F1 Imagines - Blog Posts
im trying to do the reqs but i don’t know how to narratives😖
you all should read this.
—seven days. [ i ]
pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.
summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.
author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.
part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6.1. part 6.2.
You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.
You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.
Dear ________,
Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.
I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.
Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.
Sincerely,
[First Name] [Last Name].
You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.
“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”
Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.
Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”
Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”
Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”
“It's Max.”
You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”
That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.
The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.
“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”
That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”
Oh.
He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.
“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”
“Are you sure you don't need help?”
You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.
You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.
It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.
What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.
You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.
You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.
“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”
You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.
Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”
Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.
“You're taking good care of me.”
His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.
“Aren't I always?”
You are paid to take good care of him after all.
“Always.”
You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.
You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophia!
You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.
Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.
“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”
“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.
“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.
“I don't know.”
“Okay.”
He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.
Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.
But then, she left. Now what?
“I want to tell you something.”
You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.
“It is in my will that if I die—”
“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.
“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”
“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”
“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”
You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.
Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?
Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.
“Have you told Max?”
The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.
“No.”
“He wouldn't be happy with this.”
You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.
While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.
Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.
"No, stay."
Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."
You did not know why you believed him.
2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.
2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.
2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.
“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."
"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"
It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.
"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."
“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”
Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.
“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”
Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.
“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”
Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.
You get a text from Max an hour later.
him: i feel like shit
him: thanks for the advil and the soup
him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me
Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.
ever heard of casual? - cl16
pairing: charles leclerc x nanny!reader (fem) summary: in which true feelings are kind of shown between charles and his daughter's nanny warnings: basically smut with some plot (LOL), bad french(please correct me), not proofread, 18+!!!! word count: 1,795 author's note: i really enjoyed doing the instagram au the other day so i wanted to include some of that into part 2!!! face claim is Hailey Bieber (you can picture nanny!reader however you want I just love Hailey so I'm sorry if you don't LOL). Also not kidding like single dad Charles got me in a HEADLOCK. also this is my Christmas gift to y’all 🤍 feel free to message me your thoughts!!! I love feedback and hearing from you all
part 2 to THIS (nanny series)
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yourusername
liked by charles_leclerc, yourbsf, lorenzotl, and 56,318 others yourusername a day well spent view all 2,376 comments leclerc_pascale tu es tellement adorable! bring her over now! yourusername on our way! user omg pascale commenting user I'm crying user i wish i could have her life charles_leclerc ❤️ user omg a heart?!!!??? user chill its prob for his daughter user a bit unprofessional if they date anyways yourbsf can't wait to see you tmrw! liked by yourusername
yourusername
liked by yourexbf, yourbsf, charles_leclerc, and 62,122 others yourusername got milk? view all 3,765 comments user i'm fucking screaming user she is so fucking hot. idk how charles handles it user she's not that pretty relax user does she ever even work? how is she able to be doing this user her life is a vacation yourbsf I'm DROOOOLING yourexbf 🥛🍼🐮 user isn't this her ex boyfriend? user are they back together? user did you see her friends stories? they looked cozy 👀 user i hope so. that means she wouldn't be with Charles user she is the nanny of his daughter! leave her alone!! charles_leclerc
liked by yourusername, lorenzotl, and 1,465,718 others charles_leclerc a tough few races but we gave it all we got. excited to be back home to see my girls! @vistajet view all 4,186 comments user girlS?!?? plural!!!!!! leclerc_pascale time for a haircut user LMAO user wtf girls? does he mean @/yourusername?? yourusername she's requesting you to play the piano asap!! liked by charles_leclerc and 5,392 others charles_leclerc looks like i'll have to teach you for when I'm away user OMGGGG user not him wanting to teach her piano!!!
yourbsf posted a story!
seen by arthur_leclerc, lilymhe, charles_leclerc, and 12,471 others tagged yourusername, yourexbf
yourusername
liked by charles_leclerc, yourexbf, landonorris, and 66,817 others yourusername about last night..... view all 1,329 comments landonorris date me please? charles_leclerc get out of her comments user LANDO SIMPING PUBLICLY user she def has most of the grid in a chokehold user CHARLES LMAO user but where is charles daughter? yourexbf such a fun night liked by charles_leclerc user they gotta be fucking or something user charles liking this. hELPPP leclerc_pascale a night deserved!
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THE ENSUING WEEKS unfolded in a hazy cascade, a whirlwind of experiences that blurred the boundaries of time. The dynamics with Charles remained poised, neither veering into awkwardness nor undergoing discernible alterations – an equilibrium that suited you perfectly. After all, you hadn’t harbored expectations of a budding relationship; rather, this interlude seemed more akin to an itch that required gentle satisfaction.
Well, it wasn’t altered, aside from the handful of orgasms he gave you before his departure for races. It felt as though the barrier between you both had fissured and ruptured beyond control, an unstoppable force. But you told yourself to keep it casual.
With Charles traveling the past few weeks for a triple header, the atmosphere between the two of you has gracefully sidestepped any foray into weighty matters. Interactions have been modest, primarily of facetimes with his daughter, and lighthearted banter via text messages. Aside from the one late night desperate and needy facetime call you had last week.
Yesterday marked a noteworthy occasion as, for the initial time in the span of weeks, you relished an entire day and evening in the company of all your friends. Pascale, in all her wisdom, insisted you merited a respite from the role of caregiver and assured that she will handle the little one for you.
A day immersed in sun and sea with close friends proved to be a much-needed respite from the past few weeks. This was complemented by an evening at the club, where pulsating beats, lively dance floors, and contagious laughter wove together, leaving behind a lasting sense of euphoria.
So, when you arrive to Charles’ apartment ready for a fun and relaxing day with him and his daughter for the first time since he left, you’re surprised to find Charles swinging the door open before you could even reach for the handle. You’re also surprised to find out that his daughter isn’t even here, and that she is still at Pascale’s.
“Où étais-tu?” Where have you been? His question was quick and short as he pulled you into the apartment, shutting the door behind you. You barely made two steps before his hand was gripping your hand, pulling you down the hall to his bedroom.
“Que veux-tu dire?” What do you mean? You were confused but didn’t refuse his touch as he pushed you to sit on the edge of his bed. “Content de te voir aussi.” Nice to see you too. Recognizing a hint of sarcasm in your tone, you conclude that adopting a bratty attitude probably wasn’t the wisest choice, especially given his apparent sour mood.
He began restlessly pacing within the room, the muscles of his arms visible as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest in a display of frustration.
“Où est ma fille?” Where is my daughter? He was fully aware of his provocative tone. He possessed the knowledge of his daughter’s whereabouts, yet he seemed intent on provoking confrontation, eager to witness any response that might momentarily suppress the burgeoning jealousy within his chest.
You found his accusatory tone unsettling, especially given the fact that you would never put his daughter in harm’s way. “Pascale’s. You know this.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him as he stood directly in front of you, a sinister gleam in his eyes as he finally made eye contact with you.
“How s’est pasée ta soirée?” How was your night? He knelt between your legs, eyes meeting yours at the same level, jaw tightly clenched. His two hands rested on each leg, fingers pressing into the skin of your thighs.
It wasn’t until then that it clicked. His behavior, all because of your night out. He knew of your ex-boyfriend from social media, but you never fully had a talk regarding him. Because why would you? This was all still very new.
Navigating the relationship of you and your ex-boyfriend proved to be intricate, primarily owing to the longstanding history you shared since diapers. Originating as childhood best friends, a mutual decision was made to preserve the amicable bond even after the breakup. Given your shared history and overlapping friend group, the decision to maintain a friendship, sparing both parties the discomfort of awkwardness.
His hands slowly traced up the inside of your thighs, his fingers instantly contacting your lace covered center, thanks to the short, pleated skirt that adorned your body.
“Tu as passé un bon moment, hm?” Did you have a nice time? His tone was mocking. You felt yourself at a loss of words as his fingers slipped past your underwear, his thumb pressing circles directly to your clit.
You nodded slowly, delusional from how good his fingers felt on you. His other hand reached for the band of your underwear, pulling them off until they piled at your feet. His thumb, not easing up on your heated center. You let out a soft moan, leaning back on your two hands, as he pushed two fingers into you. His eyes, purely focused on watching his fingers slide in and out of you, wet and slick.
“Rien à dire?” Nothing to say? His fingers sped up, your stomach clenching as you arched your back in complete pleasure.
“I’m gon—fuck,” You couldn’t get complete words out. Every time you went to talk, his fingers assault on you would increase, leaving you nothing but a moaning mess on the edge of his bed.
He pulled his fingers completely out of you, letting you scream in frustration as he edged you.
“Did you fuck him?” His words cut sharply, and the green of his eyes almost appeared black with intensity. Despite the anger he conveyed, a discernible undercurrent of vulnerability permeated his questions. It made your heart clench.
“No,” you were quick to answer. “Je ne ferais pas ça!” I wouldn’t do that!
His eyebrows furrowed as he slid his fingers back into you with urgency. “You sure?”
“Yes!” His fingers were quickly back on you, the need that bubbled deep in your stomach ready to tip over.
It wasn’t until he shoved his head between your legs, his tongue replacing his thumb, and pressing it flat to your clit, that you were careening forward with a cry.
The assault of his tongue didn’t let up until you were pulling him by the hair on the back of his head, his mouth leaving your clit with a ‘pop’ noise. His lips were glistening as he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them.
“Tellement bien,” So good. He moaned with his eyes shut as he sucked you off his fingers, your eyes purely focused on his mouth and the hollows of his cheeks.
Before you could even relax, he was scooping you up and flipping you over onto your stomach, and bunching your skirt high up on your waist. A harsh smack of your butt echoed off the walls of the bedroom.
“I should fuck the salope out of you,” his voice was deep with need as you heard the unzip of his jeans from behind you. His hands pressed your face into the mattress, nearly suffocating you, as he nudges his cock through your folds. But you didn’t care, the pleasure was too good.
He slid into you easily, your saturated walls slick from your previous orgasm. The burning stretch of his cock had you cry out a muffled yelp into the mattress. “Gonna take all of me, hm?”
You agree feverently, nodding your head repeatedly with a moan. “These weeks were too long huh?” He droned on, talking you through it. “Even our facetime the other night wasn’t enough?”
Thoughts of your facetime the other night surface back quickly as his hips pound into you. How you both were so needy. How he was able to make you come on your fingers just by the sound of his voice. How he commanded your body even from thousands of miles away. Yes, that’s it. Cum all over your fingers like the good girl you are.
He felt your walls clench down on him so tightly, he groaned. “The thought of fingering yourself gets you that hot and bothered?” Another harsh slap to your butt.
You begin to cry out almost pathetically, your fingers gripping onto the sheets tightly. You turn your head, Charles hands sliding from the back of your hair to your neck, still weighing you down.
“S’il te plait,” Please. You’re begging.
“Wish I could bring you – Mon dieu – wish I could bring you with me wherever I go,” his heavy breaths were heard in between each word, as if he was struggling to keep any self-control he had left.
“But I can’t,” his voice sounds angry again. “Wouldn’t be able to leave you, can’t look at you without wanting to fuck you stupid,” He won’t shut up. Like he opened a door and can’t close it shut now. “Tu me rends fou,” Drive me crazy.
Your heart is clenching at his words. His words creating a mass of butterflies in your stomach. You can tell by the shutter of his last words that he’s close.
“Allons-y, ma cherie,” Let’s go. “That’s it,” he groans loudly as you clench around him, releasing all over him. He’s quick to pull out, releasing himself all over your backside, smearing it with the tip of his cock into you.
He rolled over to the side of you, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took. The silence of the apartment was loud but comfortable as you both caught your breath.
“I don’t think I can do casual with you but I’ll try,” he mutters softly, one of his hands brushing your hair out of your face so you can truly look at him. His cheeks were rosy, the crinkles in his eyes from smiling apparent, and his hair so disheveled it made you clench your thighs together.
You roll onto your side, your hand gracing his cheek as you turn his head to look at you. “Me either,” you admit. Because truly, he was all that was ever on your mind. You didn’t want to have one foot in the door, one foot out. You wanted to be all in with him.
“Let’s just see where this goes, yeah?” He smiles, pulling you up onto his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around as your head dug into the crook of his neck. You placed gentle kisses to his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably.
You feel his length harden from underneath you again. To which, you lift your head to see him with a smirk fully spread on his lips. You furrow your eyebrows as if to say ‘really?’.
To which he responds, “Je t’ai dit.” I told you. “Tu me rends fou.” You drive me crazy.
capsize - cl16
pairing: charles leclerc x nanny!reader summary: in which charles is an idiot and you decide to make him suffer for a little bit warnings: smut, angst!, exhibitionism (kinda?), breeding kink!, language, 18+!, bad french!!! (please correct me and i'll edit), barely proofread (sorry if there’s mistakes my eyeballs hurt) word count: 5.9k (LENGTHYYYYY) author's note: had to give us some angst obvi....but also smut bc single dad charles is so hot. let me know what you think! I can't believe it ended up being this long but it felt like it was impossible to end. xoxo. please blow this up bc the effort I put into writing this took 100% of my brain power away lmao. also I got an anon request to write about nanny getting a internship with a fashion company which is included in this! french edits made by the lovely @dannyramirezwife (idk what I would do without you)
part 1 part 2
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yourusername
liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 52,789 others yourusername welcome to miami 🐚🧡 view all 1,321 comments yourbsf but how do you kill it every time??? landonorris mmmm papaya looks good on you🍊 charles_leclerc how do I dislike a comment? liked by yourusername and 7,829 others yourusername 😂 user guys omg. user charles is NOT having it charles_leclerc beautiful. but please stick to red ❤️ user CRYING user lando is def on his shit list user lando wants her so bad lmaoooo
yourusername
liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 78,992 others yourusername luigi follows only the ferraris 🏎️🏁 view all 4,391 comments scuderiaferrari as you should! ❤️ user OMG SHES IN MIAMI!!!! user does this mean his daughter is there!!!! user i would hope. unless she's not doing her job lol user we need baby leclerc content!!! charles_leclerc damn right ❤️ yourbsf miami looks gooood on u. wanna move? yourusername 😏 charles_leclerc absolutely not user charles gtfooooo user what does charles just stalk her comments?
charles_leclerc
liked by scuderiaferrari, yourusername, arthur_leclerc, and 1,582,817 others charles_leclerc special guests this weekend ❤️ we’ll keep pushing as always. view all 5,717 comments scuderiaferrari the most precious guests EVER user literally. user guys he’s using plurals again!!! user it has to be about @/yourusername too user crying they’re so cute carlossainz55 can’t wait for her to design my next helmet 🌶️ charles_leclerc OUR* yourusername sweet baby girllllll 🩷🧸🎀
lando.jpg
liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 274,892 others lando.jpg mrs. 305 tagged yourusername view all 3,672 comments user omg. user are her and lando dating? user i hope not user they would be so cute carlossainz55 damnnnnn 🌶️🥵 lando.jpg don't poke the bear @/charles_leclerc charles_leclerc 😒 yourusername don’t ever let me take another tequila shot again lando.jpg should i cancel the ones i just ordered to your room? yourusername you BETTER be joking charles_leclerc is that why i opened the door to shots? charles_leclerc mon dieu user no like she's so pretty user they're sharing a room!??? landonorris tagged yourusername in a story!
seen by charles_leclerc, yourbsf, carlossainz55, and 900,281 others yourusername
liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell, and 65,428 others yourusername who let lando behind the dj booth last night???? tagged landonorris view all 2,318 comments maxfewtrell he’s such a 🐍 user omg her and lando?? user lando has been in love with her for so long user can we just take in that charles didn’t like this post? user charles has a habit of not liking any of her posts with other men 👀 user ariana what are u doing here user where is charles?? user prob with his daughter bc she clearly isn't lol user it's HIS daughter landonorris i'm so lucky user WHAT!!!!!!! user GUYS HELP user IS HE CONFIRMING?!!!? yourusername you need to stop trolling the internet lando user DJ LANDOOOOO HAS RETURNED
YOU BEGIN TO wonder whether the universe harbors some inexplicable grudge against you. Because really, you always make sure to check in on your friends often. You always make sure to pay your bills on time, if not earlier. Heck, you even make sure to donate to a different charity every month. Yet, as the jet encounters heavily turbulent skies on the way to Miami, the persistent question echoes in your mind ‘why me?’.
Luckily, a bundle of joy rests on your lap, cupping your face in her hands, and playfully squeezing your cheeks. A sweet distraction from the terror you feel inside. It’s adorable how earnestly she tries to impact calmness in you, even though her eyes are half shut with sleep.
“Ne sois pas effrayé,” Don’t be scared. Her voice maintains its gentleness as she swiftly loses interest in your cheeks, redirecting her tiny hands to play with the ends of your hair. “Je suis là avec papa.” Me and papa are here.
“Chérie,” Charles coos at his daughter, picking her up from your lap and resting her down on the bed. “Repose-toi bien," Get some rest. He tucks her into the bed, a space far too vast for her tiny body, nestling her favorite fluffy bunny stuffed animal by her side. You observe in admiration as he plants a gentle kiss to her forehead, then tenderly strokes her hair in a soothing manner.
“J’ai besoin qu’elle me borde, papa,” I need her to tuck me in. Her tiny fingers point to you and your heart instantly tightens. With a slight shake in your steps, you make your way to the bed, sitting on the side of it. “Bonne nuit, ma petite.” Goodnight, little one.
“Bonne nuit, maman,” Goodnight, mom. The words were mumbled with sleep, but it was the name that couldn’t be ignored.
For a brief period, both you and Charles experienced a suspended moment, a pause in time. Never had she referred to you in such a way, and you certainly didn’t want Charles to assume you influenced her perception in any manner.
“I don’t know why she said that.”
Caught like a deer in headlights, you pivot your head to face him. Panic courses through you, eyes widened, heart pounding. Yet, as you turn to Charles, he appears nonchalant, offering only a casual shrug of his shoulders.
“C’est bien.” It’s okay.
In a hushed pause, the both of you remain motionless aside from turning your head back to the sleeping toddler, entranced by how peaceful she looks. However, Charles finds it hard to divert his gaze from you. His eyes focus on the serene scene of his daughter’s fingers delicately entwined with yours, even in the depths of sleep, acknowledging the profound connection between you two. In these tranquil moments, where your presence is indispensable for tucking her in, Charles not only appreciates the nurturing care you offer but also recognizes the profound love and solace you impact. He can’t help but feel incredibly fortunate to have you in his life.
Only when Charles’s gentle hands tenderly squeezed the back of your neck, providing a subtle massage to your tense muscles, did you become acutely aware of the extent of your own exhaustion.
“Allez, dormons un peu, d’accord?” Let’s get some sleep, yeah? His lips delicately brushed against the shell of your ear, followed by a tender kiss on your temple, guiding you toward the other bed on the jet. Wrapping his arms snugly around your body, he let the both of you fall onto the mattress. While pulling the covers over both of you, your face pressed against his chest clad in a soft t-shirt. As you planted a gentle kiss above the neckline, you could feel the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat.
Despite the passing of a few months since that initial kiss, your connection with Charles retained a serene simplicity. In the quietude of your shared moments, you found solace. Deliberately, you resisted the temptation to let your mind drift into the what if’s, choosing instead to remain in the present moments.
However, within his mind, thoughts raced at a million miles a minute. Regardless of the casualness of your relationship you both claim to have, he couldn’t stop picturing you with swollen breasts and a swollen belly. The moment his daughter called you ‘maman’, an almost feral instinct surged within him. It was a wild and untamable force. He couldn’t stop imagining you pregnant. Full of his kid. Full of him. The need to fill you up with all of him was all but surging through his veins. All the blood was rushing to his cock, and he knew he needed to get these thoughts out of his head.
“Bonne nuit,” Goodnight. His voice sounded so rough as his arms tightened around you and you easily fell into a quick slumber, feeling so safe in his arms from the turbulent skies.
-
The abrupt touchdown of the jet resonated through the cabin, rousing you from slumber. A ballet of movement ensued before your eyes met the scene: Charles had migrated to one of the plush seats, his daughter perched upon his knee. The ambient hum of the aircraft formed a backdrop to the unfolding familial vignette, a delicate interplay of affection. As Charles tenderly pinched his daughter’s cheeks, childlike laughter following their hushed whispers.
Charles shifted his gaze towards you, now upright on the bed. Your tousled hair framed a face adorned with the lingering softness of sleep, and your eyes, slightly puffy with remnant of slumber, held a captivating allure. Despite your disheveled state, he couldn’t help but find that you remained the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Bien dormi?” Sleep well?
A gentle smile played on your lips as you rose from the bed, indulging in a languorous stretch that showcased the contours of your body. The fabric of the t-shirt clung momentarily, revealing the subtle canvas of freckles adorning your stomach to Charles. His gaze involuntarily flicked away, a reflex triggered by the flooding memories, thoughts of you pregnant resurfacing in vivid detail. The mere glimpse of your stomach had him internally spiraling.
“Uncle Lorenzo and Auntie Char want to see you bébé,” baby. A ripple of excitement danced in his daughter’s eyes as she clapped her hands joyfully at the mere mention of her uncle. Lorenzo and Charlotte had made their way to Miami a few days prior, cleverly disguising their visit as an opportunity to vacation while supporting Charles in the impending race. This strategic maneuver afforded you and Charles the luxury of solitude in the days leading up to the event, a rare and treasured gift compared to the last few months.
-
“Merde,” Shit. He grunted as his head fell back against the headboard of the shared bed. His green eyes watching you with flushed cheeks as you worked yourself over his cock. “This is where you belong, yeah?”
The morning sun peeked through the curtains of the hotel room. Eliciting a warm glow in the hotel room as you sunk down onto him deeper than before. Your pussy fluttering around his length, appeasing the ache that he created before you even opened your eyes.
You nodded your head repeatedly. “Mon dieu, yes.”
His hands cup your ass, fingers pressing firmly into the delicate layers of your skin, leaving an imprint as if searching for a connection beneath the surface. Controlling your movements, he urges you to move more frantically. The feeling of your hot, wet, pussy squeezing him was almost too much for him to handle.
With each passing second, the pressure of his fingers increased, creating a sensation of both command and invitation at the back of your neck. His touch was a deliberate grasp, not just holding but asserting dominance. Your lips met in a symphony of desire. His tongue slipping into your mouth instantly, brushing against yours as he held you against him. Your nipples flushed against the toned muscles of his chest as you leaned in, and the pound of his hips fucking upwards into you, had you all but mewling into his mouth.
“C’mon mon ange, don’t make me wait.” My angel.
You’re not sure if it was the pet name or the fact that you loved to please him. Or maybe the brush of his body against your clit. But your orgasm came quickly after while the tears spilled slowly from your eyes. He swallowed every moan you gave him like it was his own source of oxygen before flipping both of you over and pushing you face first into the mattress.
Every moan you gave him was like fuel to the pound of his hips. He was completely lost in the feeling of you. “Take it all,” he grunted as he pushed your body into the mattress deeper than before, his eyes not moving from the sight of his cock coated with you and slipping into you.
You were begging and pleading him to give you more, more, more. You don’t know what more he could give you; you just knew you needed it.
“So pretty like this,” he muttered, “like you were made just to take my fucking cock whenever I need.” His thrusts began to slow, but the speed didn’t alter just how good they felt. No, he pushed himself even further, hitting all the spots just right. It was as if he was trying to become one with you. Like he wanted merge you two into a singular existence.
“Cha,” You moaned out his name and you couldn’t see but his eyes widened. His heart clenched at the nickname. He pulled out quickly, provoking a complaint from your lips as he began scooping one of his arms under your stomach and flipping you onto your back. He took a second to just look at you, a shine forming in his eyes as he observed you. You look absolutely fucked. Cheeks flushed, hair all over the place, eyes glossed with satiation, and red marks all over your neck from his fingertips.
“Needed to see your face,” he answered before you could ask, slipping his cock back into your needy hole. The confession making your heart clench and the stretch of his cock had your stomach doing flips. “Besoin de voir tes yeux.” Needed to see your eyes.
His gaze was unwavering and fixed upon you. It was as if sought to etch the intricate details of your face into the canvas of his memory. He wanted to capture every nuance, every curve, and every expression that you made.
“Merde, let me cum in you.” His eyes trailed down your face, to your neck, to your breasts. The bounce of your breasts from the force of his hips had him in a trance, thoughts of you with swollen breasts came back to mind. When he felt your pussy clench around him at the phrase, a smirk formed. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up sweet girl?
“S’il ti plaît,” please. You were pleading. You wanted nothing more. “J’en ai besoin.” I need it.
Charles’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head at your confession. His groaning and grunting increasing in volume as he pounds into you harder, every inch of his cock pressing against your velvet walls as he releases into you, making you feel all warm inside.
“Tu es parfaite.” You’re perfect. He collapses beside you; his voice was so low that you almost didn’t hear him mumble the words as he pressed his lips to your collarbone before resting his head on the pillows. You felt your cheeks redden almost instantly, brushing off the compliment with a smile and small laugh.
“Je dois prendre une douche.” I need to shower. The mixture of his and yours cum was oozing down your leg. You could still feel the warmth of it. Charles mumbled a soft “mmmm”, already drifting off into a slumber.
-
You weren’t sure what changed in the few minutes you were in the bathroom, but you could feel the unease build in your stomach as you emerged with a towel wrapped around your frame and skin flushed red from the heat of the water to Charles pacing around the room, a knuckle in between his teeth.
He was agitated to say the least. He felt betrayed by you.
A subtle smile played on Charles’s lips as the sound of the shower resonated in the room, accompanied by your soft hum of a song he couldn’t name. The ambiance of the hotel room cocooned him in a profound sense of peace, and in that moment, he wished he could stay here eternally with you. Kissing you, touching you, inside of you.
When he heard the buzzing of a phone on the table beside the bed, he instinctively reached for it without glancing at the screen, presuming it to be his own. Given the context of it being a race weekend, early morning phone calls were expected.
“Bonjour?” Hello? He let out a cough, clearing his throat from the sound of sleep and satiated desire. The subtle rasp carried with it the traces of his happiness.
“Ah bonjour, hello, this is Camille with Christian Dior.” The woman’s voice echoes into Charles’ ear. He sits up immediately, back against the headboard. His first thought was ‘why is Christian Dior calling me?’ but it wasn’t that abnormal either. Companies reached out to him all the time for collaborations. “I am calling regarding the application we received for the internship and wanted to schedule and in-person meeting.”
Charles felt his stomach twist in knots as he listened to Camille chatter into the phone. Application? Internship? Moving the phone from his ear, he looked at the phone realizing that it was in fact yours and not his. This call was for you, not him. Camille’s voice was muffled as it was pulled away from his ear.
A wave of nausea coursed through Charles, the unexpected revelation at the possibility of you leaving hitting him hard. How could you just apply for another job like that? He felt himself growing antsy and restless as thoughts swirled in his head. Camille, who was confused by the silence, mumbled something about calling back later due to the lack of response from Charles.
He dropped the phone onto the duvet of the bed, standing up and pacing the room while he felt himself begin to question everything. Questioning why you would leave. Does he not give you enough? Was it too much to handle? As his thoughts droned on, taking a turn for the worse, he began to feel angry. Angry that you considered leaving this job. He began to see red.
“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” What’s wrong? You were cautious, not standing too close to him to give him some space. His head whipped in your direction almost too quickly.
Your attention was drawn to the wrinkle lines etched on Charles’s forehead, marking the aftermath of his furrowed eyebrows. The subtle creases and wrinkles, usually absent in is carefree demeanor, painted you a picture of his current inner turmoil. When you shifted your gaze to meet with his narrowed eyes, the cautious padding of your bare feet seemed to echo.
It was an unfamiliar sight to witness Charles engulfed in such a storm of emotions. The stark contrast to his usual carefree and joyful demeanor. He was blinded by his rage as he muttered the next words.
“Es-tu idiote?” Are you stupid? His jaw was clenched. A soft gasp left your lips as you clutched tighter onto the top of your towel, feeling rather exposed now. “Demande à Christian Dior.” Ask Christian Dior. His spat out the name Christian Dior with such disdain. As if it were dirt on the bottom of his shoe.
Your eyes widened, everything clicking. You weren’t sure how he knew, but he was answering your internal thoughts before words could form on your tongue.
“Ils t’ont appelé. J’ai répondu par erreur.” They called you. I answered by mistake. He let out a loud sigh as he leaned against the dresser across from the end of the bed, his forearms flexing as he gripped onto it tightly. You noticed the definition of his muscles and veins forming on his arms. He was squeezing the dresser, trying to gain some relief from such anger swirling within him.
At first, you wanted to argue him for answering your phone. But you knew him. You knew he wasn’t snooping. He said it was a mistake, so you took his word for it.
“Qu’ont-ils dit?” What did they say? You weren’t sure how to approach this conversation with him. You especially were not expecting it to go this way, with you wrapped in only a cotton towel.
His eyes narrowed to an almost imperceptible slit, the vibrant green drained from any warmth of presence. “Are you serious?” The exasperation in his voice reverberated through the room. Your question seemed to strike a nerve, leaving him incredulous. Was that all you had to say? The absence of an explanation hung in the air, adding more tension to the charged atmosphere between you two.
“Ne me crie pas dessus.” Don’t yell at me. You felt your own anger building at his attitude. Who did he think he was? You padded back to your suitcase, grabbing whatever outfit you could without paying attention. You weren’t sure what you even grabbed or if it even matched, but you didn’t care. You were too busy listening to Charles raise his voice.
“Don’t walk away from me.” He pushed off the dresser, trailing behind you. “What is this internship you applied for?”
You didn’t answer right away, instilling more anger within Charles. “Answer me. You’re just going to leave like always?” His tone struck you with disbelief, the harshness leaving an unexpected sting. The air was too intense. You needed to get some air.
Like always?
You turned and faced him. “Are you asking me as my boss or my fuck buddy?” You knew it was a low blow, but it was so unfair for him to be this mean to you. It wasn’t even necessarily his words but his tone that bothered you most. He spoke to you as if you were a child who needed punishing.
You had a shirt half-way over your head and black leggings on. “It’s just a summer internship. I didn’t even do the interview yet, but you seem to know that already.” You waved him off, rushing around the room to get your stuff. You needed to get out of here. You weren’t going to sit here and let him berate you.
“You can’t just leave.” He followed you to the door, gripping your wrist to pull you back towards him. You yanked your arm out of his grip.
“You’re just like everyone else.” His words tumbled out incoherently, much like uncontrollable word vomit. He could feel the panic rising in him as you made your way towards the door. “Right. Use me and then leave. It’s all I’m good for.”
His words twisted your stomach, and you chose to overlook the burning ache in your heart.
“Fine. Just go fuck your ex-boyfriend or something. Or Lando. I know he wants you.” He stood there, chest heaving up and down with his heavy breaths. You pulled the door open, standing in the frame, you took one last glance at him.
“Va te faire foutre.” Go fuck yourself. And with that you were out the door.
-
“Je n’arrive pas à le croire!” I can’t believe him! “C’est vraiment un connard.” He’s really such an asshole.
“Babes, you’re g’na need to speak in English for me to understand,” he laughed before taking a sip of his beer, “you muppet.”
You playfully rolled your eyes at Lando, seated across from you in the elegant ambiance of the hotel restaurant. Adorned in a snug black dress, every curve of your figure accentuated, the crystal jewels meticulously tracing the contours of your breasts. The garment displayed a subtle dip between your cleavage, adding an enthralling touch. It was safe to say you looked fucking good. Or as Lando said, “holy fucking shit, you took the air out of my lungs.” Which in response, you couldn’t resist a playful shove to his shoulder.
In the aftermath of the argument with Charles, you found yourself in the company of Lando, driven partly by Charles’s mention of him. Despite the strained circumstances, your connection with Lando remained strictly platonic. However, Lando’s penchant for flirting was a constant, adding a playful dynamic that colored your friendship. Thankfully for Lando, he was the reason you were able to even get a change of clothes seeing as you left the hotel room earlier in complete disarray. It was still your day off, one that was originally supposed to be spent with Charles. Lorenzo and Charlotte were still taking care of Charles’s daughter, leaving your night wide open.
“Martin’s driver is picking us up soon,” Lando declared, drowning the remainder of his beer and emphatically slamming the bottle onto the table. There was still two more days before the race weekend began, meaning Lando wanted to go out to which you agreed easily. Meanwhile, you maintained a composed sip from your glass of wine. With a playful glint in his eye, Lando added, “Get your dance moves ready muppet.” The prospect of the evening ahead seemed to carry a promise of lively escapades.
Your laughter echoed, creating a buoyant atmosphere as you seamlessly fell into a comfortable conversation with Lando. His easy-going nature and banter helped soothe the lingering nerves from the earlier argument with Charles. In that moment, you felt nothing but gratitude for Lando’s presence.
-
The vibrant lights of the club painted the atmosphere in a kaleidoscope of colors, while the unmistakable scent of alcohol lingered in the air. The club pulsated with energy of the intoxicated crowd, bodies swaying to the vibrations of music surrounding them. It wasn’t until you reached the DJ booth that you felt a wave of reassurance wash over you.
The night unfolded with a multitude of shots, some in which you had to pretend to take, just to save yourself from vomiting on the floor. The music provided a lively group, thus creating a joyous atmosphere. You surrendered to the rhythm, dancing through the hours, deliberately steering clear of thoughts about the brunette Monegasque who typically occupied your mind.
As you slid out of the booth, making your way to the bathroom, you finally pulled your phone out of your purse. The screen was littered with missed calls and multiple messages, most from nonetheless Charles.
from Charles (dilf) Where are you? 18:45 You’re such a brat. 19:19 Really? You’re with Lando? 22:47 Could your dress be any fucking shorter? 22:51 Tu essaies de me tuer 01:27 You’re really testing my patience 01:46
You didn’t answer. Feeling triumphant as you snickered to yourself at his messages, him clearly struggling with the concept of you being out with Lando. Slipping the phone back into your purse, you continued your night, leaving all worries behind. Because if you didn’t, the mere reality of the argument with Charles would have you vomiting on the floor.
-
It was honestly insane how the sun was just beginning to rise. Yet, you and Lando were just stepping foot into the hotel not even a few minutes ago, drunken laughter between you both as you exited the elevator to Lando's floor. No doubt, pictures of you and Lando surfacing all over the internet tonight. But you weren’t worried about that. What you were worried about was the angry brunette standing outside of Lando’s hotel room door, his arms crossed, and eyes tired as if he didn’t sleep the entire night.
You and Lando both sobered up quickly from the sight of him, brooding in front of the hotel door. Charles opened his mouth, utilizing both of your native tongue to exclude Lando from the conversation.
“Tu es putain de sérieuse?” Are you fucking serious? The harsh tone he used drew you back to the argument that had occurred earlier in the day. Or should you say yesterday?
“Que fais-tu ici?” What are you doing here?
He rolled his eyes, teeth gritting as he looked over to Lando smiling beside you with his hotel room key in hand. “Muppet, are you sleeping over, or no? I’m tired.”
Charles didn’t afford you a moment to respond before swiftly shutting him down. The gaze he directed at Lando carried a lethal intensity, a silent warning that spoke volumes. “Absolutely fucking not.” Charles’s grip tightened on your arm, an assertive pull guiding you down the hallway toward the elevator. Surprisingly, you didn’t resist, allowing the momentum to carry you forward. You looked back at Lando who had a smirk on his face and winked at you. What a fucker.
The elevator enveloped you both in an oppressive silence, interrupted only by rhythmic beeping accompanying each floor you ascended. Charles maintained a deliberate gap between you, yet his hand remained firmly clasped around your wrist. In the mirrored surface of the doors, your eyes locked onto each other, breaths syncing. As the doors finally opened, Charles propelled you out with a gentle push, his body behind yours.
It wasn’t until you both stepped into the hotel room that Charles unleashed a torrent of emotions upon you. His voice, thick with a mixture of anger, jealousy, hurt, and worry, carried the weight of the pent-up emotions he had been harboring. He had seen the stories, the posts, and even the photos of you at dinner, images captured by fans.
The way you smiled at Lando in the pictures had him throwing his phone. And don’t even get him started on the dress. The fucking dress.
“Do you like Lando?” He sneered, jealousy bubbling inside of his chest.
And because you felt like stirring the pot even more, you smirked. “Yes.” And although it was the truth, it wasn’t what Charles thought. You felt bad as you saw his face fall, but he deserved it just for a little bit at the very least.
You could feel all the thoughts racing through Charles head before he pulled you both towards the balcony, staring at the city skyline instead of at you. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice thickening with emotion, “What about me? What about us?”
“As a friend.” You finally announced, turning your body to fully face Charles. “I like Lando as a friend, Cha.” You confirmed, a groan leaving your lips. “Do we have to do this right now? I’m so tired and my feet hurt.”
“Oui.” Allowing no room for further complaints, Charles pulled you into an embrace, his arms enveloping you and effectively trapping you between the warmth of his body and the balcony railing. He nestled his head in the crook of your neck, finding a moment of relief in the reassurance that you were back, and in his arms. The tight hold on you spoke of relief.
“You’re mine,” He states. “Label or no label.” He's possessive in the way he speaks and touches you. Like he needs to get his point across. You feel him laugh as his fingers trail around your front side, trailing down until he can slip them up the front of your dress, pressing his fingers to your lace covered core. It was almost too easy. The dress was so short.
The desperate ache in the pit of your tummy grows with each swipe of his thumb along your covered clit. You began to forget why you were even fighting in the first place, his hands on you felt too good. You lulled your head back against him, making more room for his lips to attack on your neck.
Your ability to articulate words faltered, your legs turning to jell-o under his embrace. With one arm securely wrapped around your waist, he became your anchor, ensuring that you remained standing.
“You want my fingers?” His lips are hot on your ear. He slips his fingers beneath your underwear, feeling just how wet you really are. It was almost too easy. “So fucking wet and warm, mmm.” He groans as he slips one finger inside of you, moving it so slowly that you began to get frustrated with the pace. Your hips rut, trying to speed up his fingers, but he holds you in place removing your ability to move.
Your body begins to tremble as he increases the pace of his finger, inserting another one and curling it, hitting the spot you ached most. You want to cum so badly; you want to soak his fingers and tremble around them. “So greedy.” He takes your ear lobe in between his teeth, nibbling gently on it before trailing his tongue down the rest of your neck. “Taking my fingers so well.”
You groaned, his words pushing you towards your climax quicker than anticipated. He could tell you close with the way you were squeezing his fingers so tightly, and the way your words were almost incoherent. As soon as your arm reached back, your fingers brushing through his hair, he pulled his fingers out of you.
“No!” You half-shrieked at the loss of contact, pulling his hair in the process. Your face blushed and eyebrows furrowed from the loss of his fingers.
“Tell me you’re mine.” He flips your body around, your back flush against the balcony railing now. The breeze continues to blow your hair around, no doubt making a mess of it.
“You tell me you’re mine.” You bite back, refusing to say it first. Charles began laughing, it reverberated in his chest.
“Oh, mon ange.” He ignores what you say, trailing his eyes down your body. “This fucking dress.” His words are sharp as he begins gripping the ends of your dress and shoving it upwards, exposing you completely to him now. He placed a quick slap of his finger tips to your clit, the shock and sting of the slap turning you on more than you could imagine.
He pulls you forward, hands squeezing your neck, the area right under your jaw line to be more specific, lips immediately pressing against yours. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was hot, messy, and wet. A clashing of teeth and tongue as he sucked on your tongue. Leaving you almost no room to breathe in the process. But you didn’t mind, his kisses were intoxicating.
The firm presence of Charles’s hand on your neck persisted, the subtle pressure from the pads of his fingers inducing a dizzying effect. It was a tactile reminder of his control, a touch that left your head spinning, and wanting more. “I’ve always been yours.” He doesn’t let you respond before he’s pulling your lips back to his. This time, his fingers slip back into your heated core, assaulting and curling them just how you needed them. You breathed hotly into his mouth as your orgasm crashed over you. It was quick and hot. Charles could’ve sworn he was going to cum right in his pants at the feeling of you squeezing his fingers, coating them in you. He’s never been more jealous of his fingers in his life.
He flips you around again, fumbling with the button of his pants as he shoves them down, them falling to a pile around his ankles. He wasn’t slow, rubbing the tip of his cock through your slick folds, he teased you both for a little bit.
When he finally slipped into you, you swore you were going to cum again. You had to squeeze the railing harder to prevent yourself from doing so. You wanted to cum with him.
“Squeezing me so well.” He moaned, the wind picking up and the only glimmer of light was from the sun barely peeping over the horizon. You couldn’t believe you were doing this, out in the open of a hotel balcony, but the thrill of it made it that much more exciting.
“Tu aimes ça, hm?” You like that? He pushes you forward so that your chest was pressed to the railing, your head dangling over the edge as you looked down from the height of the building. Everything looked so small from this height. “Want the whole world to know you’re mine.” He continues.
“Want to fill you up.” You clench hard around him, soft moans escaping your lips into the air in response. Charles couldn’t help but feel his heart pound as he muttered the next words. “Want to fill you up with my cum, want to fuck a baby into you.”
At first, he was nervous muttering the words aloud. But the clench of your pussy around his cock only eased his nerves. Your moans increasing in volume told him just how much you liked that too.
“Merde,” Shit. You were mewling into the open air, the increase in pace of his hips had you seeing stars.
“Are you gonna let me?”
“Yes!” You were yelling it repeatedly. His fingers crawled their way around your body, slipping into the dip in the front of your dress and pinching your nipples. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“C’mon donne-le moi.” Give it to me. And boy did you. You both came with a loud cry, the sound of his hips slapping into your backside a faint noise compared to the moans. The warmth of his cum seeping into you for the second time in less than 24 hours. Although, you were on the pill, you still liked to play along with the idea of being pregnant. The idea of Charles filling you up turned you on like no other.
You both took a few seconds to recoup, trying to catch your breath. He pulled out slowly, but brought his fingers down, pushing the mixture of both of your cum back inside you. He didn’t want a single drop of it to go to waste.
He turned you around, bringing your lips to a sweet kiss.
“Je suis désolée.” I’m sorry. His eyes hold your own. “I should’ve said it sooner. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. The idea of you leaving had me freaked out, you didn’t deserve any of it. You..”
A small smile graces your lips as you see how genuine he is and you lean up on your tippy toes, bringing your lips back to his. Essentially shutting him up, his hands wrap back around you, lifting you off the ground as he carries you back into the hotel room, both of you collapsing into the bed.
“Even if I got a new job, I’m still yours.” You started. “But actually, there’s this great nanny job I heard about.” Charles feels panic forming in his chest again. But you continue on, “It involves the cutest little girl ever. I also heard that the dad is so hot and cool. Did I mention he’s single?” You joke, laughter erupting between the both of you as he cradles you into his body.
“I don’t think he’s single.”
“Yeah. He definitely isn’t.”
And that was all he needed to hear.
Jealous sex with Charles 🤩
smut under the cut! xoxo
YOUR FRIEND’S APARTMENT buzzed with a lively energy as guests mingled under a soft, warm glow of string lights draped across the ceiling. The space, modest but cozy, was transformed into a hub of festivity. The mix of eclectic décor added character: vintage posters hung askew on the walls, and potted plants created pockets of greenery that contrasted the otherwise urban feel.
You were a few drinks in—the buzz of the alcohol you consumed staining your cheeks with a slight reddish hue. Your earlier fight with Charles’ still sat in the forefront of your mind, leading you to keep drinking.
It was a rather toxic relationship. A game of cat and mouse. Both of you never wanting to confess your true feelings for one another. It was childish honestly, the way neither of you refused to just be together.
“Why does it even matter if he texted me?”
His eyes were cold as he looked at you, his biceps flexed as his arms cross over his chest. “It’s whatever. Go try and fuck the entire town for all I care!”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
-
Charles stood across the room, the throb of the bass vibrating through his chest, but it was not the music that had him fixated. His gaze was locked onto you, and the intensity of his stare betrayed a growing, seething fury. The makeshift dancefloor seemed to blur as his attention narrowed solely on the scene unfolding before him.
An ex-fling of yours—one who had always carried an air of easy charm—had just sidled up to you. His presence was impossible to ignore, a magnetic pull that drew your attention away from the crowd. With a casual confidence, he leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The proximity was intimate, almost invasive, and Charles could see the way his breath seemed to linger a moment too long, his intent as clear as day even from a distance.
Charles’s jaw clenched as he watched, his hands tightening on the neck of the glass beer bottle in his hand. Though the words spoken were lost to the pounding music, the effect was immediate. You laughed—a spontaneous, genuine burst of amusement that seemed to resonate across the room. The sound of your laughter, bright and carefree, was like a dagger to Charles.
It wasn’t until Charles saw you slip out of the room that he found his feet moving almost immediately, following you.
“Having fun?”
You lazily turned to the sound of his voice, your hair in complete disarray from all the dancing you’ve done tonight. It wasn’t until now that you let yourself really look at him.
He looked fucking hot. But so did you.
Your lips curled into a small smirk. “Yeah, think I’m going to head out soon. Got a big list of people to go and fuck. Tight schedule and all that.”
Charles felt his cock thicken against the thick material of his jeans. You always had a dirty mouth. Always so vulgar. It was one of the many things Charles loved about you.
You watched as Charles’ right eye slightly twitched at the mere mention of you going and fucking other people. The normal green of his eyes was no longer there, an almost black color there instead.
“Let me be clear, cherie.” He takes a step towards you, your eyes dropping down to his glistening chest that pokes through the many undone buttons of his linen shirt. “You’re only fucking me.”
-
“You’re so funny.” Charles mutters as he shoves your face into the plush mattress of his bed, your dress and underwear thrown somewhere along the confines of his room. “Thinking anybody else could take care of this needy pussy, hm?”
His cock slipped into you with ease, the stretching burn eliciting loud moans to escape your lips.
“That’s it…” He let out a guttural moan, pushing his hips as far into you as he could. In dire need of closeness. “Let me hear how I make you feel.”
You gasped, if your cheeks were slightly red before they were burning red now.
He gives you no warning before he’s scooping his arm under your stomach, lifting you from the mattress and flipping you onto your back. You fall to the mattress with a slight bounce and a small shriek. He wastes no time slipping his cock back into you, his thrusts harsh and calculated.
“I hate you.” You say in between harsh breaths as Charles leans over you, his weight all being held by his arms at the sides of your head.
“Yeah?” He laughs. “What else, hm?”
He can’t help but feel his cock grow harder inside of you at the bite of your tone.
“You’re insufferable…” You begin, moans escaping in between each word. “So mean to me…”
“And you never apologize.”
Small tears stream down the sides of your face as his hips pick up the pace in between each angry statement of yours. As if it was egging him on.
“Yeah, well you’re mine.”
Your pussy clenches tightly around his cock at the phrase. “I’m so mad at you.”
“Yeah? Tell me how mad you are baby.”
He’s practically panting in your ear as your nails scrape along the thick muscles of his back, the pleasure building in your stomach, almost ready to spill.
You latch your legs behind his back, pressing the heels of your feet into him, shoving him deeper into you.
“Fuck you.”
And that’s all the encouragement he needs before he’s shoving his entire cock inside of you, completely bottoming out with each harsh stroke. You were completely dazed as he lets out an occasional laugh. Almost mocking you.
“Faster—ah shit…” You plead, your hands trailing any inch of his skin you can touch.
His lips meet yours hotly. It’s a clash of tongue and teeth, and nowhere near perfect. Both of you are groaning into each other’s mouths hotly, tongues meeting tongues.
“M’ gonna come,” You moan into his mouth, his hips not slowing down. He pulls his lips off of yours for a few seconds, soft grunts echoing throughout the room.
“Such a good girl, hm?” He smirks. “C’mon give it to me.”
The tight squeeze of your cunt on his cock was almost mind numbing to Charles. You let out soft mewls as you reached your orgasm. Your walls fluttering around him repeatedly.
“You’re so fucking hot.” Are the last words you hear before he pulls out of you, spilling his hot cum all over your stomach in white stringy spurts.