” his fingers increase in speed looking up at you while latching his lips to your clit again.

Charles swears you are the most perfect thing to ever grace his presence- head thrown back, eyes glossy moan after moan of his name leaving your bitten lips, and pussy making the obscenest sound every time he slides his fingers in you.

“Yeah baby, there you go, you are s’close, c’mon ange give it to me” he utters softly, tongue slipping out to swirl around your clit “Lay it on me.”

His tongue darts around to the left of your clit and you’re moving your hand down to his hair to pull him closer “Cha-Cha…. too much, ah please,” you cry as your eyes meet his and you watch his pink tongue flick up and down over your clit. He’s so fucking messy and it’s driving you over the edge.

“Cum f’me- cum ange” and there you are. Gasping, sputtering as he drags the orgasm out of you. Your head tosses back, and he continues to stroke you through it. “That’s my girl you look so fuckin’ pretty messin’ my fingers.”

Hand departing from your pussy while you lay there panting, his body lifting and fingers dropping to get his pants off “Not done with you yet. I've been waiting to fuck you forever," he murmurs.

"You're going to miss the party," you gasp between heavy breaths, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“I’ll be quick” Any counterargument you might have had is swiftly cut off by Charles cock pressing in between your warm folds.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅

You arrive fashionably late at the party, almost surprised you made it at all. Charles's arm wraps snugly around your waist, his murmurs tickling your ear from time to time. Lorenzo shoots you a knowing grin from across the club, raising his glass in a silent toast, and you can't help but feel a flush of warmth spread through you.

"Finally grew the balls to confess," one of Charles's friends pats his back, and you chuckle, holding your cup between your lips.

He gazes at you in awe, taking the cup from your lips and replacing it with his own, planting a kiss on your nose before pulling away. "She kissed me first, for your information. Couldn't resist my charm," he says proudly to his friend, and you gasp indignantly.

The night ends in the blink of an eye, but as you wake up curled up in Charles's arms, you couldn't be happier. Gazing at his peaceful slumber, you admire the contours of his beautiful face, tracing each line with your finger.

"A picture would last longer," he says with a hoarse voice, eyes still closed as he pulls you closer.

"Ah, cockiness doesn't suit you, cœur," you tease, burying your face in his chest, which rumbles with a steady laugh before you both drift back to sleep.

Formulamoons, please do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend my content outside of Tumblr.