Mar 3
MILLY ALCOCK & EMMA D'ARCY as RHAENYRA TARGARYEN
in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON season 1 (2022)
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from Germany
seen from Japan
seen from Germany
seen from Ukraine
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Greece
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from T1
seen from Finland
MILLY ALCOCK & EMMA D'ARCY as RHAENYRA TARGARYEN
in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON season 1 (2022)
[My modest collection of Homer translations; Wilson’s Odyssey is second from right.] Emily Wilson is the second woman to translate the Iliad
People have been very mean to Emily Wilson online lately. I’ve been on record as saying her translation of the Odyssey (or Iliad) wasn’t my favourite, but do I agree with the accusations of oversimplification or inaccuracy? (Spoiler alert: no.)
CRUSH CRUSH CRUSH - CL16
Charles Leclerc x fem!reader
SUMMARY: Sometimes the real problem isn’t what people think is happening, it’s everything they don’t see. Working in Formula 1 means living under a microscope—every look, every rumor, every mistake gets amplified.
Y/N is good at her job, but even better at keeping her head down… until she isn’t. One connection turns complicated, another turns impossible, and that's the moment when the line between personal and professional is gone.
TAGS: Unrequited love, jealousy, fluff, slight angst, implied unprotected sex.
NOTE: Hello everyone, I come here with this little offering. Please keep in mind that my English isn’t perfect, so there may be quite a few grammatical errors. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
WC: 8.1K
masterlist
Having a crush is mortifying.
Having a crush on George Russell should be considered a humiliation ritual.
Or at least, that’s how it has felt ever since I realized that my little crush on the driver wasn’t as secret as I thought.
All it took was accidentally overhearing a conversation between a couple of team members and George himself to confirm it.
“If you could see her eyes when you walk into the room, it’s like they have LED hearts in them,” one of the mechanics said, laughing.
“Just shut up, Marc,” George replied, laughing as well.
“No, no. It’s funny watching her think she actually has a chance,” one of the girls from Social Management added.
“Don't be so mean,” and that was the last thing he said.
That day, I felt like I was dying of embarrassment. All I wanted was to get home and bury myself in my sheets. I even shed a few tears on the way back to my house.
From that moment on, it was as if my mind wouldn’t stop racing. Even the smallest things filled me with terrible anxiety. Whenever I saw George walk into a room, I would immediately get up and leave.
I avoided him like the plague—and not just him. I pulled away from almost everyone. I ate alone in a small supply room; sometimes I didn’t eat at all and instead buried myself in my work until it was time to go home.
George and I used to have a close working relationship. We would always talk, and we got along well. So it was obvious that sooner or later, he would notice that my behavior had changed.
“Are you okay? You’ve seemed a bit off these past few days,” he said, his brow slightly furrowed, his face serious with concern.
“Yes, I’ve just been a little tired. Thanks for asking,” I replied without even looking him in the eyes.
As if that weren’t enough, our brief exchange also sparked conversations among our coworkers. The gossip grew louder, and in response, I withdrew even further into myself. I hated being the butt of everyone’s jokes.
“What’s going on between you and George?”
I jumped at the sound of Lewis’s voice so close to me.
“Lewis, you almost gave me a heart attack,” I said, clutching my chest as I tried to steady my racing heartbeat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that for the past few days I’ve been hearing things—and seeing things—that make me think you two aren’t exactly okay,” he said, looking at me intently.
“Nothing’s happened. We’ve just both been busy with our own things,” I explained, trying to sound indifferent.
“I don’t believe you at all, but I’ll let it go for now.” He gave me a light pat on the shoulder and walked away without another word.
Just what I needed—now Lewis had noticed too.
(…)
I loved my job, but above all else were my dignity and self-respect.
That’s why I had decided to resign. Of course, I wasn’t about to make a spectacle of it by quitting before the season was over. That would only fuel the gossip even more, and all I wanted was a clean, quiet exit.
In the meantime, I just had to endure it—put up with my heart racing every time I saw George, pretend my feelings didn’t exist, and try not to let my coworkers’ whispers get to me.
It was easier said than done. But I was taking it one step at a time.
It was Sunday, and the Las Vegas Grand Prix had ended hours ago. I was sitting at the hotel bar, downing a couple of shots when Lewis sat beside me.
“How have you been?” he asked as soon as he sat down, gesturing to the bartender to bring him whatever I was having.
“Amazing, how about you?” I tried to sound at least a little convincing.
“Judging by what you’re drinking, I highly doubt you’re telling me the truth. What the hell is this? Motor oil?” he coughed slightly after taking the shot.
“Honestly, I have no idea. I just asked for something strong.”
Lewis turned to look at me, eyes narrowed.
“That just proves my point—you’re not okay.”
I simply shrugged and took another shot.
“You know,” he said after drinking some water, “I’ve been hearing a few rumors.”
My attention snapped back to him, and I felt my heart start to race.
“It’s not about you and George, don’t worry,” he added with a small laugh. “Someone from McLaren told me you’ve been looking for a new job.”
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him in silence.
“I didn’t realize you were that unhappy at Mercedes, but I guess it makes sense after everything that’s been going on,” he said, taking another long sip.
“I need a change of environment. I love Mercedes, but I don’t feel comfortable there anymore. I’ve heard people—people I thought were my friends—say terrible things about me,” I admitted, meeting his eyes.
Lewis was one of the people I got along with best. He was always honest, always straightforward. We were close—I was almost like a little sister to him, which is exactly why he was always all up in my business.
“I don’t know when Mercedes stopped being a serious company and turned into a TMZ branch,” he joked, earning a small laugh from me.
“I’m moving to Ferrari at the end of the season.”
My smile vanished instantly.
“What?”
“Yeah. My team and I have already decided. Toto knows about it too, and he’s already looking for someone to fill the spot I’ll be leaving,” Lewis explained calmly.
“I don’t know whether to congratulate you or feel sad. I always thought Mercedes would be the end of the road for you.”
“So did I. But I’ve thought about it a lot, and I just don’t feel like myself here anymore,” he said with a slight shrug.
“I get it. In a way, I’m going through the same thing,” I let out a faint, humorless laugh.
Lewis looked at me intently.
“You should come to Ferrari with me.”
I nearly choked on my own saliva.
“What? Are you insane?”
“I want you to come with me. You’re one of the best at what you do. I’ve already spoken to Ferrari’s representatives, and they’re willing to make you an offer as soon as I give them the green light.”
“Lewis, it’s not that simple to just leave and follow you to Ferrari.”
“Why not? Isn’t that basically what you were trying to do by going to McLaren?” he challenged, holding my gaze.
“I mean… yes, but wouldn’t going with you look a little bit— I don’t know—like unfair competition?”
Lewis just laughed.
“Y/N, no one plays fair in this sport. Look, just think about it, okay? The season’s not over yet. You might have a change of heart and decide to accept.”
I simply let out a sigh and nodded.
The following weeks were a blur. The season was coming to an end, and I was buried under mountains of work. Every few days, Lewis would ask if I had thought about his offer, but honestly, with so much going on, I barely had a second to even consider it.
In the end, I gave him a positive answer just a few days before the final race of the season.
“You’ll see—this is the change you need. You won’t regret it,” Lewis said, pulling me into a hug.
And I prayed he was right, because I truly couldn’t handle another period of anxiety.
Ferrari contacted me later that same day with an offer that made my eyebrows shoot up. It was far more than I was earning, with fewer responsibilities. So I guess saying yes turned out to be the right call.
The season came to a close, and Max Verstappen was crowned World Champion—something everyone had seen coming, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.
Three days after Abu Dhabi, I officially handed in my resignation to Mercedes. It came as a shock to most of the team, including George, who fell silent and thoughtful when one of the data engineers told him.
Toto, on the other hand, didn’t seem surprised at all.
“The moment Lewis told me he was leaving the team, I figured he’d take you with him. He wouldn’t leave you here—you’re like his emotional support person,” he joked. We both laughed, a hint of nostalgia in the air. “You know you’ll always have a place here with me. If you ever feel uncomfortable, if you ever want to come back, just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”
“Thanks, Toto.” We shared a heartfelt hug.
My contract with Ferrari was set to begin in February, which gave me two months off. I took the opportunity to visit my parents in my home country, where they had recently bought a farm in a rural area.
That’s where I confirmed that what people say online is true—the only thing you really need to cure anxiety is to go outside and touch some grass.
And that’s exactly what I did. I fully immersed myself in farm life: picking fruit, tilling the soil, lifting heavy things, feeding animals, horseback riding and eating.
My problems seemed to disappear. No more hallway gossip, no more moments of crisis, and most importantly, no more thoughts of George Russell.
By the time my vacation ended, I was practically a different person. I could sleep without any trouble, and thinking about the past few months of my life brought nothing more than a faint sense of discomfort.
Physically, I had changed a lot too—and I realized it when my jeans wouldn’t go past mid-thigh. My ass had filled out by at least a couple of sizes, and my abdomen was completely flat. All the physical effort that farm work required had clearly paid off.
I was also a bit more tanned, and my dark curls had grown long enough to almost reach my ass. All of it contrasted with my light green eyes and my soft pomagrade lips. I had to admit it to myself—I looked hot.
A few days before February began, I returned, took care of some things, and went out with a few friends, including Lewis.
The news of his move to Ferrari was already official, and it seemed like he was adjusting well to the new team and its pace.
(…)
The first time I spoke to Charles Leclerc was during a meeting to go over some data from his practice sessions.
“You’re Lewis’s friend, right?” he asked, watching me closely.
“Yes—though in environments like this, we usually call each other coworkers, you know… to keep things a bit more professional.”
“I see,” he nodded, his eyes never leaving my face.
I had to admit, Charles was very attractive—but I didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts. I was here to work, and that’s all I intended to focus on.
Which turned out to be quite difficult, because Charles seemed to develop a certain fascination with me—and that’s putting it lightly.
Whenever we talked, he looked at me as if he’d never seen another woman before. Lewis would just laugh it off, but for me, it was concerning. I didn’t want to find myself in a situation like the one I had already gone through. He was sweet, but I started to put some distance between us.
(…)
It turned out to be completely pointless.
Every time I tried to distance myself from Charles, he only became more persistent about staying close. After a while, I gave up and let it be—mainly to avoid coming across as rude.
“So, what are you doing today?” he asked.
“I’m not really sure,” I replied. “I think I’ll just eat at the hotel and go to sleep.”
“You should come with us to a gathering tonight.”
“I don’t know if that would be very professional of me.”
“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “It’s a dinner with some people from the FIA to celebrate the start of the season—basically a work event.”
“I don’t know…”
“Lewis will be there too, so you don’t have to worry.”
After thinking it over for a moment, I ended up agreeing. It was just a small gathering among colleagues—nothing more.
“Perfect, because I already confirmed you as my date.”
I looked at him, slightly alarmed, but he just laughed, and I let out a small laugh as well.
Around 7 p.m., Charles came to pick me up at my room. According to the invitation, the event was fairly casual, so I tried to dress accordingly.
“You look beautiful,” Charles said the moment he saw me, his gaze sweeping over me, a hint of fascination in his eyes.
“Thank you.”
We arrived at the venue, and sure enough, there were plenty of people from the paddock. At the start, the FIA president gave a short speech; everyone applauded, and then we were free to mingle.
I spoke with some people I knew, mostly people from Mercedes. Charles stepped away after a few minutes, but we remained within each other’s line of sight the entire time.
Eventually, I spotted Lewis in the crowd and walked over to talk to him, not noticing he was already in the middle of a conversation.
“I’ve been looking for you,” I said, playfully reproachful.
“You’re Charles’s date—I didn’t want to interrupt,” he replied, wrapping an arm around me and placing a kiss on my head.
“You’re Charles’s date?” George’s voice startled me. I had been so focused on Lewis that I hadn’t realized he was the one Lewis had been talking to.
“No—I mean, yes—I mean, I’m just accompanying him tonight,” I said with a nervous laugh. God, just take me now.
Lewis chuckled at my flustered state, but George—George had the most serious, unfriendly expression I had ever seen on him.
I gave him a small smile to ease the tension, and his expression finally softened.
“How has Ferrari been treating you?” he asked, changing the subject.
I went on to tell him a bit about my time with the new team. In the middle of my rambling, I didn’t notice that Charles had been watching us the entire time—and he didn’t look particularly pleased with what he was seeing.
“Do you and George have something going on?” Charles asked as soon as we were in the car, heading back to the hotel.
“What?” I nearly shouted, caught completely off guard by the question.
“Well… I guess that answers it.”
“No—of course not. He was just my coworker.”
“Because it didn’t look that way,” Charles said, his tone edged with accusation. “Not with the way he was looking at you… or how nervous you seemed around him.”
“Of course not—and besides, that’s none of your business,” I snapped, irritation creeping into my voice.
Who does he think he is?
“You’re right. It’s not my damn business.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Charles chose not to answer. Instead, he drove recklessly the entire way back to the hotel. When we reached the entrance, he slammed on the brakes.
“If you want to get yourself killed, do it alone, idiot,” I said, stepping out and slamming the door behind me.
All I heard in response was Charles’s laugh.
(…)
From that day on, things were tense between us.
Charles barely spoke to me, yet he was always watching me. It was unsettling—every time I glanced to the side, his eyes were already on me.
I tried sticking closer to Lewis and avoiding Charles altogether, but after a couple of days, I had to stop. Lewis was starting to sense that something was off between us.
The months passed, and although things cooled down, I chose to keep my distance. Something Charles clearly struggled to accept. He respected my space—but whenever we were in the same room, our eyes would inevitably find each other.
It was frustrating. I genuinely just wanted peace at work—I didn’t want to get tangled up with a driver again. But Charles made that very difficult.
Every other day, I would find a small gift left on my desk. No note, no name—but I knew exactly who they were from.
And even though I pretended not to care, my heart would skip a beat every time I arrived in the morning and saw one waiting for me. I did my best to hide it—the last thing I wanted was to spark more gossip. I was comfortable in this job, and I intended to stay.
The Monaco Grand Prix came around, and things didn’t go well for Charles. Due to some issues with the car, he lost a podium finish—a heavy blow, especially in his home country.
When the race ended, the tension in the garage was suffocating. Charles was furious. Everyone was on edge, and no one dared to say a word to him.
Not even me. I stayed in a corner, watching as he vented his frustration at everything and everyone.
“Fuck this,” he finally snapped before storming out of the paddock without looking back.
“You should go talk to him,” Lewis murmured in my ear.
“Absolutely not,” I refused immediately. “He looks possessed, and I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he wants to see right now.”
“You’re wrong. You and I both know he has feelings for you,” Lewis said with a knowing smile. “And even though I don’t fully agree—because I know you’re at a disadvantage—Charles is still my friend. And right now, he needs you.”
I let out a deep sigh, ready to refuse again, but Lewis looked at me like he was daring me to say no.
So I didn’t really have a choice.
“Fine, I’ll go talk to him. Where the hell did he go?”
“Most likely home. Come on—I’ll take you.”
(…)
In less than ten minutes, we arrived at the apartment complex where Charles lives.
“Please let him know that Y/N is here to see him.” I immediately turned to look at Lewis as he gave instructions to the front desk staff.
“Lewis, what the hell?”
“What? It’s the only way he’ll let us in,” he shrugged.
“Mr. Leclerc says you can come up,” the receptionist informed us.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lewis said quickly.
“Wait—what?”
“Charles will only talk to you. If I’m there, he’ll blow up at me.”
“Lewis, you know that’s not true.”
“Sorry, Y/N. Let me know how it goes,” he said, raising his hand in a casual goodbye as he walked away backward.
He got into his car and disappeared from my sight in the blink of an eye.
“I hate my fucking life,” I muttered to myself.
The receptionist pointed me toward the building and floor I needed to go to. It took me a while—the complex was huge.
When I got there, I stood in front of the door for a moment, debating whether to knock or just run away. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have much time to think, because before I could even raise my fist, the door swung open so abruptly that it startled me.
Charles stood there, his face serious and unreadable.
“I didn’t expect you, of all people, to show up at my door,” he said, not taking his eyes off me.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. You didn’t look okay back there.”
Charles nodded slightly.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let me in.
Inside, the apartment was spotless—so clean and organized it looked like something out of a catalog. Luxuries like this didn’t impress me anymore; I’d gotten used to them over time.
“Who made you come?” Charles asked as he sat down, gesturing for me to sit beside him.
“No one made me,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Then it was Lewis,” he concluded.
“I already told you—no one made me. I’m here because I want to be here,” I said firmly.
“Alright. I got my answer, so don’t worry about it.”
“How are you feeling now? That was… intense back there.”
“Yeah—and I feel like shit. I mean, I’ve kind of gotten over the race, but I hate that I let the worst side of me show in the garage,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“We all understand. Don’t beat yourself up too much over it.”
We talked a bit more about the race and how he was feeling, until the conversation shifted.
“Hey, I wanted to apologize for the argument we had the day of the FIA gathering. I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries.”
“It’s fine, I accept your apology. I’d already moved past it anyway,” I said with a small shrug and a faint smile.
“It’s just… I got a little curious about what was going on between you and George.” And jealous… I added silently in my head.
“Like I told you that day, there’s nothing between George and me. We were just coworkers, and now we just have a… cordial relationship, I guess.”
“I see. So I don’t have anything to worry about.”
I frowned at him.
Worry?
“Don’t look at me like that. I think I’ve been pretty obvious about the fact that I like you.”
My cheeks immediately grew warm. I didn’t like where this was going.
“Charles, I don’t think this is appropriate…” I cleared my throat. “We work together. I don’t want things to get complicated.”
“Who cares?”
“I do. I care. I don’t want people starting rumors—it would be too uncomfortable.”
“No one has to know,” he said, as if it were the simplest solution. “I’ve seen the way you hold my gaze… and I’ve noticed how excited you get when you see the gifts I leave on your desk.”
I ran my hands over my face, trying to steady myself.
“Charles, it’s not that simple—” I turned to look at him, only to realize he was suddenly very close.
He cupped my face with his large hand, leaning in slowly. When he was just inches away, he whispered:
“No one has to find out…”
A shaky breath escaped my lips.
What have I just gotten myself into?
(…)
I was touch-starved.
That’s the only explanation I can find for why I let things escalate so much.
That Sunday, when I went to check on Charles Leclerc, we ended up having sex on his couch.
And then in his bed…
And the next morning, in his shower.
From that day on, neither my mind nor my life had been at peace. Every single day, I told myself how stupid I had been—how I could have put myself in a situation (not even similar) but worse than the one I went through at Mercedes.
At least back then, nothing had actually happened between George and me. It had just been a stupid crush.
While I was slowly unraveling from the anxiety, Charles was the complete opposite. He seemed to have blossomed. Every chance he got, he tried to kiss me, hold my hand, go out together—so many things. It was like watching someone who had suddenly realized life was worth living.
And that was a problem for me—because he wanted to live that life with me.
It had been almost three weeks since that day, and we were all preparing for the Austrian Grand Prix. I was sitting at my desk, going over some statistics on my computer, when a message popped up on my phone.
KIMI MY SMALL CHILD: So pretty 😍🤣🤣
Attached were a couple of photos. In both, George and I appeared. In the first, I was sitting right where I was now, yawning, while George stood a bit ahead, making a heart shape with his hands, framing my face.
In the second, I didn’t look any better—I had my eyes closed, as if I were resting for a moment, while George, from the same distance, puckered his lips as if blowing me a kiss.
I couldn’t help but laugh like an idiot. When I looked up, I saw the two of them a few meters away, laughing as they waited for my reaction.
I was so out of it that I didn’t notice when Charles appeared behind me and caught a glimpse of the photos Kimi had sent.
“Well…” he said, his tone far from amused. “That’s a bit much for someone you supposedly have nothing with, don’t you think?”
I turned to look at him and met his hardened gaze.
“Come on, Charles, we’re just messing around,” I tried to explain, sounding ridiculous even to myself.
“No, don’t worry. I understand perfectly.”
His chest rose and fell with restrained anger. He wasn’t looking at me anymore—his eyes were locked on George.
And George, not one to back down, returned the stare just as firmly. It was clear neither of them was about to be intimidated. Luckily, no one else seemed to be paying attention.
I let out a scoff, grabbed my laptop, and moved to another spot. I wasn’t about to get caught in the middle of their nonsense.
I replied to Kimi’s message and took a pill—my head hadn’t stopped aching these past few days. It was probably the stress Charles was putting me under, finally catching up to me.
(…)
The race was a disaster.
Between Charles and George, they were practically competing for the title of biggest idiot.
Charles nearly sent him flying off in one corner, and George retaliated by clipping his rear tire and sending him into a spin.
Everyone in the garage was on edge, biting their nails in anxiety. No one understood what was going on, and the engineers from both sides were just shouting and running around like headless chickens.
By the end of the race, neither of them made it onto the podium. Charles stormed in like a wild animal—and George didn’t seem much better.
Without wasting a second, Charles ripped off his helmet and headed straight toward the Mercedes garage. He didn’t even make it all the way—George met him halfway.
They started shouting all kinds of insults at each other, and it was about to turn into something worse before team from both sides stepped in and pulled them apart.
The look on my face must have said it all—I felt completely drained, like the blood had left my face entirely. Lewis watched the whole scene with concern, glancing at me every so often as if making sure I wouldn’t faint right there. Thankfully, I didn’t—my body hadn’t betrayed me like that… not yet.
Eventually, things settled down, and the entire team was sent back to their respective hotels.
I knew I had some responsibility in all of this, but I had no idea how to handle it. Alone in my room, my stomach tied in knots, all I could think about was how much of a coward I was.
My phone buzzed, and without thinking much, I opened the message.
GEORGE RUSSELL: Can we talk?
ME: About what?
GEORGE RUSSELL: I think you know. Where are you staying? I can come pick you up.
ME: I don’t think that’s the best idea after what happened today. Tell me where to meet you, and I’ll come.
George sent me a location, and I headed there.
It was time to face this—and end it once and for all.
(…)
“So, what’s going on between you and Leclerc?” George got straight to the point as soon as we sat down at a small café table in the city center.
“Nothing’s going on. We’re just coworkers,” I said, trying to downplay it.
“Oh yeah? Because that’s not what it looks like. It looks more like he’s completely obsessed with you and can’t stand you giving your attention to anyone else—especially me.”
“You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”
George let out a dry, ironic laugh.
“I’m not the only one who sees it that way. Even Lewis brought it up to me—he’s worried about his behavior. Please, Y/N, just be honest with me.”
I took a deep breath, meeting his gaze.
“Fine. We kissed a few weeks ago,” I lied outright, trying to make it seem insignificant.
“Are you sure?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.
I stayed silent, holding his gaze.
“I know you were in love with me, and that’s why you left Mercedes.”
“I wasn’t in love,” I shot back defensively. “It was just a small crush. And I left because Lewis asked me to—and because the conditions were better,” I added, another small lie.
“Either way,” he continued, “my point is that I never wanted to encourage those feelings, because I knew it could put you in a difficult position. I like you, Y/N—and I can admit that now, because I realize you don’t feel the same way anymore.”
His confession left me speechless. In all the time I’d known George, I had never imagined my feelings for him might have been mutual.
“Don’t let your life turn upside down again, Y/N. I know there can’t be anything between us now, but I still want to be your friend. And as your friend, it’s my job to look out for you.” He took my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze in reassurance. “You matter to me.”
A small tear slipped from my eye, and with my free hand, I quickly wiped it away.
“Thank you, George. You matter to me too.” We shared a brief hug.
“Come on, don't feel bad. I trust you’ll make the right decisions—and whether I agree or not, I’ll keep supporting you.”
With one last hug, we said goodbye. It was the closure I needed.
Now, I was definitely ready to leave this circus behind.
(…)
The problem was that the circus wasn’t ready to let me go.
When I got back to the hotel and stepped into my room, a very irritated Charles was already there, waiting for me.
“How did you get in here?” I asked, closing the door behind me.
“Where were you?” he shot back, ignoring my question.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Were you with George?” he pressed.
“That’s none of your business,” I repeated.
“So you were with him.”
“Yes, I was. We needed to talk about a few things after today’s spectacle,” I finally admitted.
“And what did you talk about? Your stupid feelings?” The way he said it was laced with bitterness.
“They’re not stupid—and it’s none of your concern.”
“It is my concern. You can’t play with my feelings like this. You can’t come here, go along with everything, and then run off to comfort that idiot who never had the guts to admit to your face that he was a coward that let everyone talk trash about you.” His voice kept rising with every word.
“How do you even know that? You know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what you know or think you know. What matters is that you and I are a mistake. What happened between us was a mistake—one that won’t happen again. Because clearly, what you need is help. You’re fucking crazy.”
“A mistake? That’s what it was to you? Let me remind you—it didn’t happen just once. So it’s pretty clear you liked that mistake… and this ‘crazy’ man.”
Our breathing was uneven, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We just stared at each other. The heat was suffocating. I parted my lips to say something else—
—but before I could say anything.
Charles kissed me.
It was the kind of kiss that felt desperate, like we both needed it to survive. His hands pulled me closer as his lips moved against mine, trailing down my neck.
Little by little, everything else faded away, and we gave in to each other once again.
I’d have time to regret it later.
(…)
And I really regretted it.
The following week, I was in England, having breakfast with Lewis when I felt the first consequences of my decisions.
The moment I put a forkful of eggs in my mouth, a sudden wave of nausea hit me. I had to spit everything out immediately to avoid throwing up.
Lewis looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry, it just… tastes too much like eggs,” I tried to explain.
He laughed at my ridiculous excuse.
“Have some of mine,” he offered.
“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll just have some tea.”
Which turned out to be a terrible decision, because it left me feeling dizzy for the rest of the day.
We had a meeting in the afternoon, and as soon as it ended, I went straight to my room and drank the coldest water I could find. I took some acetaminophen and immediately went to sleep. It was so unlike me to turn in that early that it raised some concern within the team.
Lewis texted to ask if I was okay, and I brushed him off with a vague “yes.”
Charles, on the other hand, went straight to my room. He brought me something light for dinner and even fed me himself. He stayed with me for a while before eventually leaving for his own room.
The next day was more of the same. I felt awful, but I did my best not to show it. The only ones who weren’t entirely convinced were Lewis and Charles, who kept checking on me to see if something was wrong.
The race weekend passed, and after that, we had two weeks off before heading to Belgium.
That week, I decided to go to London with Lewis, going against Charles’s wish for me to go with him to Monaco.
Everything felt like too much, and spending that much time together didn’t seem like a good idea—not until things were clear between us.
Then Tuesday came, and that was the day my world fell apart. A small notification was all it took to trigger the disaster:
“Your period is 12 days late. Let’s assess your chances of being pregnant.”
The color drained from my face instantly. My mind started racing, doing the math, replaying dates. How could I be so stupid? I couldn’t even remember if Charles had used protection the first time we were together weeks ago.
My breathing became uneven, my thoughts spiraling—and that’s how Lewis found me, hyperventilating and on the verge of a breakdown.
“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?” he said, cupping my face with both hands. “Look at me. Breathe, please.”
I tried to steady myself, following his instructions—inhale, exhale. After a couple of minutes, I managed to calm down.
“Now tell me what’s going on.”
“I think I’m pregnant.”
“What?” His voice came out barely above a whisper.
“I’ve been feeling really sick lately, and I’m late—by a lot,” I started to spiral again, and once more, Lewis tried to ground me.
“Okay… maybe you’re overthinking this. Maybe it’s just hormones, stress from the past few weeks,” he said, trying to sound logical—but his expression gave away how worried he really was.
I just cried silently as he held me.
“Let’s not panic yet. We’ll find out first. Give me half an hour—I’ll get someone to bring a test.”
And he did. After a few calls, about forty minutes later, someone discreetly left a home pregnancy test at the door.
I went straight to the bathroom and took it, silently praying it was just a scare—that I was overreacting.
Unfortunately, not even two minutes had passed before the test beeped, and the small screen displayed the words:
“Pregnant 4–8.”
My legs gave out beneath me. I slid down against the wall until I was sitting on the floor.
I’m completely screwed.
(…)
Lewis tried to keep my spirits up, but there was no way I could see the bright side of any of this.
Meanwhile, he seemed to be on cloud nine—talking about becoming an uncle and the baby’s godfather, about all the things he wanted to buy, everything he wanted to teach.
I didn’t have the heart to shatter his excitement by telling him I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to continue the pregnancy. At least one of us deserved to feel happy.
The next day, I quietly went to a private lab for a blood test. Some part of me still hoped it would come back negative. But that hope didn’t last long—just a few hours later, the results came back with an undeniable: POSITIVE.
“You need to tell Charles,” Lewis said as soon as we got the confirmation.
“I don’t even know how to tell him… I’m scared.”
“Scared of what? He was part of this too—he deserves to know, no matter how he reacts.”
“I’m scared he’ll go even more off the rails,” I admitted. Lewis let out a small laugh. “Or that he’ll completely reject it.”
“Well, it makes sense that you have doubts. But hey—you’re not alone. If he turns his back on you, which I honestly don’t think he will, you’ll always have me. You’re like my little sister. We’ve supported each other through everything.”
With tears in my eyes, I hugged him. Lewis was one of the best things that had ever happened to me.
And he was right—I needed to tell Charles. But I would do it in my own time. First, I needed to be sure about my decision regarding the pregnancy.
The rest of the week flew by. Charles called me every day, always making it clear how much he missed me and how badly he wanted us to be together again. During one of those calls, he mentioned formally introducing me to his mom and his brothers. Of course, I already knew them—but now he was going to introduce me as what? His girlfriend? I couldn’t even say that we had that kind of relationship.
By Wednesday of the Belgian Grand Prix week, we were all back at the motorhome, back in work mode.
It’s true what they say—once you find out you’re pregnant, the symptoms seem to hit harder. In my case, I could barely keep the nausea under control. Any strong smell made me feel like I was about to throw up.
Lewis watched me with knowing eyes, trying to help by bringing me very cold juices—which, I had recently discovered, helped me a lot.
Charles, on the other hand, had started to suspect that something wasn’t quite right. Sometimes I would drift off into my thoughts, and when I came back, I’d find him watching me from across the room, his brows furrowed.
It almost made me laugh, because it reminded me of how everything started—me trying to avoid him, and him only becoming more determined to stay close.
“Why are you ignoring me?” he finally asked Thursday night.
“I’m not ignoring you.”
“Yes, you are. I know you too well, Y/N. There’s something you and Lewis are hiding from me.” His expression was tense, searching my face for the slightest clue.
“I’m not hiding anything. I’ve just been really busy,” I said, taking his hands in mine and pressing a couple of kisses to them. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel like I’m ignoring you.”
That seemed to work. Charles let out a sigh and cupped my face, pulling me into a kiss.
“I love you, you know?”
I froze at his sudden confession.
“You don’t have to say anything back. I just wanted you to know. And I want you to remember that whatever’s on your mind, you can trust me enough to talk about it.” He gently twirled a strand of my hair, smiling at me.
“I know… thank you for being there for me,” I said, hugging him tightly, silently telling myself I would find the right moment to tell him.
Soon.
(…)
Soon turned into more than a month later.
After all that time, I had finally decided that I wanted to continue with the pregnancy. By that point, Charles was openly saying we were in a relationship. There hadn’t been any official “will you be my girlfriend” moment or anything like that—but it wasn’t really necessary, considering how unconventional everything between us had been from the start.
It was late August, and Monza was just around the corner, so I was fully immersed in work.
In all that time, I still hadn’t gone to my first doctor’s appointment. I wanted Charles to come with me—I wanted us to see the baby together for the first time. At least, that’s what I had hoped for.
My symptoms had improved, mostly because I had figured out what triggered them the most and learned how to manage them. Thankfully.
Charles had relaxed a bit too, especially after my “mystery illness” suddenly seemed to disappear, almost like it had just been a virus. Thinking about it that way almost made me laugh.
It was a Saturday morning when my phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Lewis.
I answered, and before I could even say hello, he spoke quickly.
“Look at what I just sent you—don’t hang up while you check it, please,” he said urgently.
“Okay…”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and opened our chat. There was a link to an Instagram account. When I opened it, the first thing I saw was a photo of Charles with his ex-girlfriend, Alexandra. It wasn’t anything compromising—but the fact that he hadn’t told me where he’d seen her said enough.
A gasp escaped my lips.
“Did you see it?” Lewis asked through the speaker.
“Lewis… when was this?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Apparently last night. I tried calling him, but he’s not answering. I know I shouldn’t have shown you before talking to him, but I didn’t want you finding out through all the awful posts going around,” he explained quickly.
My stomach twisted into knots, and I could only start to sob.
“Y/N? Are you crying?”
“No…” I said, my voice shaking.
“Yes, you are. Damn it—Charles is going to regret this, I swear. I’ll punch him the moment I see him,” Lewis muttered angrily. “Y/N, stay there, okay? I’m coming to get you.”
And just like he promised, he came for me. In less than two hours, we had decided that I would stay in London until further notice.
I sent my leave request to Ferrari, and they approved it without much fuss.
I packed my things, and Lewis arranged for me to fly to London on a private jet.
While all of this was happening, Charles finally showed signs of life—he blew up my phone with calls and messages.
I didn’t answer any of them.
I didn’t even read them.
I wasn’t ready to hear his excuses.
When I arrived in London, a driver Lewis had arranged took me to his house. I stayed there, lost in my thoughts, drowning in heartbreak.
Charles kept trying to reach me while I continued to ignore him.
Among all his messages, one came from someone unexpected.
GEORGE: Hey, I just saw what’s going on online with Charles. Can we talk?
ME: Hi, George. Yes, of course.
GEORGE: Sorry to bring this up—I know it must be a sensitive topic for you.
GEORGE: But I wanted to tell you what I saw yesterday. I’m not Charles’s biggest fan, but if I can keep you from getting hurt, I will.
GEORGE: I was at the same place where those photos were taken. Alexandra was there with some of her friends—you know, influencers and all that. She went up to say hi to him, and he just greeted her back.
GEORGE: I’m pretty sure that’s when the photos were taken. There was nothing inappropriate about it—at least not from what I saw or heard. Charles left shortly after, and then Alexandra and her friends did too. So I doubt anything else happened between them.
ME: George, thank you so much for trying to clear things up. Hearing your side makes me feel a bit more at ease.
GEORGE: Of course. You know you have a friend in me—that’s what friends do.
GEORGE: Hope we can see each other in Monza <3
I said goodbye and took a deep breath before dialing Charles’s number.
He picked up almost instantly.
“Love! I’m so sorry, please forgive me—I was an idiot. I never meant to hurt you. Please, tell me where you are.”
“Charles… what exactly happened yesterday?”
He went on to explain a version of events almost identical to what George had told me. Everything lined up perfectly, and my doubts slowly began to fade.
“Okay… I believe you.”
Charles let out a long breath of relief.
“Where are you?” he asked again.
“I’m in London, at Lewis’s place.”
“I’m coming. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“What? No—” Before I could protest, he had already hung up.
Well… I guess we can kill two birds with one stone here.
(…)
Several hours later, the sound of the doorbell startled me. Charles was here.
I hurried to the door and opened it. The moment he saw me, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.
“I missed you,” he murmured between kisses.
“We need to talk,” I said, my tone serious.
Charles nodded, and we walked over to the couch.
“Love, I want you to know nothing happened yesterday. I only have eyes for you—”
“Yes, Charles, I—”
“Give me a second. Everything they’re saying online is nothing but lies. They’re trying to create a false narrative just to drive traffic to their trashy outlets—”
“Charles—”
“I’ve already had my lawyers send cease-and-desist letters. It’s unbelievable how people twist freedom of speech to make things up without thinking about how much damage it can do—”
“Char—”
“—to someone’s life and to the people around them—”
“Charles, please let me speak,” I finally said, raising my voice slightly.
“Yes, my love. Go ahead,” he said with a small, sheepish smile, realizing he had gotten carried away.
“Charles, I have something very important to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago—and I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Babe, I forgive you. Just tell me what’s going on—you’re making me nervous.”
“Charles… I’m pregnant.”
The words left my mouth, and I felt like all the air had been knocked out of me.
His face went through at least three different expressions in a matter of seconds. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
He just stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, completely still.
“Charles?” I asked softly.
“What? When? How?”
I gave him the short version of how I found out, how far along I thought I was, and why I hadn’t told him sooner.
Charles started laughing like a mad man—a mix of nerves and excitement. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to process everything.
I watched him, a little worried—but he wasn’t reacting badly, and that was what mattered.
“My God… I’m going to be a father.”
I nodded, watching him.
“I’m actually going to be a fucking dad.”
“Charles, watch your language,” I scolded lightly.
“Sorry, sorry—the baby shouldn’t hear that,” he said, placing a hand gently on my lower abdomen.
“There’s barely anything there yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s already perfect.”
His excitement made my chest tighten.
I tried to hold it in, but when he looked at me, his eyes glistening, I couldn’t anymore. I broke down crying like a fool.
We held each other there on that small couch, already making plans for a future that suddenly didn’t feel so far away.
(…)
“If you look here, you can see the limbs starting to form,” the doctor pointed out on the screen. It wasn’t completely clear, but there it was—the shape of a tiny, growing baby.
Charles could barely contain himself. When the doctor turned on the sound of the heartbeat, we both teared up.
“It’s perfect,” he whispered, gently stroking my hair.
That was the first of many ultrasounds he came to with me. His schedule wasn’t always easy, but he made an effort to be there every time.
Months later, in a hospital in Monaco, our baby was born: Jacques Lewis Leclerc.
You can probably guess who was the most excited of all.
Formula 1 2025 class dismissed
Guys, I think Caine ate another AI again…
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Id, Ego & Superego
2NE1'S Lee Chaerin/CL x Blackpink's Jennie Kim x Male Reader
7k words
I had this ridiculous idea a few days ago and since I had to wake up early today, I decided to delay it no further. This is another one of the "___ in 2026?!" Forgive me. Please give it a chance before you throw stones at me.
Basically: "My wife and I saw you from across the bar and she really fucking hates your vibe."
Marrying Chaerin was the best choice you made.
Here was the toughest, richest woman in Korea—pale skin, iron fist, eyes that could turn you to stone if you looked into them too long—and she chose you. She’s leaning comfortably against your shoulder as she nurses a glass of tequila. The big stone on her finger tells the world you’re hers as much as she is yours. You belong to each other, a match made in business classes back in your early twenties. When Chaerin walked into that classroom, specs sitting on her nose and brown hair done into a ponytail, you knew you were done for.
No one could ever get this comfortable and close with the CL, businesswoman and former big time rapper of girl group 2NE1. Every controversy just makes her more untouchable. You’re the only one who could call her Chaerin, the only one who could joke around with her. When people learned you married her, they congratulated you with a bit of fear in their eyes. The woman was a beast. What did she see in you that matched her?
You’ve no idea either. But she’s beautiful, and you won’t go anywhere.
This is where it gets difficult: your worst choice is going to this club, for Chaerin spots something across the bar that she really, really hates. And, since with a face like that, no one’s ever not cowered in her presence, she expects the same.
Her cloak slips off her shoulders, revealing her milky skin and that dangerous neckline that scoops her breasts. You know better than to tell Chaerin what she should and shouldn’t wear on your seventh anniversary. You’d come out with less stitches from a car accident. It benefits you anyway—your eyes only go there and she chides you.
“Pervert,” she says. Her voice always runs smoothly, like a song recording filtered of dead air. Whether it’s devastating news or saying it’s dinnertime, Chaerin rarely deviates from her clear tone unless it’s to yell.
“Am I not allowed to look at you?” You place an arm around her. “Like you’re sizing up that poor girl over there?”
Well… you wouldn’t say poor. A girl like that, with salon-smooth hair and a closet of Chanel, surely isn’t any more lower class than Chaerin is. You can tell from the way she carries herself that she’s from old money. Father probably taught her to fold her hands like that, and her mother taught by example to keep her shoulders back.
But yeah, sure, you say poor as in, well, pitiable—no one’s particularly okay after Chaerin gets through to them.
“No and no. I’m not sizing her up.” Yet she tilts her head to the side to keep observing the lone girl. “I’m trying to kill her.”
An aggressive hyperbole is not new from Chaerin. But you still have to ask: “Why?’’
Chaerin rubs at your knuckles, her thumb sliding over the gaps. “Jennie Kim. Old money, pretty face, horrible personality. Somehow old Yang decided she was the top moneymaker and threw me away.”
You thought you were tripping. So that was Jennie Kim. Anyone would recognize her. She’s from one of the biggest girl groups on the planet and billboards in every street. A Chanel princess. The camera’s sweetheart. Young, rich, and ridiculously attractive.
But to your wife, she’s someone who ought to be six feet under with the shovel still stuck in the dirt.
The company did her own group dirty. There are a lot of issues—publicized, exaggerated, and smeared once the media decided they’ll believe what they want to believe—which you know Chaerin would rather not bring up. But you see each one flash through her eyes right now, narrowing in slits as she curses her former colleague. It doesn’t matter if the woman’s half a decade younger or a junior in the horrid workplace that is the K-pop industry. Jennie Kim meant shit to her.
You chuckle. Chaerin is unpredictable. Here you thought a high end club with suited individuals and million-dollar menus could keep her in check. How dumb of you.
“So you’re planning to beat up a Blackpink member whom you met when she was fourteen,” you say. “Got it.”
But you can’t deny that the girl’s beautiful. Sharp eyes, even sharper collarbone, and a pretty little mouth glossed with blood red. She has the kind of face people wish they’d have in their next life—natural, soft Hera features that the best plastic surgeon can’t replicate.
“Don’t make it sound so odd.” Chaerin crosses one gorgeous leg over the other. “It isn’t my fault I got my way into the game early and she’s still playing wannabe model.”
“Right.”
“And she’s been a bitch forever.”
‘It’s all in the past now, sweetheart.”
“So?” Chaerin’s getting worked up now, thinking of all the strings Jennie was able to pull and the connections she stole. “The point still stands. I built a name of my own early on, and she wouldn’t be here without me.”
Chaerin’s eyes sparkle suddenly (how the hell does she do that on command) as she turns her head to you. You’re already afraid of what she plans to do. That woman will stop at nothing and controls herself for nobody.
“Aw, darling,” she says, “will you lie to the judge for me if the little princess goes missing?”
“I’d do anything for you, Chaerin, but please, it’s our anniversary. Save yourself the trouble.”
“I’ll do whatever I want. She didn’t save herself the trouble when she fucking lied to my face about—”
“Point taken,” you say, raising your hands in surrender. Save Chaerin’s filthy words from cracking the soft jazz playing. You’re hopelessly in love with Chaerin; of course you let her win every fight. “I just need you to settle down, honey. You’ve got better things to do with your time.”
She seems to like the way you put that. You’re right. She’s got better things to do than give any second of her time to Jennie. Chaerin could drink another glass, order another slice, or, better yet, do whatever she liked to you. She was good at that. Dangerously good.
You and Chaerin reminisce together for the next thirty minutes. Your anniversary had just passed, and this was the only major celebration that you could fit in your schedules. Tomorrow, she has a meeting with Dara, and yesterday, you met up with the Jung family to discuss their daughter’s contracts. Today is the perfect time to recall how you met.
2000 and something. Business class. You’re on a scholarship and of course Chaerin’s got backing. Everyone swoons the minute she sits in her chair. She’s popular, she’s rich, and she’s so fucking cool it’s enviable. She colored her hair even when the dress code was against it. She wore the tiniest fucking clothes even when your professor chastised her for it. That wooden chair sort of becomes her throne. In a stupid attempt to get close to her, you ask her for help on the formula and things happen. Soon, she’s laughing as you recount stumbling over your words to ask her out. And Chaerin laughs loudly—her cackle bounces off the walls like a cultish mantra. You describe it as just that and it amplifies.
All the while, Jennie Kim sits alone at the end of the bar. She’s drinking only a little, but you can tell she’s a heavyweight anyway. She went to the most elite university in New Zealand, was a global superstar—you expected her days were filled with enough liquor to practice. Parties in the Bronx, reunions with her members, a hookup with someone who’s got just as much at stake as she does.
Chaerin confirms this, taking out her rarely used phone and bringing you to Jennie’s Instagram. User jennierubyjane dons shades as she dances in a neon party. She’s not afraid to let skin show either. A tube top shows off those ninety degree shoulders and the tiniest waist you’ve seen. In the next picture on the carousel, she’s in a bikini, in the lap of a woman—probably her best friend—and laughing.
“So that’s what she does instead of fucking resigning,” says Chaerin, pissed. “Kissing girls and living off hangovers. Jesus, it’s like she never graduated high school.”
“What, you’ve never kissed a girl before?”
“When I get bored of you, I might,” she tells you. You laugh and Chaerin caresses your cheek to inform you it’s jest. “The girl’s a textbook bisexual. She gives it to whoever so much puts their hands on her waist.”
“How do you know?”
Chaerin purses her lips. You’ll see. She was always right.
But, as Chaerin later tells you, she’s at least got some sense in that pretty little head. She’d only met her once during predebut—back when the old man still cared about our band. But afterwards, she’d watched Jennie on the big stage, even chatted with her. It was all just advice on how to handle fame, where to hide secret boyfriends, what food to eat that fit the ridiculous diets.
Then Jennie released a solo song and all that was out of the window.
Chaerin argues the song was supposed to be hers. She had a demo and everything. It was originally supposed to be rap-heavy, with a feature from a Western artist. But they had reworked it to suit Jennie and she went with it, even if Chaerin had been such a good senior to her, the little bitch. If she'd resigned with Yang, she could dominate Korea. Might even do it better than he ever will, Chaerin is willing to admit to herself. She’d managed to sneak into the file room when the security guard was too smitten to forbid her anything. She knew what she was talking about. All her information is straight from the source.
You and Chaerin toast to the future and to Jennie Kim’s karma. It gets her slightly tipsy, and tipsy Chaerin is even more unpredictable. Right now, she’s getting on her feet with a clear destination.
“What exactly is your plan here?” you ask, heart pounding. The bill is paid already. You can go back to the suite from the elevator and break the place in. It’s your anniversary after all.
Turns out Chaerin’s got the same idea. She winks at you (trust me) as she goes over to Jennie. You, the ever faithful man who promised to be with her in sobriety and without, follow suit. Start to think about what lies to tell to the judge. Measure just how much Jennie’s hospital bill was going to be and remind yourself to set aside money.
God, the girl’s even more gorgeous up close. A body toned from Pilates, she’s fucking tiny, from that flawless face to the waist under the mesh Chanel. A look of recognition passes over her when she sees Chaerin’s figure shadow over her like a New York building.
“Oh, sunbaenim!” Jennie’s clearly surprised. She hasn’t heard from Chaerin in years. It’s hard to when your wife’s blocked her on Instagram. She bows politely, offering you her hand first. It’s smooth as a kitten’s paw. “How are you?”
Her English is noticeably twisted with an accent cultivated from some high-end subdivision. Somewhere with Greek statues for an entrance and horses on its hills. Something like that. She has a pretty smile.
“No need for the formalities,” Chaerin says. She sits on the stool beside Jennie while you take your place behind your wife. “We’re here to have fun, not for business.”
“If you insist.” Jennie flips her hair to the side of her shoulder. “I hope you’re having a splendid anniversary.”
“Thank you,” you say pleasantly, and Chaerin shoots you a glare. But it’s hard not to be nice to Jennie despite the clear tension. She looks… sweet. Talks sweet, too Her face softens right where Chaerin’s sharpens into strong lines. But you do see the similarity, understand why YG shaped her to be the new supreme—her eyes are as daunting as Chaerin’s. Rarely do they lose the intimidating shape. It’s the sort that promises no mercy if you ever rub her the wrong way.
Chaerin twists her finger along the rim of her glass. Her silver earring reflects in it. “What about you, Jennie? Got any bad boys we can congratulate?”
Jennie giggles. “Oh god, no. They’re a waste of my time. The less men in my life, the better.”
“Really. It seems you’ve got plenty.”
Your heart races. Jennie raises a dark brow and turns her face to look Chaerin in the eye, something no one has ever dared to do before. Her palm carries the soft dent of her chin.
“What exactly are you getting at here?” Jennie asks.
Anyone would have backed down the moment Jennie’s words get poisonous, the moment her Dracula fangs come out to play. You place a hand around Chaerin’s waist. But how did you forget that Chaerin won’t let herself be spoken to like that? Especially not from someone like Jennie Kim?”
“I don’t know, kid,” says Chaerin monotonously, “what do you think I’m getting at here?”
“Hit dogs holler” is what Chaerin likes to say. She brushes off any ill comment made by an intrusive journalist and hate messages DMed by some anonymous account. She’s no reason to be offended if she isn’t whatever they say she is. For all she knows, she isn’t a slut.
She wonders what that says about Jennie.
Chaerin could be such a diplomat if she wanted to. This is how she walks runways and keeps adoring fans on a leash. She talks her way into them with her visuals to go along with it. But it seems that with Jennie, the words just don’t feel right in her mouth. She can’t think of anything nice to say about her junior. Your olive branch of a smile doesn't seem to get to her either.
“Would you girls like a drink?” you ask meekly.
Jennie still doesn’t stop glaring at Chaerin. Doesn’t even look at you. “Thank you,” she deadpans. “You’re too kind.”
You ask the bartender for a nice, tall bottle of gin. Your wife pops the cork off and takes a swig straight from its mouth. Jennie’s brows are still raised when she hands the bottle back to her. She pours herself a glass, and offers you one, too. You accept it. Keep the bottle at arm’s length just in case Chaerin lets the liquor escalate things.
But Jesus, they’re both a sight for sore eyes. If the place were any dimmer, you’d think two vampires were having a conversation. Chaerin’s older than Jennie, but you wouldn’t have guessed much difference. There’s not a blemish on either of their gorgeous visages. They must have drank from the fountain of youth and made it a pact to keep the location secret.
“That is such a nice ring, sunbae.” Jennie’s drawn herself closer to take a proper look. The shimmer on the large rock is admirable.
At least someone’s trying to be civil. Sarcasm still drips from her words, but it’s the attempt that matters. You can’t fight fire with fire. Any more of that and the bar would be in flames. They’ll both be arrested for arson and you’d be in the cell with them as an accomplice.
Chaerin looks mildly surprised, but she studies the rock on her finger, too. “It is. And we’re quite a happy couple, thank you very much.”
“Really now.” Jennie smirks. “Can’t imagine anyone’s happy to be around you. Word goes around fast. They say you’re quite angry at Yang for dismissing you.”
“Excuse me—” you raise your voice, but the women ignore it. You’ve no place in the conversation.
Chaerin tilts her head. “Aren’t you a little young to speak to me like that?”
“Young enough to see when someone’s spent the last of their time in the spotlight.”
Chaerin’s explained they were mostly civil around each other. They attend one another’s concerts for posterity, but photos together are a no. They’re too similar yet too different. Chaerin’s old-school, preferring to stay at the height she worked to be at. She’s not greedy. Jennie, meanwhile, is too ambitious for her liking, head in the clouds and feet nowhere near the ground. To Jennie Kim, a billion won allowance from mommy dearest wasn’t enough to be big. She believes she needs to make the money on her own—collaborations, brand deals, solo tours… you name it. She thinks she has it all figured out. You snort, because if there’s anything you should know about rich parents, they can only provide a little lesson about financial independence with that amount of money.
Chaerin agreed. Always, they had a fall-back—a business for the offspring to take over, connections to get them into any type of job, and an inheritance of your dreams. For fuck’s sake, the girl drove a Porsche to the trainee dorm.
“The industry isn’t kind to pretty girls. Trust me, I’d know. You’ll get your time soon.” Chaerin lets her eyes pass over Jennie, from that tiny top to the even tinier skirt that shows each bit of those thighs.
You perk up. It’s Chaerin—Chaerin being nice. Who wouldn’t be happy with CL saying that?
Jennie’s different. She’s been told that a million times by guys trying to get in her pants. She isn’t easily flattered.
But to your surprise, a proud smile stretches on those glossed lips.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Chaerin blinks, disarmed only for a moment. She returns the sarcastic smile as she takes interest in the glass in your hand.
Jennie doesn’t let it go. She follows Chaerin’s gaze and her smile only grows wider. There’s nothing Jennie Kim loves more than the upper hand.
“The rumors were right about you being full of yourself.”
“Doesn’t stop you from thinking I’m pretty,” Jennie chirps.
“Beauty fades with time after all,” the older woman says, a challenge raised to the table. “One day you’ll wake up with wrinkles in your face and weight around your hips. Then you tell me what’s beneath all that designer clothes.”
This wasn’t the usual small talk Chaerin and Jennie made in business parties. They faked a fairly good rapport. While Jennie finishes up a speech to her seniors (Big Bang if they’re around) and juniors (Babymonster; they’ll be around because they haven’t realized this place fucking sucks), Chaerin will make an off-color joke about how Jennie’s speeches are as true to heart as her face. Jennie will choose not to read between the lines.
Jennie bites her lip, staining her teeth with Chanel red. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
You’re having a hard time deciding if you should stop them or let them handle this themselves. You will choose to ignore what you’ve read between the lines.
To your relief, Chaerin drops her shoulders from their haughty, upright position. Armor down. That’s odd; Chaerin’d rather die than lose control. You wonder what she’ll do next.
“You know, kid, I think we got off the wrong foot.” She lifts her shoulders. “I actually see a lot of myself in you.”
Jennie smiles. “In me,” she repeats, and something about the way she says it makes it sound more obscene than it really is.
“Yeah. It’s not often I meet someone who breaks the rules. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Someone who goes their own way and isn’t dedicated to being arm candy.”
“Being arm candy is a wageless job,” agrees Jennie. When Chaerin nods, she gestures to you. “I’m assuming that wasn’t a debate for you two?”
Encouraged by the eased atmosphere, you say, “Not at all.” Then: “I quite like being her arm candy.”
Jennie bursts out laughing. You take that as a good sign. Chaerin’s eyes melt into crescents. It’s all in good banter, good faith. A means to an end.
“I don’t like the idea of anybody running a tight ship on me,” Chaerin continues.
“Me neither. Maybe that’s why you don’t like me that much.”
Because okay, Jennie Kim might not like being arm candy, but she belongs right in someone’s lap. A pretty pet to be adored and pawed at but allowed to still stand up on her own.
Chaerin hums sympathetically. Her hand slithers down Jennie’s thigh. Jennie looks up at her with faint surprise in those coffee brown eyes.
“You’re right,” says Chaerin in a low voice. “I don’t like you at all. You’re selfish, out of touch, and dumb.”
The side of Jennie’s mouth quirks into a half-smile. “Why don’t we get straight to the point. You hate me because I remind you of what you could’ve been.”
“Why would I want to be a thieving little whore?”
“If I were in your shoes right now,” quips Jennie sweetly, “I’d pray I was.”
Chaerin’s hand seems to have gone higher up on her thigh. Jennie knows the consequences for this immediately. Her breath hitches in surprise when she leans in. It’s wrong, she knows it is—Lee Chaerin is her senior who wouldn’t flinch if a bullet went through her chest. But there’s also the fact that she called her pretty, and that Chaerin sees herself in her, that makes her consider it.
She needs to stop gaslighting herself. She knows what’s going to happen.
Jennie’s skin is warm under your wife’s fingertips. “Does your husband know you swing both ways?”
It’s a bit surprising to hear you mentioned when they’ve been talking and touching like you aren’t here. But Chaerin knows how you work. She knows the role you play here.
“He wants whatever I want. When you find out what he’s packing, you’ll be glad he doesn’t talk much. Does your sugar daddy know you’re opening your legs for me?”
“I’m not… I fucking hate you.” Jennie’s voice seems to reach new heights. Each word is laced with enunciated disgust. “Hate how you’re so goddamn miserable. Hate how you say shit about me to the press and play the victim when you get backlash. Hate you for acting like you wouldn’t do the same if you were me.”
Hate is a strong word. But it’s true nonetheless. There’s no other word in the English or Korean dictionary that would adequately describe the loathing they’ve got for each other.
“Well,” says Chaerin, “it’s a good thing I hate you too, kid.”
It’s the last thing she says before flicking a lock of Jennie’s brown hair away and slipping her tongue inside her mouth.
-
They don’t bother wasting time in the elevator. It’s wet and quick. Jennie whimpers when the kiss goes as fast as it comes, but then you realize why her nails are digging lines into the bar.
“Mmm, please—”
“Yeah?”
Jennie seems to be a pretty tough girl, taking Chaerin’s fervent thrusts while holding the conversation. But it takes a lot for her to be stable, rocking against the elevator mirror and hiding the bliss on her face with the sheen of her long, dark hair.
She can’t believe this is happening. She wonders if Chaerin’s planned this out and if she told you about it with how calmly you’re standing by. She has no chance against the two of you.
“Let me guess,’’ she says, giving you an arrogant look anyway, one that fades with each firm stroke into her pussy. “Your sex life is shit and you think you can solve it by letting your husband hatefuck another girl. Champagne problems. Save me.”
“Our sex life is shit?” Chaerin laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Please. My husband’s cock is more than enough for me. I just like to spice things up.”
Chaerin leans in, speaks right next to Jennie’s quivering bottom lip.
“And you seem to forget, pretty girl,” she murmurs, “I’m the one with my fingers in your cunt. So I’d watch my mouth if I were you.”
Jennie trembles. She leans into your chest even more, your hardening cock pressing against her ass. Chaerin can pay the witnesses off later and put a hit on the heads of whoever dares slander her name with the truth: the two of you are fucking Jennie Kim’s brains out in the classiest hotel in Seoul.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Chaerin says calmly, making a snarl sound like a lullaby. When Jennie still keeps her head down, Chaerin curls her fingers. The girl chokes out a pained sob. “I thought I told you to look at me.”
Jennie lifts her head, eyes connecting with your wife’s. God, this girl looks so good fucked out of her mind. The flushed milky skin, tousled hair, and teary eyes—yeah, maybe some good came out of that conversation. Each quiver of her body pushes her tight little ass against your erection.
“I may be a bitch but I’m not cruel.” Her gaze is firm, almost a glare, piercing right through Jennie. “I promise I don’t want to be. It’s a horrible stereotype. So I’m asking you now: Do you want me to leave you out to dry?”
Jennie’s soft panting is getting to you. For a woman so strongheaded, with a set of principles that definitely do not involve getting fingered by her mortal enemy, she seems to let her guard down for Chaerin so easily. Maybe it’s the deep voice. You can’t quite see the shifting movements what with the light, but the obscene sounds of her wetness tell you her answer with no words needed.
Jennie’s lips are still parted when she shakes her head.
“I thought so.” Chaerin’s smile is downright deadly. “You know, it’s getting awfully late. The night scene here is horrific, all wolves waiting to get a bite. Your manager would kill me if she knew I let you out there.”
“She’d also kill you if she knew you’re fucking me,” says Jennie with a smirk. It breaks when Chaerin mounts pressure on her swollen clit.
Chaerin’s voice is low and dark.“We’re just trying to look out for you, sweetheart.”
“How… thoughtful.”
“Of course. Would you like to go up to our suite for the night? It’s safer up there.” Chaerin smirks at your obvious hard-on. It pushes her to put on more of a show. “My husband will take good care of you. He’ll even give you a kiss good night if you’re a good girl.”
More than a kiss.
Jennie bites her lip. She almost draws blood. You see the thoughts work in spinning cogs inside her head. “God. Okay.”
“Then it’s settled. Look daddy in the eyes when you let go.”
Jennie’s just made for the part, isn’t she? She knows exactly what Chaerin means, knows exactly where to tilt her head. You almost cum with her just staring down those sharp kittenlike eyes.
She pouts when she climaxes, breaking the intimidating aura she carries with pathetic whimpers. It was ruined a long time ago. Her legs cross over Chaerin’s hand and keeps it trapped inside her.
Chaerin’s smile is of a woman satisfied. She offers you her fingers to lick up Jennie’s mess.
“See?” she says. “All in the past. Your turn, babe. I want you to fuck the brat out of her. Don’t even let her breathe.”
The elevator dings open as if Chaerin’s words is its cue. Shit. You forgot CCTVs existed. This is a scandal waiting to happen. Tomorrow, headlines will multiply and you three will be under fire again. You hope a few millions will keep the operator’s mouth shut.
And you can’t refuse once you realize how good Jennie tastes.
She fixes her skirt as she exits the elevator. Chaerin presses her card into the knob and once it opens, you wait no longer. You lift Jennie in your arms and slam her onto the mattress. Chaerin’s given you her permission. Jennie gives hers as well when she lifts her head up for a kiss. Her lips are soft, locking around yours as her whole body electrifies at your touch.
“I didn’t say you could kiss him,” scolds Chaerin, undoing her own dress.
Jennie laughs. By then, you’ve moved your mouth to her shoulder. “Are you possessive of me or him? Did you want to be the only one I’ve kissed tonight?”
“You flatter yourself.”
“Ha.” Jennie’s skin is tender. Your teeth sink into her shoulder and she whimpers. “Ohh god, oh—”
“Loud, aren’t we?” you ask. She’s so sensitive. Goosebumps flare even if you only run your fingers along her sides. When you take that skirt off, you find the tiniest pair of panties in existence. It hangs at either slope of her small hips.
Chaerin helps you remove them. One look between her thighs and you can see how soaked she is. Her swollen clit just begs for your attention. Jennie’s nothing against the two pairs of eyes glinting with lust at her naked form.
“Don’t act shy now.” Chaerin gives the bundle of nerves a few quick rubs, then a harsh slap that makes her cry out. Another for good measure, then a last one just to hear the helpless moan Jennie lets out. “Show me you’re the tough girl you say you are. Taking dick isn’t new to you anyway.”
“Bitch,” Jennie murmurs.
Chaerin takes that as a sign that the girl really, really needs to shut the fuck up. She takes the ruined pair of panties and shoves it in her mouth. The protest is muffled by the fabric.
“I’ve had enough of her. Fuck her till she can’t even make a sound.”
That you’ll do. You turn the pliant girl on her stomach. The dimples of her lower back greet you, right before her tight ass does. You slot your thumbs in them for leverage as your cock meets her overwhelming wetness.
Allow yourself a moment to feel Jennie’s pussy lips. You grind your tip between them, hitting her sensitive clit. Her needy moans echo in your eardrums. It's a few seconds of heaven.
When you enter her, you’ve locked the gate and thrown Peter’s key away.
You open her up, spreading her tight cunt and burying yourself inside her inch after inch. She only seems to grow tighter the further you get inside. She’s so needy, so desperate. Her sobs of gratification fill your ears like a mantra.
“S’big, you’re so thick inside me…” Jennie’s words are garbled with fabric. Her thighs are trembling, her face planted into the sheets.
“I don’t wanna hear any of that.” Chaerin tugs on her hair, the pain jolting into Jennie’s scalp. ”Take it like a good girl. Come on. You’re so wet, baby, if you could only see how good you look getting fucked from behind.”
Jennie mewls. Her pretty face screws up as you start really destroying her cunt. You were only following orders. The fast rhythm of your hips slapping against her core becomes familiar, as if you’ve always known how to do it. As if you’ve fucked her plenty of times before yet somehow need another feel of how tight she clenches.
Chaerin starts to touch herself, rubbing circles on her naked core as she watches Jennie get ruined. Her fingers grip the sheets for purchase. She can’t even breathe with the makeshift gag in her mouth, but that’s exactly how Chaerin likes it. Weak link. Even she didn’t whine and cry like this when you first had sex.
You watch your wife toy with her nipples and slip her fingers inside herself. The attention is gone from Jennie’s arching, toned back. Your eyes fix on the sight of Chaerin masturbating while your hips move like a machine into Jennie’s core. You go even faster.
“Aren’t you glad I beat a dead horse tonight?” Chaerin asks, breaths ragged and heavy. “Now you’ve got a fresh face to fuck. She’s never taken anything that big inside her.”
“Seems like it. She’s so fucking tight.”
“Really?” She pauses her rapid fingerfucking to slip her digits, slick with her own arousal, right under your cock and into Jennie’s slippery pussy. Jennie’s scream is deafening. “You’re right. You’ve got a grip on you, don’t you? Maybe you’re not as slutty as you come across.”
Jennie swears at her again. It’s unclear, but it definitely sounds something equally misogynistic, maybe even worse. This time, Chaerin’s unbothered, slipping her fingers out and back in her cunt.
You punish her for speaking out of line with thrusts that drive her face into the bed. Her mascara smudges the linen. Messy drool drips next to it. The only thing keeping her from collapsing down the edge of the bedframe is the strokes hoisting her up, pinning her to the mattress every time your tip meets her womb.
Jennie’s gasps start to sound more urgent. In the same way, she squeezes around you like you’re going to stop. She can’t take much more, but she doesn’t want you to quit. You’re filling her up to the brim so well. Each muscle inside her fights to keep you there.
Jennie’s pouting again when she cums. Tears spring from her eyes. Her walls convulse around you and keep your length soaked from base to tip. She’s clawing, screaming, and begging you to cum inside her.
You honest to god almost do. She’s already impossibly tight as is, but the squeeze of her slit becomes almost deadly when she orgasms. Luckily, you pull out just in time. A few spurts land on her back, painting her pale skin with even whiter cum. But you manage to swiftly enter your wife.
She gasps in surprise, moaning as you furiously stroke into her. Lower yourself to capture one of her large, bouncing tits in your mouth. Tease the sensitive nipple with your teeth.
The orgasms of both women coat your girth. You pant into Chaerin’s shoulder. Sweat rolls down your chest.
Jennie’s gasping for air, still unable to move. Chaerin makes the unwise but sympathetic decision to remove the panties from her mouth. Jennie’s pants are loud as she finds the breath she’s lost. Her head throbs.
“Y-You’re funny.” She rests her cheek on the bed. Her hair is a mess, and so is the rest of her body, red in the places you’ve groped and slapped her. “You claim to hate me so much yet you came watching me get fucked. By your husband, of all people, I might add.”
“Just when I was starting to have a neutral opinion on you.”
Jennie laughs. “Why don’t you just admit you’re in love with me? Would make it a whole lot easier on all of us.”
The ego of this girl, you swear. All raw confidence, an annoying staunch belief that everyone would move mountains for her. It’s even more annoying when you take note of the fact she has the face and power to back it up.
You don’t even need Chaerin to tell you what to do. You thrust inside your wife, a few preparatory strokes to prevent you from going soft, until you’re flaccid once more. You have to take advantage of the adrenaline while it’s still there.
You quickly reacquaint yourself with Jennie’s hole. She gasps in surprise. The needy little noise is something you memorize now. Her little whines start off soft, almost fragile. But as she realizes how sensitive she is, how the orgasm from before still hasn’t left her, she starts crying out.
“Daddy, w-wait, I’m so…” Jennie whines plaintively. She doesn’t need to tell you what she feels. Your palm maps and marks each place she’s most sensitive. No longer being a rookie idol hasn’t taught her how to keep herself afloat when the climaxes are still apeak. “Daddy—”
You don’t stop. You want to watch that irritatingly attractive smirk on her face disappear. You want to make her cum so hard she’ll forget how to sneer. You come harder. Harden your abs so more strength goes into your strokes.
Maybe you’d entertain the idea of Chaerin picking fights more if her enemies were as hot as Jennie. Your semen still glistens in thick ropes on her back, and she sports and fits it as one would a tattoo. No matter how hard she cries and tries to convince herself that she can’t take it anymore, she continues to receive your rapid strokes. Her lips still open to welcome you inside her messy pussy.
It’s sweet, sweet revenge.
Chaerin’s laugh is full of vindication. “I did say you were going to get the brat fucked out of you. Should’ve listened for once. It’ll do you good.”
And she’s right. Jennie remembers her honorifics. Hell, she even makes those fawn eyes, long lashes fluttering.
“Sunbae, please,” she sobs. She sounds and looks utterly broken, lying there with no fight as you fuck into her silken walls. “He’s stretching me out so much.”
Chaerin laughs. “Never gets old, huh?” She cards through Jennie’s hair, kissing the place beneath her ear and nibbling on that jawline. “Look at you taking it so well. Like this tight little pussy is made for him.”
Jennie can do nothing but whimper. She’s clawing at Chaerin for composure, for some stability but Chaerin isn’t really one to give all that. She gets Jennie’s hands off her and behind you, lending her wrists to you. Jennie falls over even more and you’re forced to yank her by the handcuff you’ve made with your fists around those fragile, fragile wrists.
You feel sadistic for liking how small she feels against you, how it feels so good to mark her up. Jennie is so easy to pull apart.
“Come on, princess,” and oh, she likes that, doesn’t she? She really, really likes that. “You can stop pretending, it’s okay. You think we don’t know already? You’re so fucking wet. Perfect little slut for daddy’s cock.”
Chaerin slaps her lightly across the face, directing her gaze back to her. Her thumb traces the seam of Jennie’s lips. Her grin is as wicked as it gets.
“You can be a good girl after all,” she says. “Always believed you could. You just need a little direction.”
Jennie has no idea whether to take her words as an insult or a compliment. Every interaction with Chaerin, from polite greetings to getting fucked past every limit, is a puzzle she can’t put together. She can’t do it any better now. Her mind is foggy. Her eyes are blank and glassy. Her lips are parted yet no words come out.
“Wouldn’t even fight it, would you? I can tie you up here, breed this fuckin’ pussy, and leave you for some lucky guy to deal with. And you’d just lie there and take it.”
She keeps proving you right. Jennie is liquid matter in your arms. Her wetness makes the claps of your flesh sound more obscene. She wails when the familiar tremors start to rock her aching muscles.
“Aw, sweetheart, she’s cumming again. She’s shaking all over.”
Indeed she is. The sensitivity from her previous orgasms combine with this new one. Jennie hangs her head and lets the tears drop onto the blanket. She can’t stop the pleasure that rushes in hot streaks through her body. She gives into the climax with no difficulty this time.
You’re a merciful guy. Probably not totally merciful, but compared to Chaerin, you definitely are. You pull out to allow Jennie a breather. She collapses on her back. Once your cock slips out from her center, her squirt gushes forth. It sprays everywhere. It goes off like a fire hose. It wets your stomach and the rug on the floor. You should’ve remembered to place a towel underneath you, but you didn’t think Jennie would cum this much.
She didn’t expect it either. Her heart beats faster than ever. She mumbles out incoherent sentences, oversensitive to the point of weakness. “Fuck, it’s so… I can’t, I’m cumming so hard, I really—”
“Shhh. You’re alright.” At first, Chaerin kisses her wet cheek, licking one salty tear away. The lewdness of the act mixes with the fake consolation. “Can you give me one more? Just one more. Need to get that lesson in your head.”
Jennie whimpers, crying out for god or perhaps she’s mixing it with your wife’s name. It isn’t that distinct. And either way, she needs a little mercy. Chaerin’s cupping her cunt, rolling her clit between her fingers.
She tiredly grinds against the consistent roughness of Chaerin’s hand. The friction of it seems to be something that could start fires. The heat burns through her body yet she seeks more of that pleasurable pain.
“Holy shit, you’re insatiable,” murmurs Chaerin. She rubs a little faster. It’s fascinating to see how weak Jennie gets, how far she’s willing to go for a mindnumbing climax. Each boundary of her was tested and crossed tonight.
Her final orgasm is quick. An end credits scene, a weary conclusion. Jennie‘s squeals grow thin as she gives Chaerin what she wants. Girl cum dribbles out of her used pussy.
“Stop, no more…” Jennie doesn’t realize it already has, that it’s her own fingers frantically abusing her clit. It’s almost as if she’d been hypnotized. She’s completely spellbound by lust. You grab her wrist for her.
Jennie struggles to stay afloat. The fatigue is getting to her. Every single breath is something she’s been deprived of and only now can take. “That was…”
“Intense?” you complete the sentence. No shit. “Rough?”
“Good payback?” Chaerin offers with a playful smirk.
Jennie rolls her eyes. That would get her in trouble if she did it in front of a camera or to a journalist. It’s blatant disrespect.
Here in this suite, it’s only a sign of surrender to the rivalry. She gave into a few drinks and a good fuck. She let Chaerin’s low voice fool her like it does to her fans. That’s on her for losing track of her goal.
But she isn’t admitting defeat. She still got something out of it. “Don’t get arrogant. I’m gonna get you next time for sure.”
“Maybe you will.”
Off Limits 🔥
Charles Leclerc x Fem OC
Summary: Max treats his younger sister like a baby and she finds herself in a Monaco lounge looking for trouble with his rival...to get some payback.
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, blowjob, female oral, overstimulation, dirty praise/dirty talk, protected sex, multiple positions, slight age gap.
Word Count: 6, 215
-------------------------
Kaia wasn't stupid.
Getting involved with Charles Leclerc in any capacity was basically walking into a fire and hoping you wouldn't get burned. Especially when her last name was Verstappen.
Actually, scratch that. Especially when her brother was Max Verstappen.
Max, who had spent her entire life treating her like she was permanently sixteen. Max, who could fight world champions on track without blinking but somehow lost his mind if a guy even looked at his little sister too long.
And tonight? Tonight she was irritated enough to weaponize it.
The whole thing started at dinner.
Well, not really dinner. More like Max and his friends taking over the giant terrace at one of the restaurants in Monaco while Kaia sat there feeling invisible...again.
"You're not coming tonight."
Max didn't even look up from his phone when he said it.
Kaia blinked slowly. "Excuse me?"
"Me and the guys are going out after this," he replied casually. "It's not your scene."
Not your scene.
She almost laughed.
She was twenty four years old. Lived in Monaco half the year. Worked in fashion. Had friends older than Max. But somehow in his head she was still the kid following him around karting paddocks with scraped knees.
"You mean I'm not welcome."
Max finally looked at her then. "Don't start."
"Oh, I'm starting."
Lando snorted into his drink immediately.
Danny looked like he wanted to disappear.
"You complain I never go out," Kaia continued, "then when I actually want to, suddenly I'm too young? Too immature? Which one is it?"
"It's not about that."
"Then what's it about?"
Max leaned back in his chair, jaw tightening slightly. "I don't want random guys around you."
"There it is."
"Kaia."
"No seriously, thank you for clarifying. I almost forgot I belong to you."
That got quiet.
Even Max's friends stopped talking.
Max rubbed a hand down his face already looking annoyed. "You know that's not what I meant."
"No," she said, standing from the table, "I actually don't."
Then she left...simple as that.
No dramatic exit, no tears. Just enough anger buzzing under her skin to make her grab her purse and walk straight through Monaco with absolutely no plan. At least...not initially.
But the more she walked, the more one specific idea started forming.
Dangerous. Petty. Reckless.
Because if Max wanted to act possessive and controlling?
Fine. She knew exactly who would drive him insane.
The lounge was tucked away near the harbor. Low lighting. Expensive whiskey. Quiet enough that celebrities and drivers could hide there without being bothered too much.
Kaia had never actually been inside before. But she knew Charles liked it during the off season.
Everyone knew...
And apparently she'd been lucky tonight, because she spotted him almost immediately.
He sat in the back corner booth with two friends she vaguely recognized, sleeves rolled up, dark button up partially undone at the collar. He was laughing at something one of them said.
God...she understood the hype unfortunately.
Charles had this thing about him in person that cameras never fully captured. The eye contact. The confidence. The way he looked at people like he already knew exactly what they were thinking. Those damn green eyes.
Kaia hesitated for exactly three seconds, then she walked over.
One of his friends noticed her first and nudged Charles. His head turned casually...and then he froze.
Recognition flickered instantly across his face...of course he knew who she was.
Max's sister showing up alone at his favorite lounge in Monaco at midnight wasn't exactly subtle.
Charles slowly leaned back against the booth, eyes moving over her once before returning to her face.
Interested already...dangerous already.
"Well," he said, "this feels illegal."
His friends immediately started grinning.
Kaia crossed her arms. "You always greet women like that?"
"Only when their last name is Verstappen."
That made her laugh and his eyes lingered on her lips for half a second too long afterward.
Yeah...this was already a terrible idea.
"I'm looking for a drink," she said. "Thought Monaco's favorite Ferrari driver might know where to find one."
Charles tilted his head slowly. "Favorite?"
"You heard me."
"I should record this before you change your mind."
His friends laughed again, but Charles barely looked at them anymore. His attention had locked onto her completely now.
It was intense...like once he decided something interested him, everything else disappeared.
One of his friends stood up immediately. "Actually, we were just leaving to the bar."
Charles didn't even look away from Kaia. "Cowards."
"Enjoy your funeral mate," the guy muttered.
Then suddenly Kaia was alone with him.
Charles gestured toward the empty seat across from him. "Sit."
A server appeared almost instantly, and Charles ordered her a drink before she could answer herself.
"Bold," she commented.
"You would've ordered the same thing."
"And if I didn't?"
His mouth twitched slightly. "Then I'd pretend I knew better."
Cocky...unfortunately attractive.
Kaia leaned back in the booth. "You know my brother would hate this."
"Oh, I know."
There was absolutely zero hesitation in his voice. Actually, if anything, he sounded entertained by it.
Kaia stared at him. "You enjoy being a problem."
"For Max?" Charles smiled slowly. "Always."
God. There it was...the rivalry thing. The tension between them had existed for years publicly, but sitting here now, Kaia realized something else too.
Charles liked pushing boundaries...especially this one.
"You know," she said casually, "he thinks you're a bad influence."
Charles laughed. "That's rich coming from him."
"He said you flirt with too many women."
Charles leaned forward slightly then, forearms resting against the table. "Am I flirting with you?"
The question hit harder than it should've. Because he wasn't smiling now...and suddenly the whole conversation shifted.
Kaia's breathing got shaky. "Maybe."
"Maybe," he repeated.
His accent made everything sound worse...or better...definitely worse.
She should leave. Instead she crossed one leg over the other slowly. "You seem very confident tonight."
"I'm sitting with Max's little sister in a hidden lounge after midnight." His eyes stayed on hers. "Confidence is all I have right now."
She giggled. "You're scared of him."
"No." Charles smiled. "But I think watching him lose his mind could be very entertaining."
Kaia shook her head. "You're evil."
"Mhm."
The server returned with drinks, giving them a brief interruption. But even while thanking him, Charles kept glancing back toward Kaia like his attention physically couldn't stay away long.
And honestly?
That was affecting her more than she wanted. Because she'd expected flirting. Maybe some tension. She hadn't expected this kind of focus.
Charles made people feel watched in the most dangerous way possible.
"You know what's funny?" Kaia said after taking a sip.
"What?"
"You're calmer than I expected."
He raised a brow. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Ego. Cockiness. Prince behavior."
Charles smirked slightly. "I can still do that if you want."
"Oh, I'm sure you can."
His eyes darkened at that, very subtly...but enough.
Kaia noticed immediately and apparently so did he. Because suddenly he leaned back against the booth again, exhaling once through his nose like he was trying to regain control of something.
"You're enjoying this too much," she accused.
"Probably."
"The forbidden aspect?"
Charles looked at her for a long second before answering. "Yeah."
Honest, no pretending otherwise. It sent heat crawling up her neck annoyingly fast.
He noticed that too...of course he did.
Charles' gaze flickered over her face carefully before lowering toward the strap of her dress slipping slightly down her shoulder, then back to her eyes.
"You came here to get revenge on your brother," he said.
Kaia tilted her head. "And?"
"And I'm trying to figure out if you know what kind of game you're starting."
The words should've sounded arrogant. Instead they sounded almost like a warning. But there was something else underneath it too...something restrained.
Like Charles was already fighting himself a little.
Kaia leaned forward slightly across the table. Close enough now that she caught the faint smell of his cologne.
"You gonna stop me?" she asked.
His jaw flexed immediately...there. That tiny crack in composure she'd been looking for.
Charles held her gaze for a few dangerously silent seconds before finally speaking. "No," he said.
Then his eyes dropped briefly to her lips. "And that's the problem."
✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿
Kaia knew she should leave the second Charles looked at her lips like that...not because she was scared. Honestly, the exact opposite.
It was the way his whole expression shifted for half a second. Like his control slipped just enough to expose something underneath it. Something possessive. Interested in ways that definitely crossed the line between flirting and dangerous.
And somehow that thrilled her...which was exactly why she stood abruptly from the booth.
"Okay," she said casually, grabbing her purse. "I think I've done enough damage for one night."
Charles paused, caught off guard by how suddenly she moved. "You're leaving?"
"You sound disappointed."
"I am disappointed."
The honesty in his voice almost made her stay...almost.
Instead she smiled sweetly. "Try not to miss me too much, Leclerc."
Then she walked away before he could answer.
Kaia could practically feel his eyes following her through the lounge...good, that was the point.
She made it halfway toward the bar before letting herself look back over her shoulder. Yep...still staring.
Charles sat there with one arm stretched across the booth, whiskey glass in hand, watching her with this unreadable look that made heat crawl under her skin all over again.
He looked annoyed...interested. Maybe a little offended she'd walked away first.
Perfect...Kaia turned away before she smiled too obviously.
Charles hated this game already. Not because he wanted out of it, because he wanted in too badly.
He stared down at the whiskey in his glass for a second after she disappeared into the crowd.
Max Verstappen's little sister...of all people. And somehow she'd walked into his night like a lit match tossed onto gasoline.
"She's bold," one of his friends said as they slid back into the booth a few minutes later.
Charles barely heard him. His eyes were already scanning the room again...looking for her.
He found her near the main bar almost immediately. Black dress, hair over one shoulder. Laughing at something the bartender said.
Fuck.
"She came here just to mess with you," another friend added.
Charles finally looked at them. "I know."
"So why do you look ready to commit a felony?"
That earned a few laughs.
Charles ignored them.
Because the problem was...they were right.
Kaia had absolutely come here to provoke him. To provoke Max, probably both.
But somewhere between her sitting across from him and looking at him with that smug little smile, Charles stopped caring why she came.
Now he just wanted her attention back...which was ridiculous. He barely knew her. Still, every few minutes his gaze drifted across the room automatically searching for her.
And every time she noticed, that was the worst part. She'd catch him looking and give him this innocent expression that was complete bullshit. Like she didn't know exactly what she was doing to him.
By midnight the lounge had gotten louder...more crowded. More people Charles knew kept stopping by the booth. The usual off-season crowd.
Normally he thrived in this environment, tonight he barely paid attention. Because Kaia had moved from the bar to one of the side lounges and now she was talking to some older guy.
Charles' jaw tightened instantly.
The guy had to be at least mid forties. Expensive watch. Open collar shirt. The kind of Monaco asshole who thought money made him charming.
Kaia sat angled toward him, slowly twirling a strand of hair around her finger while she laughed at something he said.
Charles went still.
One of his friends noticed immediately. "Oh no."
Charles didn't respond, because the guy touched her knee.
Lightly...possessively...and something ugly flared in Charles' chest so fast it almost shocked him.
She's mine.
The word hit him before he could stop it.
Charles knocked back the rest of his whiskey in one swallow.
"You don't even know her," Joris muttered from beside him.
Charles stood anyway.
"That's never stopped you before," someone called after him.
He ignored that too. Because all he could see now was Kaia leaning closer toward that guy again.
Smiling...letting him think he had a chance.
Charles crossed the lounge before logic could catch up with him.
Kaia noticed him approaching immediately. Her eyes flickered upward first, then slowly traveled down his body before returning to his face...like she was amused already.
The older guy glanced over too. "Everything alright?"
"No," Charles said flatly.
Then he grabbed Kaia's wrist gently but firmly and pulled her up from the couch.
"We're leaving."
The guy frowned instantly. "Excuse me?"
Kaia yanked her hand back immediately. "What the hell are you doing?"
Charles ignored the other man completely...big mistake apparently.
"Buddy," the guy scoffed, "she's clearly sitting here with me."
Charles finally looked at him then. "And now she's not."
The tension snapped instantly.
Kaia stared at Charles like she couldn't decide whether to slap him or kiss him...probably both.
"Wow," she said slowly. "You are actually insane."
"You shouldn't be talking to men like that."
Her eyebrows shot upward. "Men like what?"
Charles look toward the older guy dismissively. "Slimy. Nearly twice your age. Looking at you like-"
"Oh my god." Kaia laughed in disbelief. "You dragged me away because you were jealous?"
"I wasn't jealous."
"You looked ready to kill him."
"He touched you."
"And?"
Charles stepped closer then...too close. "And I didn't like it."
Kaia folded her arms defensively even though her pulse had started betraying her already.
"You don't own me, Leclerc."
His eyes darkened immediately...dangerously. "No," he agreed. "But you keep acting like you want me to."
That sent heat straight through her body.
Damn him.
Kaia tilted her chin stubbornly. "Maybe I just enjoy annoying you."
"Oh, you enjoy it?" Charles let out a sharp laugh. "Trust me, princess, I noticed."
There it was again...that tone. Smooth but barely restrained.
It made her stomach flip in the worst way.
Kaia stepped even closer intentionally. "What are you gonna do about it?"
Charles' jaw flexed hard. "You're testing me."
"Maybe."
"You're a brat."
Her lips curved immediately. "You gonna punish me?"
Charles went completely still.
Shit.
That one landed harder than she expected.
His eyes widened slightly before narrowing again, and suddenly the entire vibe changed.
Not playful anymore, not harmless.
Kaia felt it instantly.
Charles looked at her like he was hanging onto restraint by a thread now. And somehow that made adrenaline rush through her body even faster.
"You need to stop talking," Charles said quietly.
"Or what?"
His eyes dropped to her lips again, then back to her eyes.
"Or I'm going to forget how to behave."
The way he said it made her knees feel weak for a second.
Kaia hated that...but loved it too.
"You're acting very possessive for someone who met me a few hours ago."
Charles leaned down slightly then, voice lower now.
"You walked into my favorite lounge wearing that dress looking for trouble. And now you're surprised I want to keep you away from other men?"
Kaia barely had the nerve to speak. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're coming with me."
Not a question, a statement.
The confidence of it should've irritated her. Instead it sent another dangerous wave of heat through her.
Kaia crossed her arms again mostly to hide the effect he was having on her. "And why exactly would I do that?"
Charles stepped close enough now that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. Then he leaned beside her ear. And when he spoke, his voice turned devastatingly sensual.
"Because if you leave with me," he whispered, "I'll make it so you forget every stupid reason you came here tonight."
Kaia's breath caught, but Charles continued anyway.
"So gone for me..." he whispered, "that the only thing you'll remember by the end of the night is my name."
Jesus. Every ounce of attitude she'd been clinging to nearly evaporated on the spot.
Charles pulled back just enough to look at her again...waiting...and Kaia hated how badly she wanted exactly what he was offering.
✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿
"Get on your knees."
Charles's voice was low, as the door to his apartment closed.
Kaia, her back pressed against the wall, looked up at him. Her lips, still swollen from the bite of her own teeth, parted. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. The bold, teasing girl from the lounge was gone, replaced by a version of her pinned by a want so heavy it felt like gravity.
"Why?" she said, the word a challenge that lacked its earlier fire.
He didn't answer with words. His hands came up, fingers rough against her jaw, tilting her face up. His thumbs traced the line of her cheekbones. "Because you've been asking for it since we walked through my front door. Since you showed up at a lounge you knew I'd be at." His grip tightened, just shy of painful. Possessive. "You wanted my attention? You've got it. All of it. Now, get on your fucking knees."
A shiver ran through her that ended in a clench low in her belly. She slid down the door, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs, until her knees hit the hardwood floor. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, pupils blown. He was a silhouette against the window, all broad shoulders and beauty.
He unbuttoned his pants. He didn't push them down, just freed himself. Kaia's gaze dropped. Her breath caught in her throat. Fuck. He was big, already fully hard and curving up towards his stomach. Veins stood out along the length of his cock. It was a lot. More than she was used to. The sight of him sent a fresh, hot rush between her legs. God she wanted this bad.
"Are you gonna be good for me? Do you want this, Kaia?"
"Yes, I want this...please."
"Good...now open that pretty mouth for me," he said.
She did, her tongue resting against her bottom lip. He didn't guide himself with his hand. He just stepped forward, the head of his cock pressing against her lips. He watched her, his own breathing controlled, his eyes dark and focused entirely on her face.
"Wider."
She obeyed, opening until her jaw ached. He pushed forward. The first few inches filled her mouth, stretching her lips wide. The taste of him exploded on her tongue. He let out a low groan, his head tipping back for a second before his eyes snapped back to her.
"That's it. Take it. Fuck, your mouth..." He pushed deeper, until she felt him hit the back of her throat. Her eyes watered. A choked sound escaped her nose. He held there for a moment, letting her feel the full, impossible stretch, the weight of him on her tongue, the way her throat convulsed around the tip.
Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, a string of spit connecting her lip to the head. He shoved back in, a little faster this time. "Use your tongue," he grunted. "Don't just sit there."
She swirled her tongue around the underside, tracing the vein. The feeling made him curse, a sharp, filthy word. He began to fuck her mouth in shallow thrusts that kept him buried deep. His hands tangled in her hair, not guiding, just holding her in place, his fingers tight against her scalp. The sounds were obscene...his ragged breathing, her desperate gags that she tried to swallow down.
"Look at me," he demanded.
Her eyes, blurred with tears, found his. He was watching her with an intensity that burned. He loved this. He loved seeing her like this, on her knees, taking him, struggling with the size of him. It was written all over his face...the sheer, arrogant pleasure of it.
"You look so pretty like this. Such a fucking good girl for me, taking my cock in your pretty little mouth." His thrusts slowed, became more deliberate, grinding against her tongue. "You like that? You like being mine?"
She couldn't speak, couldn't nod. But a moan vibrated around him, deep in her throat. Her hands, which had been limp at her sides, came up to grip his thighs, her nails digging into the fabric of his pants.
He fucked her mouth for what felt like an eternity, his pace varying, sometimes fast and brutal, sometimes slow and deep, making her taste every inch of him. Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, her jaw screaming, her throat raw, he pulled out with a wet pop.
A strand of spit and fluid hung from her chin. She gasped, dragging air into her lungs, her chest heaving. Charles looked down at her, his expression smirking with approval. He used his thumb to wipe the mess from her chin, then pushed that same thumb into her mouth. She sucked it clean instinctively.
"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice rough. "Now get up. I want to taste you."
He pulled her to her feet, his hands rough on her arms. He walked her backwards, not towards the bedroom, but to the large leather sofa in the middle of his living room. He pushed her down onto it, her back hitting the cool leather. Before she could adjust, he was on his knees between her legs, pushing her dress up around her waist. He didn't bother with her underwear; he just hooked his fingers in the sides of her lace panties and tore them.
Kaia cried out, more in shock than protest. The cool air hit her exposed skin, making her flinch. Then his hands were on her inner thighs, pushing them apart, wide open. He stared at her, his gaze hungry, devouring.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Look at you. Soaked for me already." He didn't touch her with his fingers. He just leaned in, his breath hot against her. "I'm going to eat this pussy until you scream. You understand? You're going to cum on my tongue, and you're going to fucking love it."
He didn't wait for an answer. He pressed his mouth to her, and Kaia's back arched off the sofa, a broken moan tearing from her throat.
His tongue was flat and wicked, licking from her opening all the way up to her clit. He groaned against her, the vibration shooting through her. "So fucking sweet," he muttered, his words muffled. "Taste like you've been waiting for me."
He set to work with a focused, relentless hunger. He didn't just lick. He ate. He used his lips to suck her outer lips into his mouth, nipping gently with his teeth, making her jolt. He spread her wider with his thumbs, exposing her completely to his gaze and his tongue. He circled her clit with the very tip, fast, tight circles that had her hips bucking off the couch.
"Keep your legs open," he demanded, when she tried to squeeze her thighs together from the overwhelming sensation. He pinned her hips down with his hands. "Let me fucking see you. Let me taste all of you."
Charles dove back in, his tongue delving inside her, fucking her with it, shallow and quick. The feeling was incredible, so different from anything she'd felt before. It was invasive, intimate, filthy in the best way. He alternated between that deep, penetrating licks and flicking his tongue rapidly over her clit. He'd suck it into his mouth, applying a steady, pulsing pressure that made her see stars, then release it to lap at the juices flowing from her.
"You like that?" he asked, pulling back just enough to speak. His chin was glistening. "You like how my tongue feels inside you? Making you this fucking wet?"
"Yes," Kaia gasped, her hands gripping the leather cushions. "God, yes, Charles."
"Say it again."
"I like it. I love it! Please..."
"Please what? Tell me what you want."
"Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Charles grinned wildly. "Wasn't planning on it."
He went back to her clit, focusing all his attention there. He licked it like it was the only thing that mattered. He'd pause to blow a cool stream of air over the hypersensitive nub, making her shake, before sealing his mouth over it again and sucking hard.
Kaia was losing her mind. The pleasure was a coil tightening in her belly, relentless and hot. Her muscles were taut, her toes curling. She was making sounds she didn't recognize...high, keening whines, desperate moans. She'd never cum from this before. Guys tried, but they never had his...confidence. His skill. He acted like he owned her pleasure, like it was his right to wring it out of her.
"That's it," he coaxed. "You're getting close. I can feel you trembling. Come on, baby. Cum on my tongue. Be a good girl and cum for me."
His words, the filthy praise, pushed her higher. Her hips started to move of their own, grinding against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction. He let her, holding her hold while she used his mouth.
"You're so fucking beautiful like this," he said. "So desperate. All mine."
The possessiveness in his voice took the last of her control. Kaia's orgasm ripped through her, violent and sudden. Her back bowed off the sofa while she was moaning loudly. Waves of intense, pulsing pleasure radiated out from her core, making her legs shake. He didn't let up, his tongue working her through it, prolonging the spasms until they were almost unbearable, until she was screaming his name, pushing weakly at his head.
Finally, he lifted his head. His mouth and chin were slick and shining. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips, never breaking eye contact. Kaia lay spent, panting, her body humming with aftershocks. She felt utterly exposed, completely used, and more turned on than she'd ever been in her life.
Charles stood up, his own breathing harsh. He stripped off his shirt, revealing a lean, muscular torso. He undid his pants and let them fall, kicking them aside. He was fully hard again, maybe even harder than before, jutting out aggressively.
"One down," he said. He climbed onto the sofa, kneeling over her. He grabbed her hips and flipped her over onto her stomach with one rough movement. Before she could process it, he pulled her up onto her knees, her ass in the air, her face pressed into the leather. He dragged her hips back towards him, positioning himself at her entrance.
He paused then, his hands tightening slightly on her waist. "You with me? You still want this?" he asked.
"Yes," she breathed. "I want you."
He reached for a condom. With a quick motion, he tore it open and rolled the condom on, his breathing heavy but controlled. Once settled, he hooked his fingers back into her hips, positioning himself at her core and pulling her flush against him.
"Two to go," he groaned.
He pushed inside her in one deep thrust.
Kaia screamed, the sound muffled by the couch. The stretch was immediate, intense, overwhelming. He was so much thicker than his tongue, filling her in a way that stole her breath. He bottomed out, his hips flush against her ass, and held there, letting her feel every inch of him buried deep inside her.
"You're so deep, ohhhh!"
"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Fuck, you're tight. So fucking tight around me." He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, then slammed back in.
Charles set an intense pace from the start. No gentle build up. He fucked her hard and fast, each thrust driving the air from her lungs. The angle was deep, his cock hitting spots inside her that made her see rainbows behind her eyelids. Her breasts swung with the force of his movements, her nipples scraping against the rough leather of the sofa.
"Charles, oh my god!!"
"You take my cock so fucking well," he panted, his voice strained. "Look at you. Taking every inch. Your ass bouncing for me. Such a good fucking girl."
His words were gasoline on the fire still smoldering in her belly. The praise, mixed with the rough fucking, was a potent drug. Kaia pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, wanting more, wanting him deeper.
"Yeah," he encouraged, his hands moving from her hips to grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. "Fuck back on it. Show me how much you want it."
He changed his angle slightly, driving up into her, and the new pressure on her g-spot made her cry out. "There! Right there, fuck, Charles, please!"
"You like that? You like how I fuck you?" He punctuated each word with a hard, deep thrust. "Tell me."
"I love it! I love how you fuck me! Don't stop!"
He released her hair, his hands going back to her hips, his grip vice like. He bent over her, his chest pressed against her back, his mouth near her ear. His thrusts became shorter, harder, grinding into her. "Who do you belong to, tonight?" he demanded, his breath hot on her neck.
"You!" she moaned, the answer coming without thought.
"Say it again."
"'m yours, Charles!"
He bit her shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to mark her. "That's right. Mine."
He straightened up and his rhythm changed again. He pulled her upright, his arm wrapping around her torso, holding her back against his chest. Her legs were still spread wide, knees on the couch, her back arched. He fucked up into her from this new angle, and the sensation was dizzying. She could feel him everywhere, his arm around her ribs, his cock pounding inside her, his other hand snaking down between her legs.
His fingers found her clit, already swollen and sensitive from her first orgasm. He rubbed it in hard, fast circles, in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations were too much. Pleasure built inside her like a storm, faster and more intense than the first time.
"I feel you," he grunted in her ear. "I feel you getting ready to let go again. Do it. Cum on my cock. Let me feel you squeeze me."
His dirty talk, the relentless stimulation, the sheer dominance of his hold on her...it broke her again. The second orgasm consumed her, even more powerful than the first. It felt like her entire body was clenching around him, milking his cock in rapid pulses. A guttural scream ripped from her throat, her head falling back against his shoulder. Her vision swam, the room blurring into streaks of light and shadow. He kept fucking her through it, his thrusts becoming ragged, his own control fraying.
When her spasms finally subsided, she went limp in his arms, utterly spent. He gently lowered her back onto her stomach on the couch, but he didn't pull out. He stayed buried inside her, his weight heavy on her back, both of them slick with sweat.
He nuzzled her neck, his breathing slowly calming. "Two," he whispered.
After a few minutes, he shifted, pulling out of her slowly. She whimpered at the sudden emptiness, the oversensitive ache. He turned her onto her back. Her body felt like liquid, completely pliant. He looked down at her, his expression softening for just a moment with something like awe before the hungry possessiveness returned.
He kissed her, deep and slow, letting her taste herself on his tongue. "One more," he said against her lips. "I'm not done with you."
He lifted her legs, pushing them back towards her chest, folding her almost in half. The position was intense, exposing her completely, putting immense pressure on her hips and lower back. He guided himself back to her pussy.
"Look at me," Charles said.
Kaia's eyes, heavy lidded and glazed, focused on his face. He pushed inside, a slow, burning stretch that made her gasp. He filled her again, this angle even deeper, more invasive...more intimate.
"Keep your eyes on me," he breathed, his own gaze locked on hers. He watched every flicker of sensation on her face...the way her lips parted, the flutter of her eyelids, the bite of her teeth into her bottom lip. He loved it. She could see he was getting off on her reactions as much as the physical act of fucking her.
"You're so fucking beautiful when you're full of me," he said. "I love watching you take it. I love the sounds you make. I love knowing I'm the only one who gets to see you like this tonight."
He fucked her with a steady pace, his hips pistoning, the base of his cock rubbing against her clit with every inward stroke. The stimulation, though she was oversensitive, began to build a third, impossible coil of heat low in her belly. It was a different kind of pleasure, deeper, more resonant, mixed with the sweet, achy fullness.
"You feel so good," he whimpered, his composure starting to crack. "So fucking good."
He leaned down, bracing his hands on the couch on either side of her head, his body covering hers. His thrusts became harder, faster, losing their rhythm. He was chasing his own end now, his eyes burning into hers.
"Cum with me," he said. "I know you can do it one more time. Be my good girl and cum on my cock, Kaia."
Kaia's third orgasm wasn't an explosion like the others. It was a deep, rolling wave that started in her core and spread outwards, a warm, pulsating release that made her whole body convulse in slow, sweet shakes. A long moan slipped from her lips, her eyes squeezing shut for a second before forcing them open to look at him, as he'd asked.
Seeing her fall apart beneath him was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he drove into her one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and held there. His body stiffened, muscles corded, his face full of intense pleasure. He collapsed on top of her, his weight crushing but welcome, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
For a long time, the only sounds were their ragged breathing. Sweat cooled on their skin. Charles finally rolled off her, pulling her with him so she was half sprawled across his chest. His heart hammered against her ear.
"Fuck," he said, the word a satisfied exhale.
Kaia couldn't speak. She just nodded weakly against him, her body humming, utterly ruined in the best possible way.
After a few more minutes of quiet, he shifted. He looked down at her, his fingers tilting her chin up until she looked up at him properly. He looked softer now.
"You're staying."
It wasn't a question.
Kaia smiled lazily against his chest. "Bossy."
Charles smirked. "And yet..."
She wanted to argue with him, but honestly she was too comfortable to bother. Too completely melted into his bed after everything that had happened over the last hour.
The room smelled faintly like his cologne, expensive sheets and the lingering aftermath of bad decisions...or great decisions.
Definitely great decisions.
Charles shifted again, grabbing a shirt from the chair before disappearing briefly into the bathroom. When he came back, he sat next to her carefully and started cleaning the smeared mascara under her eyes with a damp towel.
The sweetness of it almost caught her off guard more than everything else had.
"You don't exactly match the reputation," she whispered.
Charles looked up. "What reputation?"
"You know." She smiled sleepily. "Monaco playboy. Ferrari heartbreaker. Ego the size of Italy."
He smirked. "The ego part is true, it matches my..."
Kaia laughed...she felt boneless.
Charles noticed immediately too. His mouth twitched as he brushed the cloth gently along her inner thighs.
"You look drunk."
"I kind of am."
"You barely had two drinks."
She pointed weakly at him. "No...drunk off you."
"Oh yeah?"
He looked ridiculously pleased with himself about it too.
Kaia groaned, dropping back dramatically against the pillows. "I can't feel my legs."
Charles smirked, then laughed proudly.
The sound made her stomach flip. "You're dramatic."
"You're evil."
"Mhm."
Before she could answer again, her phone suddenly started buzzing loudly somewhere in the blankets.
Kaia frowned immediately. "Who the hell..."
Charles reached over first, grabbing the phone from next to the pillow.
Then he froze. A grin spread slowly across his face. "Oh, this is beautiful. Simply lovely..."
Kaia immediately sat up slightly. "What?"
Charles turned the screen toward her.
"Oh my god."
She lunged for it instantly, but Charles held the phone out of reach easily, laughing under his breath.
"No way."
"Charles!"
"This is the best moment of my life."
"Give me my phone!"
But he was already answering.
Kaia buried her face in her hands immediately.
"Hello?" Charles said way too calmly.
There was exactly half a second of silence. Then, "LECLERC?!"
Kaia burst out laughing instantly.
Charles nearly dropped the phone laughing too.
Max sounded absolutely homicidal. "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ANSWERING MY SISTER'S PHONE AT 3AM?"
Charles leaned back against the headboard comfortably, pulling Kaia against his side while she tried to stop giggling.
"Relax, mate," Charles said casually. "She's fine."
"PUT HER ON THE PHONE."
Kaia shook her head violently into Charles' shoulder, laughing harder.
Charles looked down at her with pure amusement. "She says no."
"I SWEAR TO GOD-"
The yelling got even louder.
Charles finally lost composure completely, laughing into the phone while Kaia practically curled into his chest trying not to die from secondhand embarrassment.
"You should hear yourself right now," Charles managed.
"LECLERC!"
"Goodnight, Max."
Then he hung up.
Kaia stared at him in disbelief for two seconds before hysterical laughing again.
"You are actually insane."
Charles tossed the phone onto the nightstand carelessly before pulling her fully into his arms.
"But admit it," he said. "That was funny."
She was still laughing too hard to answer properly. Eventually she relaxed against him again, cheeks hurting from smiling.
Charles pressed a kiss against the side of her head.
The contrast nearly killed her...hours ago he'd looked ready to ruin her. Now he was holding her like something soft.
"You were so good for me tonight," he whispered quietly.
Kaia's stomach flipped again...annoying.
She tilted her head slightly to look at him. "You lived up to expectations."
"Oh?" His brows lifted. "You had expectations?"
"You're Charles Leclerc." She shrugged innocently. "There's a reputation."
He narrowed his eyes playfully. "And?"
"And..." She smiled. "I get the hype now."
Charles groaned dramatically. "Fuck. You're dangerous."
"You liked it."
"I definitely liked it."
Kaia traced her finger down his chest for a second before he spoke again.
"So," Charles said casually, "you planning on getting revenge on Max more often?"
She looked up immediately, catching the teasing look in his eyes.
Then she smirked. "Yes," she said. "As long as every time goes like this."
Charles stared at her for a second like he genuinely couldn't believe his luck.
Then he leaned down close enough that their noses brushed.
"Princess..." he whispered, "I always deliver."
And honestly? She couldn't wait until the next time...
𝐀𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 🍒 pisces ❤︎ empath ❤︎ eldest daughter core ❝𝗵𝗼𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘀 & 𝗳...