#formula 1 smut

[vettelsvee]

letting oscar take your virginity to celebrate his win

(if this makes you uncomfortable please to deny or only write fluffy before/after!) love ur work sm

V CARDS GOODBYES | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: Oscar arrives home after winning his first ever Formula 1 race, so you think it’s the perfect time for you to celebrate and, also, to say goodbye to your v card ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Hope you like it anon! And sorry it's taken me almost a year I'm a mess 😭

WORD COUNT: 3958

WARNINGS: Smut (virginity loss, female receiving oral sex, fingering, p in v, protected sex, little bit of praising kink), curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Came to the conclusion after the latests Oscar fics I’ve posted that he's the most popular driver on my Tumblr page, so this is for all my Osc people out there! I'm always ashamed of posting smut (but still want to keep writing it) so I hope this is good enough for you to enjoy! Remember that your comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! Thanks for reading <3 (Also, thoughts on the new layout?) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

The door of the apartment you shared in Monaco opened, and before Oscar could step inside, he heard excited screams that made it clear someone was more than happy about his arrival.  

Not only did your cat start rubbing against his leg while purring, but also you, his girlfriend, were hopping towards him, barefoot and wrapped in one of his McLaren hoodies, which turned out to be even bigger on you than you had expected when you decided it would be a great idea to steal it from your boyfriend.  

"You did it, Osc!” you squealed as you threw your arms around his neck. "Osc, oh my God, you won a race! Do you know what that means?"  

Oscar felt his cheeks turn red. Of course, he knew exactly what winning a Grand Prix meant, especially during his second season in Formula 1. However, all he did was shrug, as if his achievement wasn’t that important.  

"Yeah," was all he could say.  

"I’m so, so proud of you," you said in a trembling voice, standing on your tiptoes to cup his face in your hands.  

"I couldn’t have done it without you, even though you were here," Oscar replied sincerely, a hint of regret in his tone. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that you hadn’t been there with him throughout the whole process of stepping onto the podium.  

"I know you would have liked me to be there, and I would’ve loved that too," you replied, making a sad but funny face. "But it’s okay! I screamed at the TV a lot, so I guess I helped in some way… And I’m sure you’ll win more races and I’ll be there to see them all, so it’s not the end of the world!"

Oscar chuckled and pulled you close until there was no space between you. He allowed himself a few moments to hold onto you, gently running his fingers through your hair while you clung tightly to his shirt, pressing your face into his chest as if he might disappear at any second.  

"Hey… I have something for you."

Even though you whispered it, Oscar heard you perfectly. You bit your lip,. a telltale sign of nervousness he knew well, as you pulled away from him. Then, you quickly headed towards the living room, with the Australian following you, and grabbed a small book he had never seen before.  

Carefully, as if it were fragile, you handed it to your boyfriend.  

"Open it… I hope you like it!"

Oscar did as you asked. Gently, he opened what he soon realized was a photo album. It wasn’t just a collection of pictures of you from the past two years since you started dating. It was beautifully decorated. There were messages, and even reflections from your perspective about each memory you had built together.  

"I know it’s not a big deal, but since I was so bored with studying, I have to admit I procrastinated a bit and felt like doing some crafts, so… well, this was the result," you said hesitantly, as if you were confessing a crime, though a small smile crept onto your lips. "Maybe you were expecting something else, I don’t know, but I hope you like it. You could even take it with you whenever you have to travel, so you remember me and also add something else if you feel in the mood," you added softly.  

Oscar felt a lump in his throat, unsure of what to say. Although he was used to you being thoughtful, and he always tried to reciprocate, you somehow kept outdoing yourself.  

"Y/N, this is…" he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. More accurately, he didn’t know how to express them. "It’s incredible. Thank you so much."

You smiled and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, which, as you both expected, quickly turned into something more desperate, fueled by your hunger for each other.  

Oscar’s hands found your waist beneath the hoodie, his fingers tracing invisible lines along your skin, moving up and down, even toying with the clasp of your bra. The only thing you could do was keep kissing him, tugging at his hair lightly and pressing yourself against his thigh, seeking friction to ease the growing ache within you.  

Then, you suddenly pulled away, more abruptly than Oscar had expected. Your pupils were completely dilated, your lips swollen, and your hair a complete mess.  

"Oscar…" 

"Y/N…"

"I want to do it."

Your voice was barely a whisper. Oscar’s eyes widened, surprised because, even though he perfectly understood what you meant, hearing you say it out loud was an entirely different feeling.  

"Babe…" 

"I really, really want to do it, Osc," you repeated, more as a confirmation to yourself than to him. "Yesterday, you lost your v-card in Formula 1 with your victory, so… I was thinking maybe I could lose mine too."  

Oscar had known from the very beginning of your relationship that you had never been physically involved with anyone beyond a couple of kisses and teasing. At first, you had been insecure about telling him, worried about feeling ashamed, but Oscar had always made sure you felt safe and comfortable, promising you would only take steps forward when you were truly ready.  

Today, your words made clear that you finally felt like that moment arrived, and that filled Oscar with happiness not because you were about to have sex, but because it meant you were finally comfortable enough with yourself to take that step.  

"Are you… sure?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. "You know we don’t have to rush anything… I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this just because, you know…" 

"I know, Osc, and I promise I wouldn’t be bringing this up if I weren’t sure," you reassured him, looking into his eyes as you ran your fingers over his hands. "I love you, and most importantly, I trust you. I’ve thought about this for a long time, and well… yeah."

"It’s just… I don’t want to mess anything up, Y/N. This is really important, and it should be perfect,” he confessed with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.  

You smiled, cupping his face and bringing him closer for a kiss.  

"It doesn’t have to be perfect as long as it’s with you, Osc.”

"Okay, but… if you change your mind at any point, you tell me," Oscar insisted. You laughed, rolling your eyes.  

"I promise, really."

Your lips met again, but this time much slower. Oscar took his time kissing you carefully, wanting to do everything right. He cradled your cheek with one hand to deepen the kiss, while the other wrapped around your back, guiding you gently toward the bedroom you shared.  

Once inside, he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath to avoid panicking, even though there was no reason to.  

You stood in front of him, looking at him with a mix of shyness and adoration that reminded him of your early days, when you just used to go out for coffee or to the movies back in high school.  

Oscar couldn’t help but look at you with an equally shy, yet utterly endearing, expression.  

"Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?"

"I will, yeah."  

You didn’t need to say anything else since kissing spoke for you. You took your time, enough for Oscar to make sure you felt completely comfortable, enough for you to overthink just a little more before deciding if you really wanted to continue…  

"I love you, Oscar…" you murmured between kisses. You tugged at his shirt, helping him pull it off, running your hands over his bare chest as if you were seeing him for the first time.  

"I love you too, Y/N…" 

With nerves and hands shakier than he would have liked, almost as if he were the inexperienced one, he took hold of the hem of your hoodie and slowly lifted it over your head, leaving you in just your underwear.  

Oscar was surprised to see you in black lace lingerie instead of the usual shorts you wore around the house. He was about to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You closed the distance between you, pressing your foreheads together before kissing him once again.  

Neither knew how long you were like this, but you both agreed that it had been long enough to discover that you needed more of each other.

Oscar ended up forcing himself to pull away from you and take a breath. A smile curved between his lips, which caused you, somewhat nervously, to giggle at the situation and hug him around the waist, pulling him closer to you while trying not to shove him away.

“Really, we don't have to do it if you don't want to, Y/N,” the McLaren driver insisted once again.

“I've been looking forward to doing this for a long time, and I've been mentally preparing for it for a while,” she told him, trying not to sound uneasy. “I trust you, Osc, and there's nothing for you to worry about.”

“So...?”

“I want you to make me yours, Oscar. Today, tomorrow or whenever and wherever you want,” you whispered in his ear as sensually as you could.

“Y/N…”

“Oscar: I just want you to fuck me.”

You felt your boyfriend tense up after those words that had caught even you off guard. Instinctively, you brought your hand to the noticeable bulge under Oscar's pants, but when you tried to reach for the button to unbutton them, he pushed your hands away lovingly.

“No, honey, none of that for now. Today is your day, so let me do the work and just enjoy yourself.”

Oscar, without another word, took you by the chin and kissed you again for the umpteenth time that day. Now, your lips moved at a slower speed. You guessed it was because you noticed how one of Oscar's hands began to massage one of your breasts, giving special attention to the nipple. With the other, he lightly brushed your pussy, making you gasp when he decided to play with your clit.

“Do you like it, babe?” he asked in a tone of voice that showed too much excitement.

His fingers now delved a little deeper into your intimacy, those enveloping movements becoming a little faster.

“Yes, Osc...” you barely managed to answer.

That answer was enough for the Australian to stop immediately. You didn't even look him in the face. Oscar pulled away from you, leaving a quick kiss on your lips and starting a trail of kisses all over your body, stopping once he reached your lower stomach area.

“Y/N…”

His hands stood delicately on your thighs, which he was now kissing, closer and closer to your pussy. Your hair stood on end. Your breath was completely held, unable to breathe in case that put an end to it all, as if that would be enough for Oscar to finish whatever he was doing with you. 

“If anything we do tonight makes you uncomfortable and you want to stop, just tell me please,” the Australian declared. “And, before your little head starts thinking nonsense: no, I'm not going to get mad at you because you don't want to have sex, okay? If you don't want to…”

“Oscar, look at me,” you cut him off, and the boy immediately listened to you: “it's you, and I'm not going to feel uncomfortable with you and with anything you do to me.”

“Do you promise me, love?”

“I swear.”

Oscar nodded, grabbing your thighs again and dragging you to the edge of the bed so that his face was in front of your pussy, perfectly aligned with your entrance.

Without warning, he slid his tongue, flat, all over it with a slowness that was completely unbearable and that seemed that, rather than pleasing you, he wanted to kill you little by little. His movements were frantic; constant changes of speed, from faster to slower, and vice versa, that made his nose rub against your clit while his tongue seemed to do wonders with that dance.

When Oscar's tongue began to explore inside you, and his index finger, the one he used to show on camera every time he got a first position just like Sebastian Vettel did in his golden age, started a tortuous tour of your labia majora, you curled up shyly but instinctively. Your hands ended up tangled in his hair, forcing him closer to you at the same time your hips did the same.

“I think you're liking it, aren't you my little girl?” Piastri said, ending his oral contact with you and replacing it with his finger. His gaze was fixed on her, and you thought about why he hadn't done this to you before.

“Don't stop, Osc. For the sake of God, don't even think about stopping...” you gasped, becoming increasingly unable to articulate a word.

He didn't have to say anything else. After those words, Oscar slipped a second finger inside you. You let out a small gasp of surprise and he, without taking his eyes off you, laughed, your cheeks turning red almost instantly. Despite this, he kissed your thighs as he continued the back and forth with his index finger, adding his heart almost soon after while increasing even more the speed.

You felt that everything was going too fast, and the waves of pleasure that were flooding you were making you lose, more and more, the notion of time. You didn't know at what point, but when he decided to add his tongue back into the equation, without leaving the movements of his fingers inside you going straight to that spot that gave you the most pleasure, a strange sensation gripped the lower part of your stomach.

It was getting harder and harder for you to hold back your orgasm. You felt how your eyes were closing little by little, and your leg, too, to which Oscar put a little pressure on them to prevent them from closing.

“Come for me, love,” Oscar let you know. “Come on, Y/N, you've got it babe. Come on…”

And so you did.

Your back curved in such a way that your body, completely sweaty, could hardly keep on writhing as it was doing. You were moaning like you had never moaned before, and your boyfriend seemed to notice. A smirk of satisfaction and success began to break from his lips as he licked at your fluids, his mouth moving slowly now, over-stimulating your clit and making you incessantly.

The Australian rose and carefully positioned himself on top of you.

“I love you, Y/N, you don't know how much,” he said between kisses, making you taste yourself for the first time, but hopefully not the last one. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world... And the best girl in the world. Don't ever doubt it.”

“Oscar, don't…”

“Yes you are, Y/N, and I will not allow you to speak so negatively about yourself.”

After those last words, the driver pulled away from you slightly, trying yo give you some time to recover. Then, you looked at him taking what seemed to be a condom from the bedside table, which he carefully put on and immediately positioned at your entrance. 

You swallowed, while Oscar tried not to think about whether he was really going too fast.

·I don't want to sound weird, but... please, if you want me to stop, just tell me,” Oscar spoke as best he could, trying not to succumb to the nerves he felt about taking this important step with you. “I want you to be pretty sure about this since… Well, since there’s not going back…”

You said nothing. Instead, you gave him a slight nod with your head, still looking at him, which was enough for Oscar to enter you carefully, but without a previous warning.

He decided to stand for a while so you could get used to his length. You felt a little pain. You held back a scream, bit your lips and closed your eyes to do your best to make that feeling go away as soon as possible.

“Y/N…”

“Go on, Oscar. It's all right…”

The boy nodded, and finished entering you with the same care. Little by little, his movements gained speed. You arched your back, moaning incessantly as she started feeling more comfortable with the depth of penetration, and Oscar hitting her in a spot that made her feel a pleasure that you feel in a way you didn’t know how to describe, but that felt good enough to make you never want that sex session to end.

“Does it feel good, honey? Are you enjoying my... cock... for the first time?” Oscar moaned, biting her neck. “Look at you… so desperate for me to keep fucking you…”

“Fuck, Oscar... this is a fantasy,” you gasped. “And you talking so... like… like this... God... Don't stop, please…”

“Never for you, sweetheart.”

Your moans became one, a melody that your neighbors were probably listening to but you didnt give a fuck. Your gazes could hardly be averted, and your words, getting dirtier and dirtier as much as your were embarrassed at first, were sounding louder and louder, as were your pleas.

“Oscar!” you shrieked as you felt Oscar's fingers press against you nervous bundle.”

“Love...” he moaned through his teeth. ”Don't stop moaning my name, please. You don't know how you're making me feel right now.

·And of course I'm going to make you feel so much better when we do this again,” you replied, choking with pleasure. As best you could, you sat up a little and wrapped you arms around you boyfriend's neck. “I want to do it again, Osc,” you made it clear. “I want us to do this every time we get the chance....”

You kept moaning his name, giving him promises you knew he would never break. He kept reassuring you and how good you were doing, speeding up his movements as he couldn’t stop playing with your clit, all of that while he kept telling you that you were his.

You couldn't contain it anymore for the second time that day.

“Fuck, Osc,” he stammered. “I think I'm gonna…”

“Let yourself go, honey,” the brown-haired said. “You can do it, love. Cum for me.”

Your orgasm came before you could say anything else. Oscar came within seconds of you, and as soon as he did he ended, he gave you a short kiss on the lips as he carefully pulled out of heyour and collapsed beside you. 

Oscar's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to regain your composure with increasingly slower breaths. 

“You ok babe?” Oscar murmured after a few minutes.

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding your head with a smile peeking out. “Better than ever, actually.”

It was then that it dawned on Oscar. Quickly, he sat up a little and saw what was under where you were still positioned. His heart began to race, and a pressure settled in his chest as he realized the light blue bed sheets were stained slightly with blood as was his condom, still on him and which he hadn't paid attention to because he just wanted to be with you cuddling after he'd made you lose your virginity.

“Hey, listen, love…” he started to say in a calm, but concerned tone.

You followed his gaze, and couldn't help but blush and die of embarrassment inside.

“Oh...” you spoke quietly, instinctively covering yourself with the sheets. “This... is normal. Well, I guess so…”

“Does it hurt? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, denying it, though the look on your face seemed to say otherwise.

“Well… It's just a little... just a little sore. But it's fine, really. It happens when you have sex for the first time with someone.”

Oscar studied your face, and he knew you wanted to stop this conversation. You wanted to let it go and pretend everything was fine so you wouldn't give him any sign that you hadn't liked it, even though your moans and pleas seemed to say otherwise.

“Still, you shouldn't let it go.”

The Australian approached you and gave you a shy kiss on the forehead. Then he got out of bed, still naked.

·Where are you going?” you asked in a voice mixed with curiosity and nervousness.

“I'm going to get a towel with hot water to clean you up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already heading towards the bathroom while taking off his condom. As you heard the faucet turn on, and your boyfriend getting everything ready, you couldn't help but feel bad because, maybe, Oscar deserved better, and your behavior, what was happening to you now, was not what he deserved.

You forced yourself to stop overthinking because if there’s one thing you knew for sure is that Oscar loved you, more than sometimes you were conscious of.

Your boyfriend came back a few minutes later, and found you sitting on the bed, curled up on yourself and clinging to the sheets while still covering with them, as if you were afraid.

“You don't have to…”

“I know,” Oscar cut you off, offering you a small smile, “but I want to. So, please, just let me take care of you.”

Your eyes softened at his proposal, and you forced yourself to calm down as Oscar, with his gaze and his hands coyly on your thighs, asked your permission to spread your legs. You nodded, and he carefully ran the wet towel and hot water over your pussy, giving it little touches because he didn't want to risk it stinging or hurting any more because he really didn't know exactly how the female body worked after losing your virginity.

When he finished, he kissed her knee and sat down next to her again, also covering himself with the sheets so he could hug her and, more than anything else, try to reassure her and make her feel as good as possible.

“There, that's it, all settled. Now, let's stay here and rest.”

“Was it good?”

Oscar let out a small laugh from his mouth at your sudden question as he leaned over to you and snuggled into your shoulder. 

”You've been amazing, love,” he replied, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Now you were both lying on your bed, looking at each other. “Are you okay now that… Did I hurt you? I need you to be honest with me... I should have asked you if you liked the pace I decided to take because, well, I’m not going to lie to you, I think I could have gone a little slower...”

You shook your head and didn't give him a chance to keep talking. Instead, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his.

“You don't have to worry about anything, Osc. It was far from perfect. So, from now on, I hope you win more races because from today on, winning sex has become a tradition that I hope we keep for a long time.”

Oscar laughed, knowing you were completely serious.

“We can make a tradition of this and anything else you want, love,” he buried his face in yours, and began to tickle your waist gently. “We can even have several rounds if you want, so… thoughts on that? Should we keep ready for a second round today?”

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Hi! I love your writing style and I had this in the back of my mind for a bit and I’m hoping you would put this into words if it inspires you but imagine Lando and Daniel wanting to prank Max before a big conference by slipping a little blue pill in his redbull but max has a fall that morning and scrapes his palms, and all of it culminates into him hiding in the locker changing rooms, taunted by his friends, unable to take care of himself because of the injuries and the reader as his PR manager finds him like 20 minutes before the conference and tries to convince him to let her help him out as “professionally” as possible (like a handjob maybe?) and maybe max wants to return the favour at some point?

Blue Pills - Max Verstappen

<word count - 3137>

warnings: badly written smut, technically a drink spiking, not proof read

"Max is too calm, we have to do something big this time." Daniel said, thinking over his time in Red Bull with the Dutchman. It was no secret that Daniel and Lando got up to all sorts of trouble together, and now Max Verstappen was their next victim.

So far, they had kept their pranks relatively harmless. They had stolen Charles' phone and texted Carlos some rather... risque messages, they had replaced Nicholas' Nutella with marmite, and they had stolen Kimi's drink. He wasn't very bothered.

Most of them were funny. Well, Charles didn't find it overly funny but Carlos did, so that was at least half of their goal accomplished. For Max, they needed something that was more than just a bit of a laugh. They needed something that people would remember. 

"We could try and stick something on his back?" Lando suggested, and Daniel shook his head immediately. 

"No. We need something that will actually rattle him. It's hard to get to Max." he said, wracking his brains for something. If only there was a way to- oh, oh. Now that would be good. "I've got it," Daniel beamed, the plan formulating perfectly in his head. 

"We've got to be sneaky about it, but we can definitely pull it off. I need you to be a distraction for me, OK? Then we just let the magic happen," Daniel said, and Lando was curious to know what the Australian had up his sleeve, but he was sure that he'd find out sooner rather than later. 

"OK, sure." Lando nodded, already liking where this was going. The papaya pair planned how they were going to execute their devious plan, trying to keep their voices down so that no one would hear them. 

Meanwhile, Max was in medical. On track, he was careful and clinical beyond belief. He didn't make many mistakes. But when his two feet were firmly, or not so, planted on the ground, he was one of the clumsiest men you could find. 

He was literally just walking through the paddock, when he tripped over his own feet and fell to the tarmac. He held his hands out to break the fall, ending up with his palms getting grazed to hell on the rough surface. Thankfully, there was no one around to witness it apart from you, but he could live with that. 

Being Max's PR manager meant that you spent a lot of time with him weekend in and weekend out, so you had become accustomed to his spells of ditsiness. He should have been glad you were there, since he wouldn't have gone to medical if you hadn't forced him to. 

All they did was clean them and wrap them, but he looked like a boxer walking around with his hands wrapped. At least he could hold things and at least he could still race. He just had to look at the positives.

To add insult to injury, Max had a press conference to go to. But first, you dropped him off to the hospitality centre for him to take a second and relax before he had to go into the worst part of his weekend. Of course, he wouldn't be Max if he didn't have his trusty Red Bull in hand, so you picked an ice cold one up for him on your way. 

"You better be here when I go in or else I'm not going." he said, and you knew he was deadly serious. Max didn't give a shit, if he didn't want to go, then he wouldn't. The only reason that he ever went to any of his menial media obligations was for you. 

Your entire job was making sure he said the right thing and was where he was meant to be on time. He felt bad for giving you the amount of hassle that he did, but every driver did it to their PR manager. He knew how hard you worked, so he wasn't going to ruin it by being too much of a handful for you. 

You left him there while you went to run some quick errands, watching as Daniel and Lando approached him. Once you were gone, they waited for him to put his drink down before springing into action. "Hey Max, did I show you that video I got in Thailand? Of the waterfall in the sunset?" Lando asked, ready for everything to fall into place. 

"No, you didn't. Show me." Max said. He was intrigued.

"My phone's on charge. C'mon, I need a walk." Lando said.

"Sure," the Dutchman nodded. He had taken the bait. Lando and Max walked out of sight and left Daniel to carry out his master plan. Looking around to make sure that no one had their eyes on him, he produced two little blue pills from his pocket. 

They were embarrassing to buy, and he had to send some poor intern to get them so that he wouldn't be recognised. The last thing that he needed was people thinking that he needed viagra to get it up, because he most certainly didn't. 

Daniel wasn't actually sure how many he needed, as the pack stated various amounts for various levels of arousal. So, he opted for the one that he thought meant 'hard enough to be visible, but not so hard that it's impossible to get rid of'. 

He popped them through the top of the Red Bull can, watching the blue dissolve into the energy drink through the hole with a fizz. Just as the tablets had melted down, he heard Max and Lando's voices behind him. This was going to be amazing.

Max sat back down in his seat, holding Lando's phone in his hand as he scrolled through the videos from his trip to Thailand. With the other, he reached out and took a few sips of the Red Bull. Daniel and Lando glanced at each other, trying not to give away the fact that they were up to something. It tasted slightly off, but he didn't think much of it. 

You had gotten a fresh one from the fridge; he had seen you do it. It was probably just the heat making it taste a little weird. 

All of the drivers had been pretty on edge around them, not wanting to fall prey to their predatory pranks. Max didn't seem overly phased, though. Then again, he was used to it from having Daniel as a teammate and Lando as a long time friend. 

After talking for long enough, Max had finished the Red Bull. Daniel was stressing slightly. He was trying not to be too obvious as he looked at Max's crotch, looking for any sort of sign that the pills were actually working. 

Max, on the other hand, was trying to ignore the odd feeling of arousal that he was currently experiencing. For some reason, he was suddenly horny. Glancing down, he saw the slight bulge that was already forming in his jeans .

There wasn't even anything around him that he would find even remotely arousing, and now he was getting a full on hard on out of nowhere? Daniel and Lando both noticed the flush in his cheeks as he fidgeted in his seat, knowing that their plan had worked. 

"Just going to the toilet," Max choked out, wanting to get out of there before the extent of his problem could be realised. He was gone before the McLaren boys could make a comment, and they were going to let him sweat for a few minutes. 

"Did you see his face? Priceless," Daniel laughed.

"That is a genius idea, I like it." Lando giggled back, standing and going to follow Max to the changing rooms. He wanted to see this for himself. 

Daniel followed, both of them walking in to find Max pacing the locker rooms with a massive tent in his jeans. "Damn, Max. Didn't know you enjoyed media day that much." Lando laughed, and Max instantly knew. He had fallen victim to the infamous papaya pranksters.

"What did you do?" he asked, unable to hide the bite in his tone. He was all for harmless pranks, but this was downright humiliating. If people found out that he had gotten an erection in the middle of the paddock, he'd never live it down. Max Verstappen, 4 time world champ and the guy who gets bricked up when he has to do an interview. 

"We didn't do anything-" Daniel started with a smirk before Max cut him off. 

"What the fuck did you two idiots do?!" Max shouted, not caring who heard. 

"We just gave you one or two of those blue things..." Lando trailed off, suddenly thinking that this joke had gone a little too far. 

"Viagra? You gave me fucking viagra?! I've got a press conference!" Max raged, now realising that is all made sense. The sudden arousal, Daniel and Lando being a bit weird all day, the strange taste of his drink. They had spiked him, and now he was hard as a rock and had no way to deal with it. There was half an hour before the press conference, and he knew that this stuff lasted a while if the problem wasn't taken care of. 

That was when another issue cropped up: he couldn't take care of it. His hands were bandaged up and, even in his state, that would not feel good at all. There was no way that he could hide it, either. He was screwed. 

"Only two." Daniel clarified, as if that would make the situation better. Looking between Max, Lando, and Max's dick, Daniel quickly sussed out that this may not have been his brightest idea to date. They'd stick to prank texts next time. Well, if there was a next time if Max didn't murder both of them right then and there. 

"Fuck off, both of you. I'm not dealing with you and this at the same time," he warned, and they took the hint and walked out with their tails between their legs. The pair stayed silent as they left, and they spotted you stood in hospitality. You were looking for Max. 

"Have you two seen Max? He hasn't run off, has he?" you joked, but the looks on their faces told you that now certainly wasn't the time for joking.

"He's in the locker rooms. He's got a small... issue." Lando said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You didn't know what they meant, so you took it upon yourself to go to the changing rooms. 

"Max? It's me. We've got to go." you called, opening the door and stepping through. 

"No, wait out there-" he started, but you were already in the room. Max was sat there, his jeans on the bench next to him while his lower half was only covered by his boxers. That was when you saw it. Max Verstappen. The man you spent every weekend with. The man that you worked closely with was sat in the locker rooms with a painfully hard dick. 

"What the hell happened to you?" you asked, trying to keep your eyes on his face rather than the obvious elephant in the room. 

"Those fuckers slipped me some viagra..." he mumbled, glad to admit that he wasn't just really horny but also embarrassed that he fell for it. 

You looked at him with sympathy, feeling bad that he was a prank victim. But, you were also thinking practically. There was no way that he could get out of this, but you wouldn't want to go out there and do a conference if you were like this either. 

"Can't you... sort it out?" you said, not wanting to be too crude. 

"Not with these," he scoffed, holding up his bandaged hands. Even if he took them off, it would still be really painful and wouldn't have the desired effect. It would probably just wind him up more.

That was when Max got an idea. It was a horrendous idea that could ruin your entire relationship, but it was an idea nonetheless. He hated the fact that he had even thought of this, let alone that he was actually going to ask it out loud. "Can you?" he asked. 

"Can I what?" you replied. Deep down, you knew what he was asking, but you didn't want to accept it. Even before he asked, you were contemplating your response. Something in your brain told you to do it. This was for both of your careers, so surely it would be worth it? At the end of the day, it was only Max.

The two of you were close, so what was getting him off going to do to your rapport with each other? Right, stupid question. That was going to do a lot to your relationship. It would make it so awkward, knowing that you had been intimate like that.

What excuse would you give for Max not being at the conference if you just left him to let the viagra wear off? He felt sick? His hands hurt too much? No, there wasn't time to formulate a story. "Can you sort this out? Just a handjob will do... like... just to get it over with..." he rambled, hating the words as they left his mouth.

"We never speak of this again, agreed?" you said, tentatively sitting next to him on the bench.

"Never again." he nodded, not fully believing that you were actually following through with this. "You don't even have to look," he gently said, taking the first step and pulling his erection out of his boxers.

Your eyes widened as you saw it. He was bigger than you expected, but you thought that it was probably the viagra helping him out. Precum was already beading at the tip, and you felt quite bad for him. 

"Ok... here goes..." you mumbled, spitting in your hand to create some lubrication. If he was being honest, Max thought it was one of the hottest things that he had ever seen. It was the first lick of genuine arousal that he had had all day, and he wasn't complaining.

You were unsure of whether you should look or if you could cancel out the awkwardness by looking away. But you found yourself looking as you gently took ahold of his hardened length. Max shuddered at the contact, and both of you knew that this wasn't going to take long. It was better that way. 

You rubbed your thumb over his tip, smearing precum over it while Max had to bite back a moan. If people heard from outside, they would be straight in and the two of you would never live that down. 

You started off slow, your hand moving up and down his shaft. You were trying to remove yourself from the situation, but you couldn't help but look at his face as his head was tipped back against the wall with his eyes screwed shut and his bottom lip firmly caught between his teeth. 

He looked damn handsome like this. Max's face was flushed with desire and his hair was perfectly ruffled from running his hands through it a few too many times. He was trying to keep quiet, but the whines he was letting out made heat pool between your legs. 

Picking up the pace, you pumped his dick faster, wanting to find the sweet spot of how fast he wanted you to go. "Fuck... just like that..." he mumbled, his breath stuttering as he let the pleasure consume him. He had to stop himself from bucking his hips up into the contact, revelling in the fact that he was finally relieving some of the pressure. 

As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, you were thoroughly enjoying this. There was a strange part of you that wanted to find out exactly what he liked and how he wanted you to do things. You got a better reaction out of him when you squeezed a bit harder. Just like his racing, Max didn't like things doing by halves. 

The natural reaction was for you to be just as turned on as he was. You had to remind yourself that this wasn't about pleasure, it was simply business. You were fixing the issue that had been caused by Daniel and Lando - even if the issue was jerking off a world champion driver. 

"I... I'm going to..." he trailed off, and you knew precisely what he meant. You sped up for one final time to get him there, Max's hand reaching out and gripping your thigh as if he were grounding himself as he came, spilling out onto your hand. 

You kept your movements up as he rode through the high, before he relaxed back against the wall and you stopped. Letting go, you just sat there and looked at each other. "Thank you..." he softly smiled, glad that you had saved him from definite embarrassment.

"That was... well I'm not going to lie to you and say that you weren't amazing," he chuckled and squeezed your thigh. He noticed how you were clenching your thighs together as if you were also craving some sort of friction. 

Before he could comment, you stood and went to get tissues. You passed him a few, and you went to the sink to wash your hands. You were washing your hands of Max's cum, which was something that you never thought you'd ever do. 

"Ha, thanks." you quietly laughed as you dried them off. Max was cleaning himself up, glad that Daniel and Lando hadn't given him any more pills than they had. One hand job was enough. "Come on, we've got to go."  you said, trying to distract from what the two of you had just done. 

"You'll have to let me return the favour one day, yeah?" he said, and he was being sincere. Max was all for fairness, and he wasn't just going to let this happen without you getting your fair share. He saw how much you wanted it, and he could see the faint hints of arousal still lingering in your eyes. 

"We're never discussing this again," you rushed, walking out of the locker room swiftly in front of him. He knew you wanted it just like he did, and he could feel himself stirring naturally this time. Now wasn't the time, though. 

As the two of you walked through hospitality and towards where the conference was taking place, Daniel and Lando watched on from afar. Max didn't have an erection anymore, and you looked flustered. Their minds were running at a thousand miles a minute, and it was like both of them connected the dots at the same time.

If looks could kill, the two of them would be dead as Max glared at them. They'd have to let sleeping dogs lie. For now. 

A/N - I loved writing this I can't even lie to you, this is one of my favourite requests that I have ever gotten! The smut is awful, I know it is 😂 Leave anymore requests in my inbox!

|masterlist|

[vivwritesfics]

18+, smut, oral

Max deserves to get his dick sucked post pole.

You'd made it into a bit of a tradition, a good luck ritual. On the times when you'd not sucked his dick post pole, Max hadn't won. So you knew you had to do it in Silverstone.

Lips wrapped around him, tears gathering on your lashes. Max stroked your cheek as you gripped his thighs. When you took him fully into your mouth, choked around him with your nose against his pubes, he moaned. Loud and unapologetic.

Max let you do what you wanted. Licked his tip, sucked all if him down until he was in your throat fondling his balls until you felt them tighten.

If you didn't make him cum, he wasn't guaranteed the win. It was stupid, you knew, but it was how your brain worked.

So you made Max cum once. Only once for the pole, as many times as you could for the win.

And, once you'd opened your mouth to show him his cum sliding down your throat, he threw you onto the bed to eat you out until your legs were clamped around his head.

[formulafanfics13]

Nice and Slow - LH44 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: In the intimacy of a dim hotel suite, Lewis pulls her onto his lap and grinds her against his clothed cock until she’s a shaking mess. He makes her beg, then finally fucks her slow and deep in the armchair, whispering praise as she breaks apart in his arms.

Warnings: Explicit smut, lap grinding, begging, slow penetrative sex, emotional intensity, light praise kink, overstimulation, crying during sex (consensual/emotional), soft aftercare.

The hotel suite was quiet. Dimly lit. The city beyond the balcony windows glowed like fireflies, soft, distant, completely irrelevant. Because her whole world had narrowed down to this: Lewis. The armchair. And the way he was pulling her forward by the hips.

"C'mon, baby," he murmured, low and warm and dangerous. "Right here. Let me feel you."

She was already shaking. The bathrobe hung loose on her shoulders, nothing underneath. Her skin still smelled like his soap. Her thighs were sticky from the last time he made her come, face down on the mattress, voice gone from moaning.

And now? Now he was sitting back in the armchair, shirtless, legs spread, grey sweats low on his hips, hard beneath the fabric and so fucking calm about it.

She stepped closer. He tilted his head, eyes glittering, hands resting on his thighs like he had all the time in the world. "You nervous?"

She shook her head. Liar. 

He smirked. "You should be."

She climbed onto him, knees to either side of his hips, thighs trembling, hands braced on his chest. He hissed when her bare pussy brushed against the front of his sweats. No underwear. No shame. "Fuck, baby... you're still soaked."

Her cheeks burned. "You did that."

"Damn right I did."

His hands slid around her waist, warm and firm. He guided her, slow, dragging her body down against his lap. She let out a soft moan when her clit caught the fabric, pressure just right, the heat of him so close "That's it," Lewis murmured. "Nice and slow."

He didn't thrust. Didn't push her down hard. He just rocked her. Back and forth. Back and forth. His hands on her hips, guiding her like music.

"Fuck," she gasped. "Lewis-"

"Feel what you do to me, baby," he whispered. "Feel how fucking perfect this is."

She buried her face in his neck as he kept grinding her down, over and over, each roll of his hips sending sparks through her core.

"You're so fucking warm," he groaned. "Little thing like you, riding me like that. Shit."

She whimpered.

"Look at you," he said. "On my lap, shaking already, crying and I haven't even fucked you properly yet."

"I'm not crying-"

"Yeah, you are." He reached up and brushed a tear off her cheek. "Sensitive little thing. That's alright. I love you like this."

She gasped as his hand slid between them, pushing his sweats down just enough to free his cock, thick and hot and already soaked from the pressure of her pussy grinding over him.

"Beg for it," he whispered.

"I need you," she whined, grinding down harder now, clit throbbing. "Please, Lewis—please-"

"You want me inside?"

She nodded, frantic. He smiled, kissed the corner of her mouth, then eased the tip of his cock right against her entrance. "Nice and slow," he reminded her. And then he let her sink down. Inch by inch.

Her nails clawed at his shoulders. He cursed under his breath, gripping her hips to steady her. "So fucking tight," he gasped. "Like you were made for me."

She cried out as he bottomed out, all the way, so deep she couldn't breathe.

"I got you," he whispered, kissing her temple. "Breathe, baby. That's it. Just stay with me."

She rocked her hips once. Then again. And it wrecked her.

"God-fuck-Lewis-"

"I know, baby. I know." He didn't fuck up into her. He didn't need to. He just held her there, warm and deep and perfect, letting her ride him slow and sloppy, crying against his skin. "Such a good girl," he whispered over and over. "Taking it so well. So deep. That's it. Just like that."

She was losing it. Tears rolling down her face, body trembling, every nerve frayed from the intensity.

"I can't-"

"Yes, you can."

"I'm gonna-"

"Do it," he groaned. "Come for me. Let me feel it, baby. You're so fuckin' good-give it to me."

She shattered. Mouth open in a silent cry, legs spasming, cunt clenching down around him as her whole body broke apart on his lap. He held her through it. One hand on her back. The other rubbing her thigh, praising her through the wreckage. "My good girl," he whispered, over and over, kissing the top of her head. "You did so good for me."

She sobbed into his neck, overwhelmed and soft and loved. And Lewis? He just held her tighter. Like she was everything. Because she was.

[dannyriccsystem]

i swear im in love w your posts and your account 😭 the way you write the drivers feels rly accurate, i had an idea for an au after i saw that video w the papaya boys looking down at the camera w their helmets on so maybe something about reader telling the drivers to 'sleep' w them only wearing their helmets 🙂‍↕️hehe no pressure 🧡

THE HELMET STAYS ON.

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

Summary: Begging the drivers to nail you with their helmet on. And they do.

Warnings: Pure smut, Y/N usage, P in V, foreplay, reader has a tongue piercing in one of them, hair pulling, blowjob, the whole nine yards. Basically really filthy. Also not proofread because it was embarrassing enough just writing this.

Featuring: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, CS55, OP81

This video. Oh my days. I have nothing appropriate to say.

One more before I sleep. I’m kind of scared to post this, this is my first super out there post.

(Do feel free to request risqué stuff idm!)

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

“Let me get this straight,” Your boyfriend stood in front of you as you sat, prettily perched on the edge of the bed with an innocent smile, despite what you just asked. “You,” He pointed to you. “Want me,” and then to himself. “To fuck you. With the helmet on.” He raised both of his brows.

You looked off to the side, and then back at him, nodding. “Sounds about right, yeah.” You confirmed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but with a sigh… He reluctantly gave in. Anything for his beloved girlfriend, I guess.

“M-ahhh-x,” You groaned out his name, nails desperately clawing at his bare back for some sort of leverage. Your legs were quivering as he slowly thrusted into you, his hips moving in such a hypnotic way. Even off the track, his pace was consistent, apparently.

All of his skin was exposed, every last inch, except for his face. It was covered by his iconic helmet design, the visor pulled down to conceal the expression in his eyes. You were certain they were darkened with lust, but had no proof of it.

His hands gripped your waist, hoisting you up to get an even deeper angle. Your legs wrapped around him weakly, trying to pull him in closer. At this point, you could barely move them.

He brought his helmeted face down closer to your ear, the sound of his voice deliciously muffled by the soft casing surrounding his head, “You asked for this, lieverd.” You whined out at his typical pet name, which sounded so dirty now. You were unsure if you’d ever be able to see your boyfriend in an innocent light ever again.

Your hands grabbed both sides of his helmet, mouth drawn open in an ‘O’ as you weakly moaned for him. The sweet sounds motivated him further, allowing him to draw out his final thrusts. He pulled out, hands stroking his length as you pressed soft kisses to the surface of his helmet.

He came on your stomach. With one hand, Max lifted the visor while the other gentle traced a heart onto your cum-coated belly.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

“Danny?” You came out of his bedroom one day, finding him relaxed on the couch. He leaned his head over to look at you, motioning for you to continue. In your hands was the cause of confusion— His old racing helmet. The last one he ever wore, to be exact.

It was a black helmet with a sparkly flame that shined different colors depending on the lighting. You remembered him wearing it in Singapore, the last race he ever competed in. It probably held a lot of special memories. “Do you use your old helmets for anything? I see you have a few in our room.”

“Hmm, nah. Mostly just decoration.” He shrugs and turns to sit with one leg folded underneath him, the other hanging over the edge of the couch. His elbows were propped on the back as he stared at you. “Why?” He smirked almost like he could see the gears turning.

“Wanna have sex with one on?” The answer was always yes.

It wasn’t quite what you were expecting, in the best way possible. Nothing could have prepared you for the animal that your boyfriend would become upon exploding this new area of your sex lives.

He had one of your legs pushed in the air, resting over his shoulder, which allowed him more space to thrust experimentally. The other laid on the side of his thigh, your hips held up by his free hand to get a better angle. You propped yourself up on your elbows, head slightly angled down while you stared through damp lashes.

“Fuck, Danny…” You whined, your hips twitching with a little gasp. He groaned, his head falling forward until the helmet was carefully pressed against your forehead. His grip on your raised thigh was tight, practically digging into your skin to keep himself from going feral.

“Feel that?” He muttered, his voice enveloped in the cushy walls of his helmet. The hand that held you up at the waist circled around, palm pressing down on your stomach to emphasize the slight bulge. He cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering and his dick twitching. “Shit.”

He leg your leg fall against the mattress as he carefully slipped out. One hand massaged your sore folds, bringing you to your peak just as he reached his. You both climaxed together, your thighs painted with his arousal.

He carefully lifted the helmet, still panting as he looked down at the mess he made. “Satisfied?” He asked, voice hoarse. You grinned, eyes droopy.

“Very.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

There was something special about Lando in his signature green helmet. The helmet itself was bland, but it was his staple. When he wore it, it was unimaginably attractive to you.

You tried to ignore it, but during one of his week long breaks, you decided to address the issue upfront. It was a hard topic to approach, so you figured now was a good time to be as blunt as possible.

“I want to fuck you while you wear your helmet.” Literally. As blunt as possible.

He looked taken aback, and rightfully so. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why…” He asked next. It was hard to discern what sort of face that was supposed to be. Confusion? Disgust? Arousal? All three at once?

“Because it’s hot.”

He fell silent, and then pulled you into his room where the helmet in question sat, like it was ready for this moment.

“Not so confident now, are you?” His husky voice murmured in your ear. You were currently bent over with your hands against his bedroom door to support yourself, your ass stuck out against him. All while your legs trembled. If one of his hands wasn’t supporting you under your stomach, you’d have collapsed by now.

Strong hands gripped your hair, tugging your head backwards to get a good look at your fucked out expression, and your stretched neck that was littered with deep purple marks. All you could do was softly cry out in pleasure as a reply to his question, which earned a dark chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Regretting your choice yet?” You shook your head with teary eyes. You couldn’t see his face, cloaked beneath the secrecy of a bright green racing helmet, but you knew for a fact he was smirking. Every thrust was carried out confidently, sending a resounding smack through the room. The sounds were sticky from the buildup of arousal.

“Laan,” You drawled out his name, eyes twitching as you struggled to keep them open. You could feel another orgasm approaching— Just one of many for the night. “P-Please—”

“Please what?” Another tug of the hair, making you whimper. “Use your words, pretty.”

“Let me cum,” You whined, your voice trembling. He continued silently for another thrust or two before the hand on your stomach traveled down to massage your clit, sending you over the edge. You squealed out, lurching forward to rest against the door.

He pulled his throbbing length out, releasing onto your back. With a heavy, satisfied sigh, Lando scooped you up and gently laid you on his mattress, littering your aching body with kisses upon the removal of his helmet.

“You did so good for me.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles and you had been together for a while, and it was safe to say you knew your way around each other’s bodies. However, neither of you quite knew the other’s mind.

It was hard to pinpoint the specific kinks and such. If you were both paying attention you could figure out the little things you liked— For example, Charles liked kitten licks on the tip, and he loved you in red lingerie. And you liked sensual sex with romance and eye contact.

However, there was something you had never been able to admit until now. “Can you keep the helmet on for tonight?” He blinked at your question, already half naked and hovering over you, who was… Entirely naked.

“Keep the helmet on?”

“Yeah. Just to try it out.”

It didn’t take much convincing.

The entire experience changed when the helmet came on. Maybe you were expecting him to take a dominant stance, but it seemed as soon as the mask came on he was a whining and stuttering mess.

Charles was propped up on his elbows as you straddled his hips, grinding yourself further onto his impaled cock. He couldn’t even form a sentence, just desperately grip your hips and occasionally involuntarily thrust up into your tight heat. He was thankful for the helmet, actually. That way you couldn’t see his pathetic expression.

“Feels good,” You praised, your voice like honey. He squeezed the fat of your hips tighter, both of his index fingers anxiously tapping against your skin. He wasn’t normally so… Submissive like this.

You reached out, lifting the visor of his helmet to unveil his eyes. Just his eyes, that’s all you could see, but they told you exactly what you needed to know. With furrowed brows and a watery gaze, he made direct eye contact with you.

His hands traveled to find yours, squeezing them tight while you rode him. He could barely ground himself, but your steady presence certainly helped. “Y/N-” He finally managed to splutter out, his legs twitching and his hips jerking.

“Shh, you’re okay,” You whispered, moving your hips faster. “You got it, you’re doing great.” At your praise, he seemed to lose it, spilling deep inside you.

His body collapsed against the mattress, leaving you to carefully lift his helmet and brush his damp hair away from his eyes.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You came home from a stressful day to your boyfriend standing in the dining room, examining his racing helmet under the light. “What are you doing?” You questioned softly as you set your things down on the table.

Her flinched, but relaxed as soon as he realized it was just you, and there was no need to be worried. “Just thinking.” You raised your brow as if asking ‘about?’ He showed you the helmet, and you just shrugged with a lack of understanding. “I want to fuck you with it on.”

You blinked at his forwardness, your gaze shifting from the helmet, and then to him. “If you’re comfortable with it, I don’t mind.”

Sex with Carlos was typically slow and sensual, just what you needed after a long day.

Not this time.

He had you folded in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Your knees were pressed to your chest, hands gripping the sheets as he fucked into you in your folded position. He hovered over you, one hand on the headboard and the other on the curve of your ass.

He grunted, but most of the noise was coming from you. “C-… Carlos!” You yelped, surprised by the change in tone. Your eyes twitched, threatening to roll back into your skull. You tried to swallow your moans, but it was impossible to keep silent.

He suddenly grabbed both of your hands, bringing them up to hold your own legs back. He busied his digits with your hole. Two fingers circled your needy clit, making your legs ache and shake. The other two slid right in with his cock, plunging in and out in a rhythmic manner.

“Feel good?” He questioned in that thick accent, ensuring your comfort over all. You couldn’t form a coherent response, leaving you to just nod a silent yes.

It seemed like ages he toyed with your poor hole, but finally he pulled free and let himself release onto your stomach. You let your legs fall to the mattress, twitching occasionally. Both of you panted as he removed the helmet, sweat dripping from his forehead. His hair was beautifully messy.

“That was…” He trailed off.

“Hot,” You finished for him.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

You had been giggling to yourself all day as you stared at your phone. It was beginning to make Oscar anxious as he automatically assumed the worst. With sudden steeled courage, he decided to confront you.

“What have you been looking at? You haven’t stopped laughing at your phone.” His tone was calm, but inside he was slightly panicked. That is, until you turned the phone around to show him an edit. Of himself.

He had seen a few of them. Ever since him and Lando filmed that video showing off their helmets, the fans had been going crazy. “What about it?” He tilted his head, not unlike the way he did in said video. Your ovaries basically exploded.

“Do you have your helmet?” He nodded. “Put it on.”

Well, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

This… Wasn’t exactly what Oscar had been expecting. He knew you had something filthy in mind, but to suck him off while he was wearing nothing but his helmet was a little absurd, even for you.

Thankfully, he accepted the freak in you.

Your tongue darted out to give his tip a little lick, the cold metal of your tongue piercing making him twitch. He shuddered, a deep groan leaving his lips. Without even thinking, his hands grabbed the back of your head. However, he relaxed before making any sharp movements, and let it rest there for now.

You experimented further, plump lips encasing his whole tip, cheeks hollowing experimentally. He groaned, head tilted back momentarily. You looked at him through your lashes, giggling around his length when he peered back down, the movement unbearably attractive in your eyes.

You placed your hands on his thighs to balance yourself, and slowly took more of him in. He tried to keep quiet, but he could only bite back so many groans before they started to flood out. As your pace increased, his grip on the back of your head did, too.

Eventually, you weren’t even moving anymore. He was just full on face fucking you to get himself off, and you didn’t care. You let your mouth be used by your boyfriend, whose hips were jerking in and out in a spontaneous rhythm.

He finally came to a stop, his length twitching as he pulled it out. Half of his seed was shot onto your face, while the rest was expertly aimed for your mouth.

He was breathing heavily as he lifted the helmet, peering down at you with a heaving chest. “Holy shit.”

That was by far the most emotion anyone had ever gotten out of him.

[rubywillkins]

The Grand Pursuit|5

Rank Me If You Dare

“Truth isn’t always loud — sometimes, it’s whispered behind locked doors.”

Previously on Grand Pursuit…

Tensions exploded when Jessica called Y/N a pick-me for not obsessing over gloss and girly performance. But Y/N fired back, cool and lethal, claiming her power without apology.

Oscar’s silence during the fight? Unmistakable. It hit harder than any insult — and Y/N noticed.

During the brutal “Truth Circle,” Lando revealed a magnetic connection with Y/N, leaving Revan raging, and Charles watching with something dark behind his eyes.

That tension cracked open in the hallway — a whisper of a kiss between Y/N and Lando. But nothing in this house stays secret for long.

Meanwhile, Laila dropped a bomb in Y/N’s bedroom: Oscar might have flipped sides — calling Y/N “emotionally risky” behind her back.

EARLY MORNING – Y/N’S BEDROOM

The room is dim, save for the soft light outside.

Y/N’s back is against the headboard, knees pulled up, hair messy, a blanket tucked around her like armor. Laila sits cross-legged at the edge of the bed.

Laila (nervous):

“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was walking by. They didn’t even care who heard.”

Y/N (softly):

“What exactly did they say?”

Laila:

“Jessica said Oscar’s distancing himself because you’re too emotional — risky. Revan didn’t deny it. Just said ‘good, she’s too close to Lando anyway.’”

A heavy silence.

Y/N (eyes unfocused):

“I told him things I haven’t said out loud in years.”

Laila (tentative):

“He might still care. But if he said that…”

Y/N (cuts her off, calm but cold):

“Then I don’t want half-care. Or silence.”

CONFESSIONAL – Y/N

“People make alliances in games like this. But Oscar and I? That wasn’t supposed to be strategy. That was real. Or maybe I’m just stupid.”

TASK ANNOUNCEMENT – “RANK ME IF YOU DARE”

HOST : “Today’s challenge is about your unfiltered perceptions of each other.”

��You’ll privately rank your housemates across 10 categories:

“The averaged results will be revealed publicly. The person ranked Most Fake receives a Consequence Card — and must complete their penalty in front of the entire house.”

“Let the reckoning begin.”

PRIVATE RANKING ROOM – SERIES OF SCENES

Each person is brought into a white room with a glowing table and a sleek black tablet. Soft music plays. The tension is suffocating.

Y/N (braid over one shoulder, hoodie, sharp eyes):

She taps quickly. No hesitation.

Most Trustworthy: Natalie Most Loyal: Laila Most Manipulative: Jessica Most Attractive: Lando Most Strategic: Lewis Least Real: Revan Most Likely to Win: Charles Most Likely to Break Hearts: Oscar Most Fake Friendship: Jessica & Cassie Dark Horse: Carlos

Y/N (muttering):

“Let’s see who’s still smiling when the truth hits.”

Lando (in a grey hoodie, relaxed but sharp):

He laughs at half the questions. But thinks hard on one.

Most Attractive: Y/N Most Likely to Break Hearts: Oscar Most Likely to Win: Y/N

Lando (chuckling):

“This is going to burn when it hits.”

Oscar (jaw clenched, clearly struggling):

Most Fake Friendship: Y/N & Natalie Least Real: Y/N

He pauses. His thumb hovers. Then he taps it in anyway.

Oscar (quiet):

“Sorry.”

LIVING ROOM — RANKING RESULTS REVEAL

Everyone sits around, eyes locked on the giant screen.

Results flicker across in sleek black-and-gold graphics.

Most Trustworthy: Natalie Most Attractive: Y/N Most Strategic: Lewis Most Manipulative: Jessica Breaks Hearts: Oscar Most Fake: Y/N

Consequence Triggered

Silence. Then murmurs. Then — tension.

Jessica (smirking):

“Ouch. Even I didn’t expect that.”

Cassie (laughing too loud):

“She must be shook.”

Lando (murmuring):

“This is bullshit.”

Oscar doesn’t look at anyone. Especially not Y/N.

THE CONSEQUENCE — Y/N’S SECRET

The host’s voice booms.

“Y/N, as the house’s pick for Most Fake, you must reveal one secret about someone in this room — looking them in the eye.”

She stands.

Walks straight toward Oscar.

Y/N (calm, composed):

“Oscar. You said I was emotionally risky. That you’re keeping your distance because I’m not good for your game.”

Oscar’s face tightens. A few people gasp.

Y/N (even):

“So here’s my secret: I thought you were the safest person in this house. And I was ready to bet on you.”

Y/N (softer):

“But I’m done betting on ghosts.”

She turns. Walks away.

Oscar says nothing.

CONFESSIONAL – LANDO

“I’m watching her become unstoppable. And I swear, every time Oscar stays quiet, it makes me want to say everything he won’t.”

NIGHT – ROOFTOP BAR

Soft music. Dim lighting. The house is quieter than usual.

Y/N is seated alone, heels kicked off, drink in hand.

Lando approaches slowly, two drinks in hand.

Lando:

“I figured you could use something stronger than the truth.”

She accepts the drink. Doesn’t look at him right away.

Y/N:

“Do you think I’m fake?”

Lando (soft):

“Not even close. I think you’re too real for them to handle.”

She turns. They lock eyes.

Y/N:

“You flirt with everyone, you know.”

Lando (smirking):

“No. I tease everyone. I only flirt with you.”

The air is thick. Electric.

He leans in, brushing her knee with his. Their legs stay touching.

Y/N (breathless):

“And what’s this?”

Lando (low, confident):

“This is me being serious.”

A pause.

Then he reaches out, tucks her hair behind her ear — his thumb grazing the shell of it just enough to make her shiver.

Y/N:

“You’re trouble.”

Lando:

“Only the kind you’ll come back to.”

They lean in again. This time—

They kiss.

Slow. Confident. Unrushed. His hand slides around her waist, pulling her just close enough to feel it — not possessive, but intentional.

They pull apart, barely.

Lando (smiling, breathless):

“Finally.”

From behind a pillar — Revan sees everything. She turns. Her nails dig into her palm.

SECURITY CAMERA FOOTAGE

Night vision. Green hue.

Jessica and Revan are in the courtyard again.

Jessica:

“He kissed her.”

Revan (whispers):

“Then we hit back harder.”

Jessica (smiling):

“How’s Charles these days?”

Revan freezes.

Jessica (deadly sweet):

“What? You think you’re the only one who sees how he watches her?”

Charles, alone in the confessional.

Charles:

“They all think it’s about Lando now. But I’ve been watching Y/N from day one.”

Charles (leaning forward):

“I just haven’t made my move yet.”

To Be Continued

@dessashippr

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

F1 Head Cannons

Wedding Day First Dance! 

All 2025 Grid x Fem!Reader

Oscar Piastri

First Dance Song: “Beyond” – Leon Bridges

When the emcee calls for your first dance, Oscar doesn’t say a word. Just stands up from the sweetheart table, offers his hand with that quiet, soft smile—the one he saves just for you—and leads you to the dance floor like you’re the most fragile, important thing he’s ever touched.

The second your arms wind around his neck, his forehead leans against yours. The first lyrics float through the air.

He exhales shakily. “This is really happening.”

You nod, tears already stinging your eyes. “Yeah. It is.”

Oscar’s not a man of many words, but his silence is never empty—it’s full of love. He dances like he’s memorizing every second. His fingers trace patterns on your back while he holds you closer than ever, his heartbeat frantic beneath your palms.

“I think I loved you before I even realized it,” he murmurs, voice raw. “It scared me. Still does.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye.

“Don’t be scared,” you whisper. “We’re safe now.”

His lips twitch upward, eyes glassy. “We’re forever now.”

And as the music swells, Oscar holds you like he’s never letting go.

-

Lando Norris

First Dance Song: “Until I Found You” – Stephen Sanchez

Lando practically bounces on his heels waiting for the music to start. He’s already kissed you six times since the ceremony ended. “What if I forgot how to dance?” he teases. “What if I fall?”

“You already did,” you grin. “In love.”

He groans. “Okay, you can’t out-cheese me on our wedding day.”

But then the song begins, and something shifts. The laughter fades. Lando’s hands gently grip your waist, and suddenly it’s just the two of you. His thumbs draw circles on the small of your back, and his eyes soften into something achingly real.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers.

You blink. “What?”

He shakes his head with a broken laugh. “You walk into my life like a hurricane, and I didn’t even try to stop you. I just let you wreck me.”

You place your hand over his heart.

“Maybe you needed to be wrecked.”

He exhales slowly, then leans in and rests his forehead to yours. “You’re my home.”

You don’t need music. You don’t need an audience. You just need this boy, holding you like he found heaven.

-

Pierre Gasly

First Dance Song: “Adorn” – Miguel

Pierre saunters to the floor with all the confidence in the world—hand out, bow tie slightly undone, charm dialed to ten. “Madame Gasly,” he says smoothly, “may I have this dance?”

You roll your eyes but your stomach flutters anyway. “Don’t drop me.”

“I would never,” he gasps dramatically. “I cherish you far too much.”

But when your hand finds his chest and the music starts, everything slows down. The cocky grin fades. Pierre looks at you like he’s never seen you before.

“You know,” he says, voice lower, more intimate. “I’ve had a lot of nights where I felt like something was missing. And I didn’t know what.”

You blink at him, caught off guard.

“But then I met you,” he says. “And now… it’s like the world finally makes sense.”

You try to reply, but he kisses your hand and gently spins you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as you return to his arms.

“I love you,” he breathes. “With everything.”

And for once, Pierre doesn’t need to perform. He just holds you, lets his heart speak for itself.

——

Alex Albon

First Dance Song: “Yellow” – Coldplay (acoustic)

He’s nervous. You can feel it in the way he squeezes your fingers before walking onto the floor. “Everyone’s staring,” he whispers.

You smile. “Let them. We’re beautiful.”

Alex chuckles and looks down at your joined hands. “You’ve always believed in me more than I believed in myself.”

The lights dim, and Coldplay starts to play—the soft acoustic version that you both cried to the first time you heard it together in bed. Now it’s your wedding song. And he’s crying again.

“I was so scared I’d never deserve something this good,” he murmurs. “But you—you make the whole world feel golden.”

You wrap your arms around him and sway gently, his cheek resting on your head.

“I picked you,” you whisper. “You. Not a trophy. Not a dream. You.”

He pulls back, blinking fast.

“You really mean that?”

“I do.”

He lets out a laugh-sob and spins you clumsily before catching you in his arms.

“I’m yours,” he says. “Forever yellow.”

———

Lewis Hamilton

First Dance Song: “All of Me” – John Legend

Lewis doesn’t move until the first note hits. Then, slowly, he takes your hand, his other hand trembling slightly as it settles on your waist. You can see it—the nerves, the awe, the gratitude.

He doesn’t speak for the first minute. Just breathes you in. His head bows slightly until his forehead rests against yours, and you feel the weight of every year, every heartbreak, every lonely night that led him to you.

“I didn’t think I’d find this,” he says, barely audible. “Not really. Not someone who could… see past everything.”

You hold his face in both hands. “You’re not hard to love, Lewis.”

His eyes brim with tears. “I’ve always been too much. Too loud. Too soft. Too guarded.”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But not with me.”

He exhales shakily, then presses a kiss to your lips that lingers well past the music. When the song swells, he moves with you in a slow circle, holding you like a man who finally let himself believe in joy.

“This isn’t just a wedding,” he murmurs. “It’s my rebirth.”

———

Charles Leclerc

First Dance Song: “Falling Like the Stars” – James Arthur

He’s been crying since you walked down the aisle. Not sobbing—just quietly falling apart, one tear at a time, like his heart can’t take how much he loves you.

When the music starts, Charles doesn’t take your hand. He pulls you into his arms like he’s afraid the floor beneath him will disappear.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “You’re really mine.”

His lips brush your forehead. You can feel him shaking.

You look up at him. “Mon amour… are you okay?”

He gives a tearful laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay. Not really. Not until you.”

You sway together slowly, his hands tracing your waist with reverence, like he’s memorizing the feel of you. And when the chorus swells—I swear to God when I come home, I’m gonna hold you so close…—he presses his forehead to yours and chokes out, “I want a forever with you.”

You kiss him. “Then take it.”

And he does. Over and over again.

——

Carlos Sainz

First Dance Song: “You Are the Reason” – Calum Scott & Leona Lewis

Carlos stands stiff at first—shoulders tense, trying to hide how emotional he really is. He grips your waist gently, but you can feel it: restraint. Until your fingers lace behind his neck.

“Breathe,” you whisper.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. And then? His whole body softens.

He holds you tighter. Closer. Like the only thing keeping him grounded is your touch.

“You saved me,” he murmurs. “I don’t think you know that.”

You look up. “From what?”

“From becoming someone cold. Someone… alone.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “You made me feel human.”

As the chorus plays, he spins you once, then pulls you back against his chest. “I’ll never let you feel alone again. Not one day of your life.”

And the way he says it, you know it’s a promise he’ll keep until his last breath.

———

George Russell

First Dance Song: “Lover” – Taylor Swift (First Dance Remix)

George is all grins as he offers his hand, eyes shining like champagne in the candlelight.

“Shall we, Mrs. Russell?” he says with the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Lead the way.”

He does. He always does—with grace, with pride, with love. He spins you smoothly across the dance floor as if he’s been practicing, and when you land in his arms, he just stares at you for a moment.

“I used to believe in fate,” he whispers. “Then I met you, and I realized fate has nothing on a good choice. And loving you? Was the best choice I’ve ever made.”

Your heart stutters. “You’re really saying this during a Taylor Swift song?”

He laughs and tugs you closer. “You married a romantic, darling. Get used to it.”

When the bridge hits—can I go where you go?—he dips you so gently the crowd swoons. But you’re only looking at him. And he’s only ever been looking at you.

———

Yuki Tsunoda

First Dance Song: “Best Part” – Daniel Caesar & H.E.R.

Yuki tries to act casual—cocking his head, fake-scowling at the DJ when the spotlight hits him. “This is embarrassing,” he mutters under his breath.

“You’re fine,” you tease. “Just dance.”

He exhales and grabs your hand a little too tightly—but then the music starts, and your smile melts him. Like it always does.

“You know I suck at dancing,” he says, cheeks red.

“So?” you grin. “It’s just me.”

And that’s when it hits him—it’s just you. You, in his arms. In that dress. With his ring on your finger. And suddenly, he’s not embarrassed at all.

“You’re everything,” he mumbles, leaning in. “You know that, right?”

You press your forehead to his. “You’re mine.”

When the song fades, he’s still holding you like the world outside the dance floor doesn’t matter. And in his heart, it never will again.

———

Oliver Bearman

First Dance Song: “Enchanted” – Taylor Swift

He’s smiling so hard his dimples hurt. He doesn’t say anything when he holds his hand out to you—just looks completely and utterly stunned that this is real.

The moment your fingers link, he lets out a breathless, “Wow…”

You laugh. “It’s just me.”

He shakes his head instantly. “No. It’s you. You, in that dress. You, with my last name now.”

The song begins—gentle, dreamlike—and his entire expression softens. “I feel like I’m dancing with a fairy tale.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “It is a fairy tale.”

“I was so nervous you’d realize I wasn’t ready,” he murmurs.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper. “You’re my once in a lifetime.”

He presses his lips to your hair. “I’m never letting go.”

And the whole world melts away while you dance.

———

Esteban Ocon

First Dance Song: “Kiss Me” – Dermot Kennedy (acoustic)

Esteban is uncharacteristically quiet when the DJ announces your first dance. He adjusts his tie one more time, swallows thickly, then takes your hand like it’s the first time all over again.

“I practiced,” he admits as he leads you onto the dance floor. “I didn’t want to mess this up.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” you whisper.

When the music starts, you expect him to joke or flirt—but instead, he just holds you. Sways gently. Eyes locked to yours like you’re the center of his universe.

“You know what I was thinking while you walked down the aisle?” he says softly. “That I would’ve waited a thousand lifetimes just for this one moment with you.”

You tighten your grip on his hand.

“I love you,” he breathes. “With every part of me.”

And as the song crescendos—Kiss me the way that you would if we died tonight—he kisses you so deeply, the whole room disappears.

———

Max Verstappen

First Dance Song: “Forever” – Ben Harper

Max isn’t the type to show emotion in front of everyone. But tonight, as he takes your hand and brings you to the center of the floor, there’s something in his eyes that’s shattering.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he murmurs under his breath. “Not the dance. The… being vulnerable in front of people.”

You wrap your arms around him. “Then just look at me.”

He does. And everything softens.

The music begins—low, slow, full of aching devotion. He holds you tight enough to make your breath catch.

“Loving you,” he whispers, “feels like finally stopping the car after the longest race of my life.”

And when the lyrics echo “Not talking ‘bout a year, no not three or four. I don’t want that kind of forever in my life anymore…” — you see tears slip down his cheek. Silent. Real.

He kisses you slow, like there’s no rush to anything ever again.

———

Lance Stroll

First Dance Song: “Perfect” – Ed Sheeran & Beyoncé Duet

He’s been calm all day—charming, cool, collected. But the second your hands meet in the center of the floor, Lance’s shoulders drop and you see it:

He’s overwhelmed.

“You okay?” you whisper.

He swallows. Nods. “You just look so… you. Like I always imagined you would.”

You’re pulled against his chest as the song begins. He doesn’t try to impress, doesn’t show off. He just holds you gently, the warmth of his palm steady against your lower back.

“I don’t say enough,” he whispers. “How much I love the way you love me. How safe you make me feel. How seen.”

You grip his lapel. “You don’t have to say it. I feel it.”

He rests his forehead to yours. “Still… I need to say it now. I love you. And I’ll never stop proving it.”

———

Nico Hülkenberg

First Dance Song: “How Long Will I Love You” – Ellie Goulding

He chuckles as you walk onto the floor, shaking his head at the cheering crowd.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this in front of people,” he mutters.

“You’ve raced in front of millions,” you grin.

“That’s easy,” he says. “This… this is the scary part.”

The song begins, and Nico falls into rhythm almost too naturally. His hands settle on your back like he’s done this a thousand times in dreams.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I used to think my best years were behind me.”

Your smile fades into something tender.

“And then you showed up. And now I don’t care how old I am. Every year I get with you will be the best one.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re not allowed to make me cry before cake.”

He leans in. “I plan to ruin you for every course tonight, schatz.”

———

Franco Colapinto

First Dance Song: “Te Amo” – Franco de Vita

He pulls you onto the floor with a grin that’s all dimples and nerves.

“Everyone’s watching,” he whispers.

“Let them.”

He exhales shakily as the soft Spanish ballad begins, his hands settling on your waist like it’s the only place they’ve ever belonged.

“I used to dream of this moment,” he says. “Of dancing with the love of my life… at our wedding… somewhere in Argentina maybe.”

“You’re getting sappy,” you tease.

He smiles. “You make me that way.”

When the chorus hits—Te amo… desde el primer momento en que te vi…—he presses his forehead to yours, whispering the lyrics against your lips.

“Mi amor… gracias por elegirme.”

You squeeze his hand. “Siempre.”

And you dance, not like newlyweds, but like soulmates reunited after lifetimes apart.

———

Liam Lawson

First Dance Song: “This Will Be (An Everlasting Love)” – Natalie Cole

The second the upbeat piano kicks in, Liam dips you. Dramatically. People cheer. You gasp.

“What are you doing?!” you laugh.

He smirks. “Setting the tone for the rest of our lives.”

You expect him to mess around the whole time, but once the fun spins settle, Liam brings you in close, his hands warm and steady on your back.

“You make everything better,” he murmurs, so only you can hear. “My worst days. My biggest doubts. My messiest thoughts. You make it all lighter.”

You blink back tears at how serious his voice has gotten. “Liam…”

“I’m not gonna be perfect,” he says quickly. “But I’m always gonna try to deserve this. To deserve you.”

You kiss him then and there—joyous and unapologetic—right as the music swells again.

———

Isack Hadjar

First Dance Song: “Je te laisserai des mots” – Patrick Watson

Isack’s hand trembles when he takes yours. But he doesn’t let go.

He’s not the loudest. Not the flashiest. But when he looks at you under the soft lights of your reception, you feel every ounce of his love.

“You always understood me,” he whispers. “Even when I didn’t know how to explain myself.”

The haunting French ballad starts to play, and Isack exhales slowly, like he’s letting himself finally be seen.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he admits. “I don’t always have the words.”

You press your hand to his chest. “You don’t need them. I feel it.”

He closes his eyes for a second. Breathes you in. “I’ll spend my whole life finding new ways to say it.”

And he does—without saying anything at all. Just your fingers intertwined, swaying together like poetry in silence.

———

Gabriel Bortoleto

First Dance Song: “Mine” – Bazzi (Acoustic)

“Okay, I’m not gonna cry,” Gabriel says. “I refuse to cry.”

“Already crying,” you whisper, wiping under your eyes as the crowd quiets.

When the music starts, he pulls you in like he’s waited forever. “You’re mine,” he says, almost stunned. “You’re actually my wife.”

“Yup,” you grin. “Signed, sealed, delivered.”

He twirls you lazily before resting his forehead against yours, breathing hard. “You changed everything for me. The way I love. The way I see the world. The way I see myself.”

Your thumb brushes his jaw. “You’ve always been enough.”

He closes his eyes and smiles. “Not until you.”

And then, soft and sacred, he whispers the chorus in your ear—“You so fucking precious when you smile…” —and you swear your heart never beats the same again.

———

Kimi Antonelli

First Dance Song: “Better Half of Me” – Tom Walker

Kimi looks like he’s in a trance. You can tell—he’s overwhelmed. His jaw’s clenched, like he’s holding back a tidal wave.

“Kimi,” you whisper, brushing your fingers over his. “You can breathe. It’s just me.”

He lets out a shuddering breath and looks at you like he’s never looked at anyone before.

“I don’t know what I did to earn you,” he admits. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life being worthy.”

You bury your face in his neck as the song plays—soft, aching, full of raw emotion.

When the line hits—And if you ever leave me, baby, leave some morphine at my door—he holds you tighter.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says, voice barely there. “Not in this lifetime. Not in the next.”

——

Fernando Alonso

First Dance Song: “Make You Feel My Love” – Adele

He kisses your hand first. Doesn’t speak. Just guides you to the center of the floor like it’s holy.

The music begins, and Fernando looks down at you with eyes that have lived a thousand lives—but never this one. Not with you.

“I’ve loved before,” he says. “But never like this. Never with every part of me.”

You feel your breath hitch.

“I know I’m not easy,” he continues softly. “But I will never stop choosing you.”

You don’t reply. You just wrap your arms around him and let him lead. And as the chorus plays—No, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do, to make you feel my love—he whispers those words against your skin.

Over and over again.

[81pastrys]

Sleepy Solution

Summary— Max had a morning problem and she compromised, but he couldn’t hold back

Warnings— morning sex ; ‘just the tip’ ; overstimulation ; no aftercare (she falls back asleep)

A/N— why hello, I’m back

Max One Shots

Request— Hi! I have a new idea. Max and his girlfriend in the morning, in bed under the sunlight. His girlfriend is really tired while Max wakes her up with sweet, insistent kisses. He has the morning problem, so he wants her terribly and insists. But his girlfriend, still half asleep, wants to rest, so she offers him "just the tip." Max accepts, but as time goes on, he can't hold back any longer and he ends up putting everything in.-🫦

Mornings were usually calmer with Max. He was usually tired from gaming all night and she was usually tired from being such a housewife.

Max had been home from a break a few days and she loved the fact she could get cuddled to sleep again. He’d hold her tight and all her muscles would relax and she’d let out a sigh of content.

She was a peaceful sleeper, especially with Max holding her. Otherwise she would toss and turn all night. Max had less calmer ideas when he woke up hard though. “Schatje.” He murmured in her ear.

She hummed and he kissed her, non-stop. Her cheeks. her hair, her neck, anywhere he could reach without disturbing her too much. “Morning.” She grumbled tired.

“So cute when you sleep on me like this.” He hummed. He smiled and she wriggled her body to get more comfortable and brushed a leg against his ‘issue’ his breath hitched. “Can we fix that? Please?”

She groaned, her eyes already shut but creasing from her closing them more. “Just the tip?” She offered. “I’m too tired Max.” He chuckled but nodded at her.

“Okay, we can do just the tip.” He whispered back, in between his insistent kisses. They were already half dressed, so he pulled his boxers off and moved her panties to the side.

He reached and hand down to her and felt her arousal. She moaned at the touch and he smiled again. He lined up his tip and breached her entrance just the slightest, only the head of him inside her. He groaned, feeling her tight walls getting tighter at her muscles trying to get more of him.

They stayed how they were for a minute and he whined, he needed more than just the tip, he needed all of her around all of him. “Het spijt me schatje.” (I’m sorry baby) he whispered before he pushed all the way inside her.

She moaned loud as he did. She gasped a took a few bigger breaths at how much he filled her in this angle. “Fuck Max.” She arched her back, the feeling too much for the morning haze. Her body shook as he held her close.

He ran his fingers through her hair, shushing her as he stayed where he was. She whined from how full and overstimulated she was. “Do you want me to move?” He whispered in her ear. She whined again and pushed at his hip.

“No, but I might cum if you pull out.” She strained in her tired and raspy voice. Her breath shaky as he slightly twitched inside her. He hushed her again and stayed as still as he could.

What got her to climax wasn’t just the slight twitches, but when he got deeper by pulling her closer. She gasped and he let her body shake from the pleasure. “Too much?” He asked.

She shook her head in disagreement and they stay connected for a while longer, his dick slowly softening inside her. “Never again.” She panted. He chuckled after pulling out, her body wracked from the intensity of it all.

“No morning sex, got it.” Max noted. “Thank you.” He pecked her cheek and she groaned, still overly tired from not just the previous day but now from the orgasm he quickly pulled from her. “I didn’t know you were that sensitive in the morning.”

She rubbed her face on her pillow, now lying on her belly. “I told you just the tip.” She grumbled into the pillow. He chuckled again and let her be. They never had morning sex before now and he now knew why.

“Are you going to shower or do I have to manhandle you to clean up?” He asked from their shared bathroom. She was already claimed by sleep again and he chuckled to himself. Clean up can wait apparently.

Apologies for the absence. Easter kicked my ass and then my ex decided to break no contact SO!

@il0vereadingstuff @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @justaf1girl @kallanfiona

[redlinespeedster]

how about teammate reader 👀

Like taking out frustration on the teammate!reader after today's race

DOWNFORCE !!

mad max 𝒙 teammate!fem reader ⡡

[summary] the spanish grand prix couldn’t have gone any worse—at least not for Max. After losing his podium and receiving a well-deserved penalty, an uncontrollable rage begins to build inside him. But there’s one outlet for all that anger: his teammate.

[warnings] smut !! rough sex, degrading dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, spitting, hair pulling, oral sex (male receiving) & face fucking, max is mean. Just a heads up, this fic might have some language mistakes. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes.

[notes] I’ll admit it, Mad Max is my not-so-guilty pleasure. 🤭 The angrier he gets, the more I just want him to fuck me senseless. By the way, I’m a huge fan of Max x teammate reader!! How about we turn it into an au? Drop your naughty ideas for the next parts.

It had been a tough race week for Red Bull… Well, for everyone—except you.

You spent all sixty-six laps fighting for the lead, going wheel-to-wheel with Oscar Piastri, who never stopped challenging for first place. The cars overtook each other several times until the safety car was deployed. From that moment on, your job was to hold position, right behind Oscar.

Throughout the entire weekend, you did everything perfectly. Flawless qualifying, flawless overtakes. You even took home a nice little trophy for pole position, adding another one to your growing collection. Winning was inevitable; you were the favorite to fight for the race, and by the final laps, you had already been voted Driver of the Day. The race was going well—truly great, actually… at least, until the very end.

The drama began as soon as the green flag was waved again in the final laps. Max, your teammate who was running in third place, was forced to make a risky move that allowed Charles Leclerc to overtake him. As if that wasn’t enough, Max unfairly took the position from George Russell, which led the team to pressure him into giving it back. Amid protests and frustration, the Dutchman intentionally caused a minor collision with the Mercedes driver, effectively ruining his race. He received a ten-second penalty that dropped him to the last spot within the points.

Max couldn’t have been angrier. A large part of his fury stemmed from the unbearable envy that rose from deep within him as he watched his teammate get far luckier than he had.

You didn’t even see him storm out of his car—you were too busy celebrating a back-to-back victory that bumped you up in the standings, now nearly tied with Max in points.

He would never be happy for you. Never. His only desire is to defeat you, no matter the cost. He can’t stand having to compete with you. He knows he’s better than you, and he makes sure you know it every time you’re alone — even when you’re disoriented — because his hands between your legs silence any attempt at protest.

And that’s how it’s been since you joined the team, unfortunately. For him, it was easy to throw hurtful words at you, wait for your protest, and then break you down for reacting “rudely.” You had to settle for anything less than what he had—because otherwise, he’d use you until you couldn’t even stand. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t stolen positions from him on purpose at least once, just to piss him off. His irritating side scared you, but at the same time, it attracted you in a strange way.

You’d lie with shameless ease if you said you weren’t fascinated by him.

He stormed into the team’s motorhome with indescribable rage. Deep down, you expected it. You were sipping from your bottle when the door slammed shut with force, leaving you stunned… just like so many other times. You wished you could say you’d never seen him like this, but this scene had played out more times than you’d like to admit.

But before you could complain or tell him to calm down, he grabbed your arm with a grip that burned against your skin. In one swift movement, he pushed you against the wall, his body practically pinning yours. With his height, build, and weight, he looked imposing… even intimidating, especially to your eyes that shone like those of a cornered puppy.

“Don’t you got anything to say to me?” he asked, and your mind filled with questions. Did you have to say something? Offer your condolences, maybe? But it hadn’t even been your fault. You were just faster, and that’s why you ended up in first place.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked, your face serious, almost like you were spitting it out. “That you screwed up your own race ’cause of your fucking selfish ass? That now you’ve got the noose around your neck ’cause you’re just one point away from getting banned and not being able to race?”

And you almost let out a moan when he tangled a hand in your hair and pulled it with little delicacy, tearing a whimper of pain from you. Max had many flaws, and one of the most obvious was that he couldn’t stand being told things as they were.

Another of his problems — and no less serious — was his inability to control how irritable he could get. He was like a harmless matchstick until it fell on four gasoline tanks. Because when he got angry, he exploded in ways you had never witnessed before. It was almost as if he completely lost control, as if something inside him was unleashed without restraint.

“What did we say about being cheeky?” he says seriously, barely opening his eyes, a spark of annoyance burning in his gaze. His other hand slowly descends, tracing your torso over the fireproof suit. The tips of his fingers barely brush your navel, and just the thought that he might keep going down makes you shiver uncontrollably.

With the same hand that just caressed you moments ago, he roughly squeezes your cheeks, enough to make your face ache.

“I’m gettin’ tired of havin’ to shut that little bitchy mouth of yours,” he spits out, and you could swear you hear his teeth grinding as he speaks.

He watches your face, how your pupils dilate, and for a moment, his anger fades away. But it’s just that: a moment. Then it returns, dragging him like a relentless wave, and it seems like he can only unleash it on you.

Suddenly, he’s kissing you. He does it with intensity, with force, even with an almost rough, dirty edge. There’s no trace of tenderness on his lips, only unrestrained desire as they move over yours. As always, you try to keep up with his pace. Your breath catches, your heart pounds violently against your chest, and a pleasurable sensation spreads through your whole body as he melts his mouth with yours.

According to him, it was the best way to let off steam. Every time a race didn’t go as he expected, he came back to you: to your lips, the way your body fit perfectly against his, and how well you welcomed him. You were almost like a drug, an addiction he always ended up relapsing into.

His tongue invades your mouth with an almost arrogant confidence, moving with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. You barely manage to keep up, softly gasping against his lips as he dominates you with every touch. If his tongue is already hard to bear, you don’t know how you’ll handle something much bigger pushing inside you. The thought makes you tremble, just as his tongue curls around yours—wet, firm, caressing it as if already rehearsing for something much deeper.

You feel your pussy throbbing. Well… actually, it wasn’t unexpected at all. The way he kissed you, how he grabbed your hair roughly and let slip degrading comments, without a doubt, triggered an immediate reaction between your legs. Your skin burned. You unconsciously squeeze your thighs as you hyperventilate, and yet you keep kissing him, even when it’s already hard to breathe.

Suddenly, he breaks the kiss that had you completely dazed and grabs your hair firmly again, while strands of saliva still hang from your lips. It was no longer just pain you felt: now it was rough, almost cruel. You softly moan, squinting your eyes from the discomfort.

“Get on your knees, liefje.” He orders, with an almost annihilating look, one of those that don’t need words to warn: do what I say or face the consequences.

And who were you to contradict one of his orders?

You can feel how hard he is beneath his clothes. He knew you would always be there to satisfy his desires, and he wasn’t wrong. Because you always were. Your hands slowly trace the edge of his fireproof pants, as if you were drawing a map you already knew by heart. His cock drips pre-cum, clearly visible through the thin fabric of his clothing.

However, his impatience betrays him, and he hates to see you make him wait, especially when he is consumed by desperation. As soon as his cock is free, you choke as you feel him push it all the way down your throat. For a moment, a gag reflex threatens to escape, but you manage to control it.

Max pants softly. He feels overwhelmed with pleasure from the simple touch of your lips wrapping around him. But it’s not enough, not even when he sees you choke, your eyes full of tears from not being able to take it. He shamelessly mocks you while guiding your movements with his hands, practically fucking your mouth. Your tongue precisely reaches every sensitive spot it traces on his cock, igniting every nerve along the way.

You could feel the pre-cum sliding and dripping over your tongue. Its taste was strange, but not unpleasant to you. His grip on your hair grows firmer as your head moves in a constant sway. He can feel your tongue in every corner, a wet mess of saliva and desire, but he melts when he notices your gaze fixed on his. Then, he pulls away from you for a moment.

He doesn't want to cum until he's inside you. That’s something he never says out loud, but you know it. He likes it—especially when there’s time to spare.

Your racing suit is almost on the floor now, sliding down around your ankles. Your cheeks flush; you’re not sure if it’s from the heat or if shyness suddenly crept in. He, however, only seems to care just enough to tease you about it.

"Really, you get shy after sucking my cock like a complete slut?" He says it with a dry laugh as he lifts you up and sits you on the table. His hand runs along the inside of your thighs until he spreads your legs, making you feel exposed. “Oh, look at that little pussy. Hard to believe I’ve filled it more times than you can count on your fingers.”

His fingers gently trace the line of your folds, and you are so sensitive that the wet, sticky sound of his fingers touching you makes you shiver. You’re already worked up just thinking he might bring his mouth closer; eyes locked on his, you’re practically begging for it.

But it was all just a cruel tease. After getting you all riled up, close enough to make you believe he was finally gonna devour you—he doesn’t. Instead, he spits on you. No warning. Just lets his saliva drip onto your throbbing clit… and that alone pulls a broken, desperate moan from your lips—messy and completely involuntary.

“Max, fuck…” you arch your back, unable to hold in the sound that escapes you. “That’s so unfair…” But before you can complain again, his hand wraps firmly around your neck—dominant, unforgiving—cutting your breath just enough to make you shiver. And the heat between your legs only gets worse, burning under the weight of his dark, hungry gaze.

“Life ain’t fair, mijn kleine hoer.” He says it with a smug little grin, tightening his grip around your neck. His body’s already damn near on top of yours, pinning you to the table. For a second, you actually thought he might stay like that, enjoying having all the power…

But then—rough, almost wild—he flips you over and slams you down against the cold wood, your cheek pressed flat to the surface as the air rushes out of your lungs.

He’s got a perfect view of your half-naked body now, all exposed for him. He doesn’t even bother looking at your face—he’s still mad. Seeing you won’t calm him down. But maybe, just maybe, being deep inside you will take the edge off that rage burning in him.

“You’re dripping, liefje. Missed me that bad, huh?” With his fingers, he spreads open your ass cheeks, so that your wetness is staining your thighs. "Wanna fuck you?”

You nod desperately, again and again, while your whole body trembles with need; you had been waiting for this the last half hour, and the anticipation was devouring you from the inside, like fire under your skin. But since not a single word escapes your mouth, he punishes you mercilessly: the blow echoes against the skin of your ass, leaving it burning, red. Then you can’t hold back anymore, and you moan loudly: “Yes, fuck!”

He gently slides his cock through your wet folds, almost effortlessly driving you wild. His tip slams against your clit, causing you to arch your back and moan, begging for more. Your legs tremble; he has to hold you up so you don’t fall sitting to the floor.

"I’m gonna fuck your fucking pussy until you’re so obsessed you can’t even focus on racing ‘cause you’re thinking about my cock.” He murmurs aggressively. Your hole tightens around nothing just from hearing him speak like that.

He slides inside you without the courtesy of warning. The force of his thrusts borders on brutal, striking with precision that sensitive spot inside you that makes you see stars.

Your hands grasp the edge of the table, trying to find something to hold onto. His large, firm hand grips your head, pressing your cheek against the surface. You’re overflowing with pleasure, not even bothering to hold back your moans. The sound of your bodies colliding echoes inside the small room.

“Fuck… you’re so damn tight, schat,” he groans, head falling back as he keeps pounding into you, each thrust deeper than the last. The way you’re gripping him is driving him absolutely crazy—nothing else feels like this. You’re addictive. Hypnotic. “You take me so fucking good.”

By squeezing it harder than necessary, your hole manages to squeeze out every last drop of his thick, sticky cum. The semen drips out of your pussy in sticky strands, creating a complete mess all over.

You have an orgasm just seconds later. The sensation crashes over you mercilessly, tearing through everything in its path. It hits you in the stomach with such force that the pleasure consumes you from the inside out. You want to moan, scream his name, give in completely… but you can’t. He presses his hand over your mouth, muffling your sounds. Only a few desperate whimpers manage to escape through his fingers, laced with lust and surrender.

Max withdraws from inside you, fully satisfied. But you remain there, collapsed over that wooden table, while a wave of intense pleasure slowly drains every last drop of your energy. Exhaustion wraps around you completely.

He laughs at you with that dry, mocking chuckle he always uses to ridicule you. This time? He’s amused, as always, by how shattered you look when he’s done using you. His hand tangles in your hair again, pulling until your torso arches and your back is pressed against his chest. You’re still so shaken from what just happened that when he scatters kisses and bites along your neck, you can barely breathe.

“You’re so good, mijn sletje. Doesn’t matter if I win or lose—only thing I ever think about is how I’m gonna ruin you the second I get off that podium.”

[ephemeralp1eces]

You Don’t Have to Choose if No One Makes You - Part VIII

Summary: It finally happens, with both of them. And it’s so much better than you ever imagined.

What to Know: smut!! Lando x reader, Oscar x reader. Threesome.

wc; ~6,200

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII

We hadn’t planned on it happening that night. But it had been coming for a while.

All the teasing. The sideways looks. The knowing touches. The careful proximity.

By the time the three of us ended up back in my hotel suite. Again. Post-race, post-media, post-buzz, there was no more pretending.

It didn’t feel like a decision. More like a release.

We were exhausted but humming. Lando kicked off his shoes and immediately sprawled on the bed like he owned the place. Oscar leaned against the windowsill, drinking from the bottle of water he’d stolen from my fridge, watching me with that unreadable, calm gaze of his. I stood in the center of the room, still wearing Oscar’s jacket.

“You look like trouble,” Lando said, eyes half-lidded as he watched me.

“She is trouble,” Oscar murmured without looking away.

“Am I?” I asked.

Oscar smiled, slow. “You want both of us. That’s not nothing.”

Lando shifted on the bed. “Good thing we don’t mind.”

Oscar crossed the room. When he reached me, he didn’t say anything. Just held out his hand.

I took it.

Behind me, Lando got up , close enough that I could feel his presence at my back, heat radiating between us.

And suddenly, I was between them. Not metaphorically. Literally.

Oscar in front of me.

Lando behind me.

No one speaking.

No one rushing.

Then Lando’s fingers brushed my waist. Light, tentative. Oscar’s thumb ran along the edge of my knuckles.

I swallowed.

“You okay?” Oscar asked, quiet.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just… waiting.”

“For what?” Lando asked.

“For one of you to do something.”

Oscar smiled. “Then maybe we both should.”

—

It started slow.

Lando’s hands slid around my waist, firm and sure, his chest flush against my back.

Oscar leaned in close, one hand rising to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his.

I felt Lando press a soft kiss behind my ear.

Felt Oscar kiss me, finally, mouth brushing mine with a confidence so gentle it almost hurt.

It was dizzying. Not because it was too much, but because it made sense. Like the missing piece of a story we’d been telling in glances and jokes and late-night pacing. Lando nuzzled the side of my neck, murmuring something that sent a pulse through me. Oscar deepened the kiss, just a little - a soft inhale, a hand sliding up my back.

I turned, breath caught, and Lando kissed me next.

Wilder. Hotter. Like he’d been waiting for an excuse to stop holding back. When I finally pulled away, both of them were watching me. Not fighting. Not competing.

Just there.

Wanting me.

Wanting this.

Together.

“Still with us?” Lando asked.

“Very,” I breathed.

Oscar brushed my cheek. “Then come here.”

—

Their hands overlapped as they undressed me, coordinating without speaking. Fingers brushed, gazes crossed, and somehow it didn’t feel strange, it felt inevitable.

Oscar pulled my shirt up and off, lifting my arms, while Lando kissed the strip of exposed skin at the small of my back. When Oscar unhooked my bra, Lando stepped back just long enough to watch, his eyes heated but soft.

“You’re beautiful,” Lando murmured.

Oscar didn’t say anything. He just looked at me like he’d been thinking that the whole time.

I pulled both of them back toward me, kissing Lando again. He responded immediately, all tongue, soft groans, hands gripping my waist like he needed something to anchor him. Lando kissed like he felt everything. Like he couldn’t help it. Oscar moved behind me this time, pressing warm, even kisses down my spine, kneeling as he dragged my jeans down my hips. His hands were firm, sure, fingertips teasing at my thighs, then my calves as he helped me step out of them. By the time I was down to nothing, I was already unsteady. But they were both still half-dressed.

“You two gonna catch up?” I managed, breathless.

Lando grinned. “You first.”

Oscar stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my bare shoulder as he looked down at me in the mirror above the dresser.

“You want both of us?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Then lie down.”

—

I did.

Back against the sheets, head tilted toward the warm lamplight, I watched as they undressed. Slowly, casually, like they were making me wait on purpose.

Lando pulled his hoodie off first, then his shirt, revealing soft abs and the kind of lean muscle that made him look boyish until he moved. Oscar peeled his shirt off more neatly, quieter, calm even now. His body was more solid. Grounded. They were built so differently, and somehow it made sense.

Lando was grinning when he crawled onto the bed beside me, bracing himself over my body.

“You ready?” he asked.

“I’ve been ready.”

He kissed me, deeper this time. No playfulness now, just need. One of his hands slid between my legs, fingers spreading me open. His touch was eager, fast, circling my clit until my hips lifted off the bed. Oscar joined us a beat later, sitting on my other side, one hand resting on my thigh.

“Slow down,” he told Lando.

Lando didn’t look away from me. “She likes it fast.”

“She likes it well.”

And then Oscar leaned down and kissed me too, not on the mouth this time, but lower. He trailed kisses down my chest, over my stomach, and between my legs.

I gasped.

Oscar’s tongue moved slowly, deliberately, flicking and pressing in just the right rhythm while Lando kissed the side of my neck, his fingers back between my legs, working in tandem with Oscar’s mouth.

It was overwhelming. Two completely different styles, blending together like they'd done this before.

Lando was vocal. Every time I moaned or moved, he murmured something: “That’s it, baby,” or “You like that?” or just a low, drawn-out fuck.

Oscar was focused. Breathing heavy, hands gripping my thighs, entirely silent except for the low hum of satisfaction when I writhed under his tongue.

When I finally came; hips shaking, breath caught, one hand in Lando’s hair and the other fisted in the sheets, they didn’t stop.

Oscar kissed up my body, slow and reverent. Lando held my face in both hands and kissed me like he felt it, like the sound of my orgasm had gone straight to his chest.

“You okay?” Oscar asked gently, brushing sweat-damp hair from my forehead.

I smiled, dazed. “More than.”

Lando laughed, leaning down to kiss me again, already shifting his body between my legs.

“Then let’s see how many times we can get you there.”

—

Lando went first. He was eager, rougher around the edges. He moved inside me with the energy of someone who had been imagining this for a long time. His mouth stayed on mine. His hand slipped under my thigh. He whispered everything; how good I felt, how badly he’d wanted this, how he wasn’t going to last long, until he was buried to the hilt and coming with a deep groan against my shoulder.

He stayed there for a moment, trembling slightly, forehead resting against mine.

Then he kissed me one more time and moved aside, breathless but smiling.

Oscar was already beside us, palming himself slowly, eyes on me like he’d been patient long enough.

“Still want me?” he asked, low.

I nodded. “Always.”

He didn’t rush.

Oscar stretched my legs open again and entered me slowly, deliberately. The pace was completely different, less frantic, more intentional. He held my gaze the entire time, one hand laced with mine, the other resting against my hip.

He kissed me only once. A slow, deep kiss that told me everything he felt without needing to say a word.

And when he came, it was with a sharp exhale and a quiet, broken moan against my neck.

Afterwards, he lay beside me, one hand still tangled in mine, breath slowing.

Lando reached out from the other side, tracing lazy circles on my thigh.

The room was quiet, heavy with heat and sweat and something else entirely.

Something real.

—

We lay there for a long time. Bodies tangled. No one talking. No one needing to.

Eventually, Lando murmured, “So that’s what that’s like.”

Oscar smiled. “Better than karting.”

I laughed, too tired to move. “You’re both insane.”

“But satisfied,” Lando said, grinning.

Oscar met my eyes. “More than.”

Lando stretched, his hand brushing both of our shoulders. “So what now?”

I looked between them.

Oscar’s hand was still in mine.

Lando was still pressed against my side.

I didn’t know the answer yet.

But it felt like we’d just started the story we were all about to tell together.

And I was exactly where I wanted to be.

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Kinktober masterlist

welcome to my very first kinktober! buckle up and enjoy the ride!

THE FIRST ONE IS OUT NOW!!! CHECK MY BLOG FOR IT!!!

if you want to be on my taglist please fill in the form

1st — phone sex, Lando Norris

2nd — choking, Lewis Hamilton

3rd — quickie, Toto Wolff

4th — cockwarming, Max Verstappen

5th — virginity loss, Charles Leclerc

6th — love bite/ marking/ vampire!AU, Oscar Piastri

7th — face fucking, Carlos Sainz

8th — almost getting caught/ public sex, Sebastian Vettel

9th — size difference, George Russell

10th — breeding kink, Mark Webber

11th — mutual masturbation, Jenson Button

12th — face sitting, Lewis Hamilton

13th — mommy kink, Max Verstappen

14th — wax play, Toto Wolff

15th — keeping quiet, Peter Bonnington

16th — toys, Lando Norris

17th — lingerie, Fernando Alonso

18th — role play, Sebastian Vettel

19th — 69ing, Oscar Piastri

20th — cock worship, Jenson Button

21st — stripper, Toto Wolff

22nd — hate fucking, Max Verstappen

23rd — double penetration, Lewis - Charles

24th — thigh riding, Kimi Räikkönen

25th — humiliation, Mark Webber

26th — food play, Carlos Sainz

27th — your choice, 

28th — heels, Lando Norris

29th — praise kink, Charles Leclerc

30th — blindfold, Nico Rosberg

31st — nipple play/ lactation kink, Max Verstappen

[jamminvroomvroom]

give me a reason.

LN x fem!reader

in which… ‘the one where’ lando needs to get his shit together, or lose the love of his life…

hi! it’s me! back again with angst, fluff and filth! i needed to get this the hell away from me bc i worked on it so long that it kinda stopped making sense so i fear this isn’t my best work oopsie! anyways, thanks for being the best bunch ever and pleaseeeeeee let me know what you think - likes, comments and reblogs are so appreciated and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside soooo you know what to do…

songs to set the vibes: hoax by t swizzle, no i’m not in love by tate mcrae, come over by noah kahan

warnings: 18+!! minors BEGONE! smut, angst!! but also fluff sooo..! friends to something worse to lovers, lando needs to be shot ngl, lando is so messy, max is yet again a victim, r loves wine a lot, alcohol use, swearing, lando has a bitchy gf (we hate her!) for a bit, r is just a girl, p in v, general sex acts, unprotected sex (sigh)

8.2k words

you’re perched at the edge of the booth watching. pietra plies you with drinks, knowing full well that it’s the only way you’re gonna make it through the evening. max sits beside her, an arm wrapped loosely around her shoulder as he glares at his best friend at the bar.

“he’s such an idiot.” max sighs, polishing off the rest of his drink in one. he knows he’s about to have his ear talked off about lando’s latest fling.

“such an idiot.” p scowls. you just laugh, reach for another shot of vodka.

“what do you guys expect?” you sneer, faking a smile as the bitter liquid warms your belly.

“you guys are meant to be together.” max states. p nods quickly, but pauses.

“not sure if he even deserves you though, baby.” she coos, squeezing your arm softly. you thank her with watery, bleary eyes.

lando’s on his way back over now, the pretty blonde he’d been chatting up for the last ten minutes tucked under his arm. that shuts you all up, but the cold air blasting out of the dimly lit booth could give lando and his mystery woman fatal hypothermia.

“guys, this is casey.” lando grins toothily, ushering you to move around in the booth so they can sit with you. you end up sat between pietra and casey, smushed uncomfortably into the sticky pleather. lando makes the introductions.

“my best friend max, his girlfriend pietra, and,” he clears his throat when his eyes fall on you. “and, um, my other friend.”

my other friend.

you didn’t think he could reach a new low.

“wow.” you hiccup, wriggling closer to pietra.

“i thought she was your best friend.” pietra narrows her eyes at lando, keeps her voice light and teasing.

casey is beautifully oblivious, sky blue eyes remaining firm on the racing driver at her side. you want to throttle them both.

“course. yeah.” he laughs it off awkwardly, before placing all of his attention on his latest conquest. it sounds harsh, sure it does, but you know lando and you know how he operates.

“i’m going. thank you,” you say directly and loudly to max and p, who are shuffling from the seats so you can get out of this prison of couples that you’d been so cruelly trapped in. “for a nice evening.”

you don’t bother to say goodbye to lando.

-

you spend the next morning crying into a cup of coffee, wrapped in three different blankets. deeply, devastatingly hungover.

you spend the afternoon that follows on the phone with max.

“it’ll be over in days, hun, don’t even worry about it. he’s probably trying to get her out of his place right now and can’t even remember her name.” max reassures, and while history would suggest him to be right, something inside of you twists with dread. “i don’t know what he’s playing at.”

“you told me that he… you said he liked me, max.” you groan, hot with embarrassment.

“he did! he does! he thinks you aren’t interested so- “

“i don’t wanna hear it max. i went to abu dhabi, flew in just to surprise him, to finally fucking tell him, and… well you know what happened.”

you’d walked into his hotel room and found him balls deep inside someone else.

needless to say, you weren’t convinced that he was as hopelessly, pathetically in love with you as max claimed him to be; as hopelessly, pathetically in love with you as you were with him.

“i know, i know, but he was hurting. doesn’t excuse the, uh, emotional warfare, but he doesn’t know how you feel.”

“well, at this rate, max, he never will.”

-

you’re stupid for being excited for the group dinner you’ve planned. everyone’s coming, max and p, martin, some of the boys and some of your girls. and lando. you haven’t seen him for a week, not since caseygate, and if you’re being earnest, you don’t really want to. at least he’ll be alone, you think. he doesn’t bring his hookups to group plans.

you think, and god laughs.

he’s the last to arrive, the same blonde with the same striking blue eyes tucked under the same stupid arm. you sink your glass of wine before they even get to the table, leg bouncing frantically against the chair. you swear you see pietras lips recoil into a snarl.

“did you know he was bringing her?” she hisses quietly to max, looking at you cautiously.

“obviously not!” max defends, nostrils flaring.

“sorry we’re late.” you hear from the head of the table. “everyone, this is casey.”

-

half an hour later, after having the magical story of their blossoming relationship shoved down your throat, you escape to the bathroom.

you’re fixing your lipgloss when the door swings open. in casey walks, complete with a hair flick and a tacky, expensive handbag.

“oh, i didn’t even realise you were here tonight.” she speaks, sickeningly false. “i thought i’d notice such a good friend of lando’s.”

you suck in a breath.

“i wouldn’t get too used to little old me.” you shrug, meeting her condescending grin with a better, badder one. “or lando, quite frankly. he’ll get bored soon.”

you leave her in the dust, only letting yourself shake with rage when you know she can’t see you. you bypass the table completely, shoot p a quick text that says you’re going home, and wait for the maître d' to hand you your coat. you wait outside the restaurant for your uber, glance back to see if anyone had even noticed you’d gone. by anyone, you mean one person, and one person only.

lando’s looking around the table, something vacant in his eyes. it’s perhaps the first time you’ve properly looked at him all night. there’s something withered and haunted in his eyes, even from so far away you can see it. he seems to be searching for something, something that he can’t place. someone.

you see that same tired face in your dreams that night, joined by a pretentious, condescending smile, taunting you while you toss and turn.

-

casey becomes such a constant that you’re shocked that lando eventually comes to a party without her. it’s pietra’s birthday, and max is throwing her a party at their apartment.

you’re there early to help max set up when lando walks in, better rested than the last time you’d seen him. he’s wearing a loose white button up and light wash jeans that sit just right, curls a crown atop his head.

“no casey?” max asks subtlety as him and lando hug. you make no move to greet him.

“nah, she had other plans.” he scratches his nose as he says it, and you know it’s a lie. it’s been his tell as long as you’ve known him.

max stares awkwardly between you both, gesturing his head wildly towards you when he knows you’re not looking. lando shrugs, frantic silent conversation transpiring between them until you turn around.

“fuck, forgot candles. silly me! be back in ten.” max doesn’t give you a chance to breathe before he’s darting out the door, jacket slung over his arm. you glare as he disappears out the door.

“you gonna talk to me?” lando questions, hands shoved deep in his pockets. he tries to sound light, nonchalant but it just comes off standoffish, an awkward reminder of just how much distance there is between you now, and how much there has been since he made it his personal mission to sleep with every woman he laid eyes on. except you.

“depends.” you reply flatly.

“on?” you can hear his footsteps against the hardwood floor, inching closer and closer. your hands shake as you untangle the balloons, pouring them out of the packet onto the table. you feel the heat of him before you see him, closing in on you. it’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him that you can anticipate each movement before he even makes it, your senses ultra heightened.

your breath shakes.

“on?” he presses, aware of just how stubborn you can be. “what’s going on with you?”

“nothing, lando. tired, busy, the usual. nothing crazy.” you attempt to shrug him off, but apparently he’s not done with you.

“then why can’t you look at me? did i do something?” he chokes out a laugh, a revelation of how uncomfortable he is.

you brave the sight of him, turning slowly until you’re face to face. he looks beautiful, freshly shaved, curls tamed back but not enough to stop them from hanging over his forehead to frame his face. just the way you like them.

“see? nothing wrong.” you smile tightly, wondering if he can see the effort it takes to make your face move for him, if he can see the tension coursing through your veins like electricity. he seems to scan your face, taking his time, before he sighs, hums like he’s finally satisfied.

“so you’ve been busy?” lando asks, trying to revert to your status quo, but you can’t bare the agony of pretending. “hardly seen you since, uh, abu dhabi.”

“yep.” you quip, disappear into the kitchen just as you hear max’s keys in the front door.

-

a few hours later everyone’s had too much to drink, and the party is in full swing. lando’s persisted more than you thought he’d bother to, and you’ve managed to exchange sentences made up of more than three words apiece. you’ve left your circle to get a drink, about to slip into the kitchen, but hushed whispers stop you from entering.

your blood runs cold when you realise that one set of frantic whispers belong to lando, the other to max. you feel that you should leave, come back when it’s all clear but something tugs on your heartstrings and ties you to the threshold of the room. maybe it’s the possibility for closure, or worse, hope.

“mate you called me basically crying, telling me how in love with her you are, and when she gets there, you’re fucking someone else! what the fuck do you want from her, man?” max spits.

“how the fuck was i supposed to know she was gonna show up?” lando retorts, an edge of desperation in his voice.

“the real question is: why would you sleep with someone if you feel that way about her? why are you fucking around? why are you with casey?”

“because i was hurt, max! she’s been going on all these dates, talking about guys she’s seeing and, what, i’m supposed to put my life on hold waiting for her to love me back? i can’t do it anymore. i can’t.” lando’s voice cracks at the end and you lean into the wall, unable to feel your legs.

“you could have told her, you idiot.” max is having none of the pity party, it seems, finally ready to knock some sense into your mutual best friend.

“and ruin everything? she clearly didn’t want to be with me.” lando argues. max sighs.

“if you actually think that, then you’re a lost cause, mate.” you hear what you assume is. sympathetic slap on the back.

“i’m doing fine with casey, i’m finally getting somewhere. jesus, i haven’t even slept with her yet.” lando whines. your heart stops on the other side of the door.

“so, it’s serious then? you and casey?” max asks, skeptical.

“it could be.” lando admits.

you put yourself out of your misery, loudly opening the door to the kitchen. you act aloof, surprised to see them, but the crease in your forehead is all max needs to see. he knows you heard at least some of it. fifteen years of friendship with him means he can read you like a book. fifteen years of friendship with lando has done nothing but break your heart.

“sorry, guys, didn’t know you were in here.” you feign nonchalance. “just need a drink.” you slide past lando, watching the way his back ripples with tension at the slight brush of your body against his. you let out a deflated breath, wrapping your hand around a cold can of god knows what. all you know is you need a drink, and you need to get out of this fucking kitchen.

you find pietra on the makeshift dance floor, join her and your friends to spin and twirl and forget about the man who’s stood in the corner doing nothing but watch you.

-

a week passes. lando’s wine drunk. you’re laying across one of his sofas, sharing with him, and max and p sit on the other sofa. you’re all giggling about nothing in particular, latest gossip, old anecdotes, random shit that no one’s sober enough to not laugh at. it feels like balance is being slowly restored, like the good old days before it all went sour.

“still can’t believe you did a whole lap of the ski lodge naked.” you tease lando, smirking at him from your end of the sofa. you nudge his thigh with your foot, and he grabs your ankle, thumbing over the sensitive skin.

“a dare is a dare.” he replies, grinning back at you, his gaze lingering even when max interjects.

“again, mate, no one fucking dared you to do that.” max shouts, and you all descend into laughter again.

“i did not need to see some of the things i saw that night.” p grimaces playfully, and you can’t help but flush at the memory of lando’s bare ass disappearing into the snow.

“agreed.” you say, drawing lando’s eyes back onto you.

“you know you loved it.” he raises an eyebrow at you, and you stare bashfully into the wine glass in your hand. you feel his hand squeeze, nails ghosting above your ankle, making you shiver.

“got an early morning tomorrow, fuck.” max groans. “better get going.”

you hug him and p goodbye, graciously offering to help lando tidy up a little as the couple leaves the driver’s london apartment for their own.

you’re carrying empty glasses into the kitchen when you spot it, and it stops you dead in your tracks. the same handbag that casey had carried into that bathroom all those weeks ago. your skin tingles, a phantom touch making you burn.

“so you and, uh, casey are getting serious, huh?” you mumble, finally making it into the open plan kitchen.

lando stands on the opposite side of the marble counter, a tea towel slung over his shoulder, disgustingly domestic.

for her, though. never for you.

“not sure.” he responds flippantly.

“must be, can’t remember the last time you kept a girl around this long.” your attempt at a joke falls flat, even though he’s still tipsy, flushed with alcohol.

“s’that supposed to mean?” lando asks, boyish and defensive.

“nothing, just… you haven’t really seemed in a relationship-y place.” you remark, trying to appear casual as you place the glasses on the countertop.

“i wasn’t but i realised i needed to get my shit together. haven’t even-“ he starts, but cuts himself off abruptly.

“haven’t what?” you press, finding a cloth to wipe the marble clean.

“don’t wanna make things weird by telling you that kinda stuff.”

“lando, you called me when you lost your virginity and couldn’t find your way out of her apartment building. commando. you can tell me.” you deadpan.

as much as you could do without a play by play of his newfound relationship and changed ways, he’s your friend first, and he seems like he needs a shoulder. it would be careless, cruel, even, to deny him of that.

“well, we haven’t, uh, you know.” he looks at you intensely.

“oh. still?”

lando looks at you strangely, wondering what on earth you mean by that, but you swoop in with a get out of jail card that stops him from figuring out you’d eavesdropped.

“i mean, haven’t you guys been together for like a month?” you continue.

“yeah but i guess i figured i should take it slower, deviate from my, uh, usual way.” he admits, scratching his neck.

“oh, that’s… nice.”

“not according to casey.” he mutters, slinging the tea towel across the counter, frustrated.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you enquire, avoiding eye contact.

“i don’t know, she’s just… she wants it and, fuck, i was trying to be a good fucking guy for once.” lando sighs, disheartened. his eyes are trained on you but you can’t meet his gaze, it would destroy you. “i spent so much time unhappy, wanting something i can’t have, so now i just… what would,” he inhales sharply, centring himself. “what would you want?”

“huh?” you squeak, daring to look at him. the room fades away in the intensity of his stare, his eyes boring into yours. the counter that separates you grounds you, stops you from dropping to your knees and begging him to love you.

“what would you want? how would you want that to be, your first time with someone?”

you stop breathing, curling your fingers around the cool marble.

“i… i don’t know.” you whisper.

“sorry, i knew this would be weird.” he rushes out.

“no, it’s not! well, yeah it is, but,” you inhale deeply. “if it were me, i guess i’d want you to… catch me off guard.” you murmur, leaning against the counter, the swirled marble cool against the bare sliver of skin that your ridden up t shirt exposes. “you know, with a really good kiss - soft at first, but the kind that… as it gets deeper, you know something so good is about to happen.”

lando stares at you, mouth hanging open as you speak softly, so earnestly, into the empty space between you. it seems like a million miles keeps you apart, and his eyes go wild, hungry, like he wants to crawl over the surface and pin you to it as he hangs on to your every word.

“i don’t really know,” you continue, trying to brush it all off, pretend that your entire body isn’t on fire, like you’re not itching for something that cannot be scratched. “but i suppose you’d pull me close, so i’m pressed up against you, and then it would get kind of sweaty, blurry… and then it’s just happening.”

lando seems to be bracing himself, holding position, a tension running through his body that wasn’t there before. he’s flushed, and if you squint, there’s a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his forehead, giving him away. your nails dig into your palms, a reboot to your system, and you shuffle backwards awkwardly, recoiling from the counter that keeps you from him.

“okay. uh, okay.” he whispers, nodding rapidly. “i’ll keep that it mind.”

“i’ll put the glasses away in the dining room.” you tell him hurriedly, grabbing the stems and hurtling out of the kitchen. when you reach his dining room, where the air seems to be much thinner, normal, you exhale shakily and book an uber.

“thought you would stay here.” lando strains when you tell him, watching you shrug your coat on.

“can’t tonight.” you reply, clipped.

“can we… can we get dinner this week maybe? just us?” lando pleads, doesn’t even try to hide the desperation in his voice.

“lando… i don’t think that’s a good idea.” you finally give up the ghost, looking him right in the eyes.

“why not?”

“you know why.”

he breathes your name, takes a step closer to you as you take a step back.

“no, i really don’t. why have you been so distant? i know what you saw in abu dhabi was weird but-“

“do you know why it was weird, lando? do you know how that made me feel?”

“no, because you haven’t said anything. tonight was the first night in months that you’ve seemed okay and now you’re being off again.”

“imagine finally thinking that the guy you’re in love with finally feels the same, only to walk in on him fucking some random person.” you bellow, tears slipping over your waterline. you breathe heavily, the admission taking tons off of your shoulders.

“what?” he gasps, jaw going slack.

“forget it.” you mumble, backing away towards the door. you can’t believe the relief you feel, exhausted from the pretending. you can’t even bring yourself to care about the repercussions.

“no, i- what the fuck did you just say?” lando’s eyebrows are drawn together tight, confused.

“you heard me.” your words are hushed, shy, laced with a tremble that makes his chest ache.

“i didn’t know.” is all he can say, staring at you with a desperation that makes you want to stay. you know better.

“it doesn’t matter now. you said yourself, you wanna be happy with her. so do it, go be happy with her.” you tell him, your lack of malice astounding.

“why can’t you fight for us?” he whispers, finally dares to go there.

“i did. abu dhabi. that was me fighting for you.” you scoff at his audacity. “why can’t you fight for us?”

“i didn’t know.” he repeats, voice going up an octave with annoyance. “imagine watching the girl you’ve been in love with for years go on dates, listen to her talk about the guys she’s seeing.” he hits back.

“maybe we’ve both made mistakes, lando, but i tried to put myself out there and got hurt. why would i do that to myself again?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. your heart pounds in your chest, flustered at his admission, as much as you try and hide it from him. it hits different to hear him say it to your face; it didn’t cut as deep when you’d heard it lingering outside max’s kitchen.

“if i thought for a second that you felt how i felt - how i still feel - none of this would have happened, abu dhabi, casey, none of it.”

“but now you’re with her and, great, that’s fine, i’m just not sure how to be your friend right now.”

“no, no, we’re not throwing that away. even if we can’t be together,” you both visibly deflate at the word. “i know it’s so fucking selfish but i can’t lose you like that too.”

“give me a reason, lando. because right now? you’ve already lost me.”

when you get into the uber, you’re sobbing, and you’re sure the poor man that had the misfortune of picking you up understands when he turns the radio up - taylor swift is playing - and smiles at you sadly.

-

he’s spinning aimlessly in his gaming chair when max finds him.

“what the actual fuck is wrong with you?” is all max has to say, looming in the doorway to lando’s office.

“what happened to a simple ‘hello’?” lando grumbles.

“you’ll get a simple hello when you stop being a dick.” max replies, matter of fact.

lando laughs bitterly in response.

“just tell me one thing. one thing that makes no fucking sense to me. why are you still with casey?”

“i don’t know if i ever really was.” lando observes, eyes vacant and tired. “she was a distraction and i’m an asshole.”

“well, at least you know.” max mutters under his breath. lando can’t even muster a glare his best friends way.

“i ended it about an hour ago.” lando starts. “she told me that she was gonna go public, call me a cheater, say that i used her as a pawn. don’t even get me started on what she was gonna say about…” lando trails off, can’t even say your name. he feels like he doesn’t deserve to.

“fuck.” max sighs, finally walking into the room. he takes a seat on the small sofa. “what are you gonna do?”

“spoke to my team. they’ll deal with her. told me that they all deserve a pay rise and i don’t disagree.”

“and what about…” max echos his friend, trailing off. he leans forward with anticipation.

“i don’t know, man. i love her but i know i don’t deserve her, not after all this. she deserves to be happy and all i seem to do is make her miserable.”

“mate, she wasn’t miserable because you were just friends. she was miserable because you were ignoring her, choosing randoms over her. you know that, right?” max says, finally something resembling gentle in his tone.

“if i couldn’t even be a good friend, how the fuck am i gonna be a good boyfriend?”

“figure it out, you knob. all this feeling sorry for yourself isn’t working out. be honest with her for once, tell her how you feel. it’s not rocket science, lando. she loves you more than you deserve, so pull yourself together and fucking show her that she is everything to you.”

-

the next week is spent working far too hard and sleeping far too little.

you don’t hear from him, and he doesn’t hear from you, but it’s how it should be. if there’s no distance, you’d have a whole set of problems on your hands, forced on you by a can of worms that needed to stay sealed. it’s better this way, you relentlessly tell yourself.

max and p bring you dinner the night things change.

“you sure i can’t convince you to come work at quadrant?” max prods, taking in the ridiculous amount of papers and spreadsheets that have taken over your living room. “wouldn’t be as intense as this.”

“for so many reasons: no.” you shoot him a look, one that says leave it alone. he nods, gets the hint, and drops onto the scrap of sofa that isn’t covered in paperwork.

“you’ve been sleeping though, yes?” pietra asks, eyebrows raised with concern. she knows how you get.

you hum in acknowledgment, avoiding eye contact as you plate the food they’ve brought. p sighs.

“have you spoken to him?” max finally asks, and you know it’s taken everything in him to not ask, in the short five minutes he’s been in your flat.

“max!” pietra hisses, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“c’mon, you knew i’d have to ask, especially considering he’s been a little bitch all week.” max defends.

“i haven’t. told him i needed space.” you shrug.

“how’s that working out for you?” max gestures to the mess that engulfs the room, swallows it whole. again, you shrug.

“fine.” you stress, digging in to the chinese food. max scoffs and you snort with a mouthful of noodles when pietra glares at him.

“well, he’s miserable, and you’re behaving like someone who’s gonna end up on a true crime documentary, so sue me for asking.” he scolds sarcastically.

“okay, you want the tea?” you roll your eyes. “he told me they hadn’t had sex. i gave him advice - against the better judgment of literally anyone ever, by the way - tried to leave and he fucking ambushed me. wanted to have dinner with me, as if he hasn’t been pushing me away for months, and then had the fucking audacity, max, to ask me why i won’t fight for us, for him - oh! and he still has a girlfriend! so, you know what, you got me, i’m not doing so great but,” you choke out a laugh, opening the box of prawn toast. “too fucking bad.”

“i promise you, this will pass and casey will be gone and then-“

“and then me and lando can go back to pretending and avoiding and hurting each other. can’t wait.”

max shakes his head in defeat, knows he has to let lando fix this himself. he has no chance of winning this one with you.

“eat your noodles.” is all he has left. pietra disappears into your kitchen, and returns with a bottle of wine.

you eat together, put on netflix, slumped into the sofa as you try and relax. you’re halfway through your first drink when your phone buzzes. assuming it’s your overbearing boss, who apparently doesn’t sleep either, you pick it up and quickly wish you hadn’t.

lando: can you come over

like now

if you can

please. please please please please

we broke up.

“holy shit.”

you sit up suddenly, scan the room for your bag and a jacket. you don’t care that you’re in old sweats, you just feel the need to move, to get to him before common sense kicks in.

“you good?” max asks.

“uh, i need to go, like right now. stay and finish the wine if you want, but i just need to go to-“

“lando?” max and p ask simultaneously, and you burn with embarrassment.

“i can’t even try and lie to you right now. is this pathetic?” you question.

“no! go!” max shouts, exasperated, standing to usher you out of your own apartment.

-

twenty minutes later, you knock on his door.

when it opens, he’s disheveled in a way that makes you hug him immediately, his touch disturbingly foreign, and you feel him sink into your hold. he pulls you inside, kicks the door shut, and doesn’t let you go.

“sofa?” you murmur into his hoodie. you feel him nod, and you part, pad towards the lounge as you shrug off your jacket.

“hi.” he says tiredly, as soon as you’re both sat.

“hey.” you coo back. your eyebrows are drawn together as you take him in, concern woven through your features. “sorry about casey.” lando scoffs.

“don’t be, don’t even know what i was thinking.”

“well, neither do i,” you retort. “but i’m still sorry. did it happen just before you texted?” you ask.

“no, a week ago.”

“a week ago?” you gasp. “but that would mean…”

“yeah. right after you left here. asked her to come over and ended it. she told me she was gonna go to the media with a whole load of shit, so i’ve been sorting things out.”

“i’m so sorry.” you whisper.

lando laughs.

“you’re sorry? god, you’re way too fucking good for me.” he scoffs, bitter with self deprecation. “i can’t believe you even came, to be honest.”

“course i came. i might be angry at you, but you- you wanted me to, so…”

“i don’t even know where to start. i’m just so sorry about the last few months. i thought i was losing you and it drove me insane, but i should have never, ever taken my shit out on you.”

“what do you mean? losing me?”

“the dates, the guys. god, it was awful of me but it killed me.”

“that was only because i didn’t think i had a chance.”

“well, if it makes you feel any better, i didn’t think i had a chance either.” he laughs. “so what you said about abu dhabi… was that why you came? to tell me?”

“yeah, kinda. after some… encouragement from a mutual friend, i was gonna tell you that i wanted us to be more.”

lando shifts closer, your thighs pressing together. you can feel his body heat, so warm and inviting, drawing you closer.

“more.” lando repeats, tasting it on his tongue, the weight of everything he’s ever wanted since he was sixteen and fell in love for the first time.

“yeah, and then it seemed like you didn’t want that.”

“you must know by now that i also want more.” he murmurs, fingertips brushing your forearm. you keen into the barely there touch that traces over your skin.

“i’d say that’s been implied, yeah.” you joke, searching his eyes. they’re hooded, swirling with an intensity that you never thought you’d experience with another person. “um, i heard you and max. the night of pietra’s birthday.” you admit.

“fuck,” he sighs, shoulders sagging. “i’m so sorry, i swear, i never meant to put you through any of this. ‘m so, so sorry.”

“i know you are.” you whisper, loaded with a sincerity that only you could give him. “but you can never, ever treat me like this lando. i mean it.”

“i need you to know that i never meant to hurt you.” he swallows down a lump in his throat, voice wobbling just enough for you to notice.

“i do, lando.” you grab his hand, squeeze it tight.

“what do you want from me now? anything you want, i promise - i’m yours.”

“i want us to try, to see where this goes. i think we owe it to ourselves to see.”

“i never thought i’d ever get a chance with you.” lando laughs softly, the hand on your arm travelling to ghost over your cheek.

“why?”

“because i don’t think there’s anyone on this planet that’s good enough for you.” he confesses, leaning in until your foreheads touch.

“i don’t think that’s true, at least not where you’re concerned.” you breathe.

“how are you real?” it’s barely a whisper, barely audible, but it hits your ears like an alarm.

“don’t go all existential on me now.”

“then what should i do?”

“kiss me.”

“doesn’t that go against your whole ‘catch me off guard’ philosophy?” he murmurs, one hand reaching up to cup your jaw. your foreheads are still pressed together, eyes roaming each others.

“you’ll have plenty of time to surprise me.” you whisper.

you take a second to admire one another, the proximity mingling your warm breaths. when your lips finally brush, it’s slow, tentative, silent exploration. he tilts your head so that he can kiss you deeper, fingers sliding from your cheek into your hair. you emit a quiet moan, open up for him so he can taste you, and the feeling of him licking into your mouth sends your mind utterly blank.

he’s all consuming, totally intoxicating, a fresh blend of mint and something so blatantly lando that you feel like you’re floating. you find his neck, threading your fingers through the short strands at the nape of his neck. you hear something from deep in his chest, feel the vibrations of the low rumble as he presses you even closer to him.

when you inevitably break apart for air, he looks dazed, grinning like a fool as he smoothes his hand through the loose strands of your hair that fall around your face.

“i’m sorry that took so long.” lando hums, leaning in to peck your lips again. you can’t help but smile into it, in a daze of your own.

“me too.” you manage between smiling dopily up at him.

“you’re so beautiful.” he coos, still entranced. “you wanna stay here tonight?”

you hesitate for a second. he notices, interlacing your fingers with his.

“for the record, um, she never did. i couldn’t have her that close.” he mumbles, looking down at your hands guiltily.

“why?”

“didn’t feel right. she wasn’t,” he inhales shakily and meets your gaze again, piercing you with hazy blue hues. “she wasn’t you. i think that’s the real reason that i couldn’t… you know, with her.”

“i’ll stay.” you whisper, nodding softly. it’s all you can formulate as a response.

“i can make up the guest room.” he says wearily, posing it as more of a question than a statement, putting out the feelers. you scowl, eyes sparkling with a mischievous danger that leaves lando’s mouth bone dry.

“don’t bother.”

-

the grey linen of his bed sheets are soft against your skin as you sink into his mattress, watching intently as he pads around his room. you can smell him everywhere, a tangy, fresh musk that you want to bottle up and keep forever. lando glows in the dim, warm light of his bedroom and you feel a pang of regret that it’s taken this long to get here, muddled with a sense of relief that finally, you’ve made it.

“‘m gonna take a quick shower, okay? make yourself comfortable.” lando says, pauses for a second to take in the sight of you in his bed.

“okay.” you smile softly, eyes heavy with sleep as you relax further into the cushions. you hear the water running, white noise that allows your thoughts to run wild. the slide of the shower door grabs your attention and you think of him under the spray of water, bronze skin damp, hair slicked back.

when will it be your turn to see him like that, you wonder, musings of him pressed against you, bare and firm, flitting through your wandering mind. you realise, then, that you have him; he’s yours. why delay the inevitable?

slowly, you rise from the mattress, breathing shakily as your shirt comes off. your sweats follow, a trail of your clothes leading to the en-suite door. you can hear him humming to himself, the echo barrelling through your shaking body. you’re frantic with tension, a tinge of embarrassment, but then you consider his beautiful words, his confessions of love, and banish the feeling of shame that threatens to ruin you before you’ve even started. you unhook your bra, shimmy out of your panties, and grip the door handle. it turns slowly, steam spilling out of the room immediately, yet you shiver with anticipation.

“room for one more?” you call, and he jumps, turning suddenly.

you can’t make him out clearly, the fog painted across the shower door concealing his lean frame, and it draws you in closer, anticipation swirling in your belly.

he responds by sliding the door open, and you join him under the hot water. his eyes stay firmly on yours, body opening up to invite you in, hold you close as the spray hits you. the heat loosens your muscles, and you sink into him.

“fuck.” you hear him whisper, more to himself than to you.

“hi.” you breathe.

“am i dreaming?” lando blinks, a slow smile spreading across his face as he not so subtlety rakes his eyes over your frame.

“no,” you purr. “i’m real. this is real.”

his hands find your waist and you loop your arms around his neck, the kiss he pulls you into heated with a slow burning passion that makes you ache.

“you’re so pretty.” he pants into your mouth, firm and desperate - so sincere that it shakes you to your core.

“you’re perfect.” you choke out, mesmerised, alight in his thick hands.

“let me show you,” he starts, pauses briefly to kiss you. “wanna worship you.”

his words make you chase him for a kiss that doesn’t come. instead, he turns you to face away from him, your back to his front. you feel the cool spread of shower gel against your back, calloused hands working it into your skin gently. your hair, heavy with water, is pushed over your shoulder and you turn your head just enough to find his lips. your mouths move with intent as he works the soap down your back and over your waist. it tickles and you keen into him, enough that he holds you tighter, angles your hips away from his.

“careful, baby.” he warns lowly, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

“don’t wanna be careful.” you half moan, but he grips your hips even harder.

“not tonight, yeah? let me look after you. need you to know that i’m serious about this.” lando pants, his self restraint thin as it hits your ears. you smirk.

“you back on your ‘good guy’ bullshit?” you tease, throwing him a look over your shoulder. you catch sight of his lip caught between his teeth, wet curls matted against his forehead, and a wave of pure need washes over your body.

“for you? fuck yeah.” he manages, crouches down to lather soap down your legs. his hands roam your inner thighs, dangerously, painfully close to where you really need him to touch you, and you groan defeatedly.

“you’re horrible.” you sigh when he’s back to his full height, facing you once more. he flashes you a cheeky smile, fingertips smoothing over your arms.

“wanna get this right.” he shrugs.

“we could get it right - right here, right now.” you pout.

“patience.” lando cautions, rubbing over your sternum. he grazes over the underside of your breasts, daring to go even higher. you let out a broken sigh, shuddering at his incessant attention.

“asshole.”

“we already knew that about me, baby.” he winks. he maintains eye contact as he cups your breasts, massages them just enough to leave you wanting. his touch vanishes, then, and the elastic band of tension seems to snap. “rinse off, i’ll leave a towel for you.”

just like that, he’s gone.

-

you stretch like a cat across the mattress, the low sun sending the early light streaming through a devastating crack in the curtains. it leaves you disoriented - the sun never hits your own bedroom like that.

quickly, you remember you’re not in your own bed, partly because of the heavy arm that sprawls over your tired body, pinning you to the mattress. his breath hits your bare shoulder in heavy puffs that warm your skin, leaving your tingling as your curl further into the curve of his body. your movements nudge his head into the crook of your neck, his nose bumping the sensitive skin there and he stirs slightly, puckers his lips into a gentle kiss at the base of your throat.

you roll over, his arm weighing heavy against the curve of your waist the whole time. when you’re face to face, his eyes are still closed, unfairly long eyelashes dusting his cheekbones, but a smile is painted languidly across his lips. he looks so soft, boyish, perfectly unreal that you snuggle closer to him.

“go back to sleep.” he groans, hardly opening his mouth as if it’s too much work in his cosy state.

“not tired anymore.” you whisper into the slight space still left between you. your lips find his jaw, trailing across it until you find a sensitive spot just below his ear. he shivers, but he still doesn’t open his eyes. you smirk, tracing your tongue carefully over the definition of his jawline. you suck, bite down gently.

“really?” he murmurs, still smiling like a fool, only intensified by your movements. you hum in response.

“go back to sleep, baby.” you coo, sealing the hickey you’ve left with a delicate kiss, one that contradicts the harsh mark you’ve left.

“drives me insane hearing you call me that.” he sighs, almost pained. the newfound friction against your thigh explains why.

“does it, baby?” you murmur, right in his ear.

“roll over, honey. get comfortable for me.” is all he says in return. electricity shoots down your spine as you oblige, resuming your previous position.

“that’s it, c’mere.” lando rasps, sliding impossibly closer. you can feel the full length of his body pressed against yours, heat seeping from his bronze skin onto yours. your eyes flutter shut, a delicious buzz coursing through you as the anticipation grows.

you can feel where he’s hard, solid against the curve of your ass and you keen into him, arched into his front as much as you possibly can be. your thighs clench together, liquid heat pooling between them. your mouth hangs open as his hand grazes the outside of your thigh, smoothing over the thickness of them before he pulls them apart. his hand slots between them - a perfect fit - and he wastes no time grazing his knuckles over the damp cloth of your panties.

“lando.” you sigh, utterly content. it’s been a long time coming, but it already seems like it was worth the wait.

“you’re so wet for me already. you want me?” lando growls against the shell shell of your ear.

“touch me, baby.” you plead, pressing your ass harder against him. he hisses, thumbs hard at your clit in response.

you mewl, squeezing your thighs around his hand but he forces them apart, his arm tensing as he does. you grip it hard, nails digging into his forearm but he doesn’t relent. he rubs firm circles into the bundle of nerves over your panties, fingers dipping down to press into the wet patch quickly pooling in the lace.

“take them off.” you urge.

he quickly complies, fingertips grazing your hips as he slides the material off of your frame. as one hand settles back between your thighs, two deft fingers pinching your clit, his other snakes under the old mclaren t-shirt he’d leant you. he traces the pudges of your belly, scaling up, up, up, tickling across your ribs until he caresses the curve of your breast, his whole hand engulfing it. he plucks a nipple between his fingers at the same time he slides a digit between your folds, spreading your wetness around.

“feeling good for me, honey? do you know how sexy you are for me, making a mess, wearing my shirt?” lando muses, dangerously low. his voice is strained, a side affect of the hold your have on him, of how entranced he is by the way you writhe against him.

“so good.” you choke, rolling your hips to meet his hand. “need more.”

“more? is my girl greedy?” he taunts, circling your entrance with the tip of his finger.

“please?” you’re not above begging him. it does the trick.

you both moan at the way he stretches you around one finger, the single digit sliding deep. he grinds it into you, palm nudging against your clit with every move he makes. one finger becomes two and you gasp out his name, your hand finding his under the shirt, holding it to your chest. he squeezes your flesh, tweaking at your nipple until it’s hard between his fingers and your ass is grinding faster into his crotch. when he moves on to your other breast, you choke out a moan that tears through the both of you, the tension so thick in the room that it’s stifling.

“c’mon baby, i need you inside of me.” you beg, your voice a pathetic garbled whine, one that makes him falter and suck in a harsh breath.

“not sure you can take it, pretty girl. so tight just around my fingers.” lando challenges, slowing his fingers so that you can hear exactly what he’s doing to you. he curls them with every thrust, reaching a spot that temporarily leaves you blinded in the throes of his searing touch. “you’re gonna cum for me like this first, yeah? and then we’ll see if you can take me.”

“can’t- lando please just-“

he shushes you.

“you’re gonna let me give it to you, honey. you’re gonna take it all, because you’re a good girl, right?” his voice is so condescending, so commanding that it makes you throb around him, his fingers flexing harder and faster as he senses your lurking orgasm. “that’s it, honey, i can feel you. come on.” he urges.

your body spasms hard against his as it hits, any semblance of sleep shaken out of you as you fall apart. he holds you close, rides you through it - palm flat on your overstimulated clit while his fingers gently coax you over the edge. he’s hitting every spot, toying with every piece of you he can get his hands on. the hand alternating between your tits roams up to your neck squeezing briefly, just to tease, before he cups your jaw, turning your head enough so he can capture your lips in a feral kiss. it’s needy, full of greed as he swallows your cries of pleasure, keeps them all for himself.

when you go limp against him, the coils of tension finally loosening, he slips his fingers out slowly. you’re panting against his chest, descending back to reality, when you hear the telltale hum, a soft pop - he’s sucking his fingers clean.

“taste so fucking good.” he finally speaks, slick fingers pushing your shirt up your body and you manoeuvre it over your head. it’s tossed away, lost to the shadowy room.

“lando,” you hum. “i’m ready.”

it’s a plea that he can’t ignore, the duvet rustling around you. you feel him kick off his boxers and then he’s pressing his cock against the curve of your ass once more. its big, leaking already, and your mind goes completely and utterly blank.

“you feel so good against me.” he notes, dazed at the sensation of your bare flesh warm against his. “you sure?” he mumbles, pressing a firm kiss against the base of your neck, his hands working to reposition your legs so that he can slip into you.

“never been more sure in my life.” you promise, tingling with the anticipation.

he’s so close that you can feel the pulsing heat of him between your parted thighs. the head of him nudges over your clit and he drags himself up and down, coating his cock with your wetness. you’re frustrated - ready to flip the two of you over, fuck yourself full, but he beats you to it. the stretch of him makes you gasp, knuckles white as you grip the soft bedding. when his hips meet yours, he pauses, teeth sinking into your shoulder, utterly overwhelmed. you’re not doing much better, one hand snaking up behind you to find his curls, tugging softly on the messy strands. he likes it, groaning into the marks he’s leaving on your shoulder, lips trailing messily up your neck.

the sunlight streams harshly through the crack in the curtain, momentarily blinding you. it leaves you with only the feeling of him, a golden haze invading your other senses. he’s gripping your hip so hard that you’re certain that you’ll be able to map out each of his fingerprints after.

“can i move?” he rasps, punctuating his request with a delicate kiss just below your ear. you shiver, clenching around him tight, and he bucks into you inadvertently. it sends sparks shooting up and down your spine, an electric wave of pleasure that has your eyes fluttering shut.

“you better.” you implore.

“you’re fucking perfect around me.” he grunts, beginning to build a rhythm. it’s one that leaves you both breathless, brainless, unable to utter anything besides the relentless chants of each-others names, the needy wanton moans that neither of you can hide.

lando’s hands are everywhere, your hips, your ass, wrapped around your sternum to pull you back into him, plunging himself even deeper into you. you claw blindly at any part of him you can reach, braindead from the way he’s fucking you. you and him are like a tidal wave, surging closer and closer to shore after years of dormancy, of an aching, crushing build up. now, as it peaks, it could destroy you, wash you away and leaves you nothing. you know he won’t. you know by the way he’s holding you, by the soft whimpers he lets you hear, by the way he makes you feel more alive than you have in months.

“i’m so close.” your voice quivers, pleasure bleeding into the edges of your words.

“i’m gonna get you there, pretty girl. you’re so good for me.” he promises, one hand slipping between your thighs. he finds your clit, plays with it between his fingers. messy swirls combined with precise flicks make you shake “i can feel you, honey. can feel you holding back. let it all out for me.”

he sounds wrecked, like he’ll die if he can’t feel you let go around him. you feel the start of your orgasm crawling from the tips of your toes, up your legs, and into the fire pit of your belly.

“that’s it, give it to me.” lando whispers, his voice so far away, even though he’s right there, talking you through it with his lips pressing the shell of your ear.

“i love you, lando.”

with that, you shatter into a million pieces, convulsing around him, against him, trying to get impossibly closer to him as you simultaneously try and squirm away. he holds you close, barrelling into you with fast, deep rolls of his hips. each thrust taps into your special spot, stars clouding your vision, his name the only word on your lips, the only word that has ever existed.

“where do you want it?” he asks quickly, urgently anticipating his own end.

“inside of me.” you pant, delirious, but he’s not in the space to do any critical thinking - you love him! - so he takes your words at face value.

a guttural groan hits your ears like a sonic boom, his body tight and firm against your sweat slick back. he squeezes you tight as he fills you up, submitting totally to the heat of your core, to the intoxicating way you draw him in.

“i love you, too.” he mumbles into your shoulder, kisses the words into your flushed skin. “i always have.”

he flops onto his back, slipping out of you carefully first, a lazy smile on his face. his eyes are shut, angelic once more as if he hadn’t been whispering filth into your ear just a minute prior.

“we gotta do more of that.” lando laughs, blindly reaching out for you. you slip into his welcoming arms, draping yourself over his body.

“think i need a shower. maybe you can make up for leaving me in there last night.” you giggle, agreeing that, yes, you absolutely need to do more of that.

he hugs you closer, a kiss placed atop your forehead.

“you can have anything you want, honey.”

-

phew.

-

taglist.

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[formulafanfics13]

Look at Me When You Break - CL16 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: After seeing suspicious photos from the paddock, she struggles with insecurity, but Charles gently reassures her — not just with words, but with slow, intense, emotionally-charged sex that leaves no room for doubt.

Warnings: Explicit smut, emotional intensity, possessive reassurance, light orgasm control, praise kink, eye contact kink, deeply intimate partner sex, slow and intentional dominance, crying during sex, emotional vulnerability, creampie.

She barely said a word in the car. Charles noticed the second they left the paddock, the tight silence, the way she picked at her nails, the fake smile she gave when he asked if she was hungry. He didn't press her. Didn't speak. Not until they were inside his Monaco flat, the door shut, her shoes off, and she turned to walk straight past him like nothing was wrong.

"Hey," he said gently, hand catching her wrist. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she whispered.

He raised an eyebrow. "Try again."

She shook her head. "I'm just tired."

He studied her for a long moment. Then, quietly, "You saw the photos, didn't you?"

She swallowed.

"The girl in the red dress?" he added. "Grid hospitality?"

She didn't respond. He stepped closer. "She leaned into me," he said. "I didn't touch her."

"I know," she whispered.

He cupped her jaw. "But you don't believe it."

Her eyes glistened.

"Baby."

"I just-" her voice cracked. "It's hard. Sometimes."

Charles exhaled softly. Then kissed her forehead. Her cheek. Her lips. And whispered, "Let me fix it."

He didn't rush. He never did. Charles knew what she needed, and it wasn't just fucking. It was reassurance. And he gave it with every touch.

He undressed her slowly, hands sliding under her shirt, lifting it over her head, kissing the skin as it was exposed. Her bra. Her jeans. Her underwear. Until she was bare in front of him. Then he sat on the edge of the bed. "Come here."

She moved between his knees. Charles kissed her stomach. Then lifted her onto his lap, one arm around her waist, the other hand tilting her chin.

"You're mine," he murmured. "Say it."

"I'm yours."

"And I'm yours."

He kissed her once more. Then leaned her back onto the mattress, climbed over her, and slid in with one slow, deep thrust.

She gasped. Charles didn't move. Just held her there, deep and full and still. "Look at me."

She did.

"I'm not touching anyone else."

"I know-"

"No," he said, voice firmer. "Say it."

"I know you're not."

"You're the only one I want to be inside."

She moaned, eyes fluttering.

"And you're the only one who makes me lose control."

He started to move. Slow. Heavy. Each thrust was devastating, deep, unhurried, so fucking full.

"Open your eyes," he whispered. She hadn't even realised she'd shut them. "Watch me," he said. "Watch the way I fuck you."

She obeyed. And saw it. His expression, soft but wrecked. His breath, ragged. His eyes, on her like she was the only girl in the fucking world.

"You think any of them make me feel like this?" he asked, voice low, hips rolling deeper.

"No," she gasped.

"Damn right they don't."

His pace didn't quicken. Just deepened. She could feel it in her fucking soul. The slow grind of his hips, the warmth of his hand on her chest, the way he kissed her jaw every time she moaned his name.

"You close?"

"Yes-fuck-Charles, yes-"

He stopped moving. She whined. "Not yet," he whispered. "You come when I say."

Her hands gripped the sheets. "Please-"

He rolled his hips once, just to make her cry out. "I said not yet."

She was sobbing by the time he let her start again. Legs trembling. Lips parted. One hand wrapped around his wrist where he held her face still, forced her to look at him.

"You're gonna come now," he whispered, voice soft like prayer. "And when you do, I want to see you fall apart. I want to see you believe me."

She nodded. Tears falling.

"Good girl." And then he fucked her. Just a little faster. Still deep. Still slow. Still so intentional it felt like she'd never come back from it. Her breath caught.

"Let go," he said.

And she did. Came with a sob, full-body, breaking open, coming around him, hands shaking, voice cracked. He kissed her through it. Didn't stop. Kept whispering, "That's it, baby. Let me see you. Let me feel you."

And then he came, with a gasp, buried as deep as he could go, moaning her name into her mouth. They stayed like that. Sweaty. Shaking. Still joined. Until she whispered, "I'm sorry."

And he said, "Don't be." Because this wasn't about punishment. It was reminding. It was claiming. It was love, in every filthy, slow, emotional thrust.

And when they fell asleep? She wasn't crying anymore. Because she knew. She was his.

[dannyriccsystem]

Congratulations on 1k honeyy!

Can I ask 12 (friends to lovers) + 41 (panties stealing) with oscar piastri? 👉👈

I DREAMT ABOUT YOU NEARLY EVERY NIGHT THIS WEEK…

1K SPECIAL - OP81

Panty stealing + Friends to lovers

SUMMARY: Catching your ‘innocent’ best friend in the act of stealing your undergarments :)

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

WARNINGS: Panty stealing, panty sniffing, masturbating with panties, the whole nine yards, smut, P in V, male masturbation, submissive!osc, femdom sort of?, edging, begging….. male whimpering…. let’s see how many warnings I can add challenge

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Best Friend!Reader

NOTE: This picture makes me feel some typa way

OSCAR KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING WAS SHAMEFUL. The only problem? He couldn’t bring himself to stop. The two of you have been roommates since forever—You’ve been friends since forever. Him offering to do your laundry every now and then didn’t seem like the worst thing ever, so you happily allowed it to happen.

You figured the occasional disappearance of a small garment, like your panties or a singular sock, could just be explained by the weird phenomena that always occurred when washing clothes. Things would disappear without a trace and it would be impossible to locate them again. But then it kept happening, and slowly you started to feel like you were lacking in the underwear department specifically.

You finally decided to say something when your favorite pair went missing. They were a soft baby pink with lacy straps that hugged your pretty thighs, highlighting the curve of your ass with the somewhat sheer material. You wore them for yourself, not for display.

You sought him out after a trivial practice session. He came home drenched in sweat and fairly pissed off, which was rare, but not impossible for Oscar. He shut himself in his room, making him easy to find. You stopped in front of the door that seemed to loom over you, casting an uncertain shadow over your figure.

That’s when you heard it.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Men jerk off, what’s new? Were you somewhat shocked—Well, yes. Of course you were. You were actively listening to your insanely attractive best friend stroke his own cock. The noises were wet and filthy as his hand dragged up and down the veiny length, his thumb rubbing his own tip which would make his whiny breath hitch and his hips jerk. He’d come close to coming, and then pull his hands away with a pathetic whine, pushing his orgasm away.

Of course, you could only imagine all this. He was locked away behind the ominously shut door, everything only evident by the sounds that seeped out from the cracks.

You know what they say? Curiosity killed the cat. You gently pried the door open in hopes he wouldn’t hear, and he didn’t. Somehow. It was just enough to peek in, getting a good sight of the glorious spectacle, the sound leaking out even louder now. It was just as you pictured.

He sounded pretty. So fucking pretty. His cock matched his voice, long and girthy with a tip that was leaky and red. His eyes were squeezed shut, his freehand spasming between gripping the bed sheet and extending all five of his long fingers. But what surprised you most? The baby pink article of clothing wrapped around the aching length, sliding up and down with every jerk of his hand.

Your panties.

Damn him. You pulled the door shut again, letting out a sigh of relief when he continued even after it ‘clicked’ shut, implying Oscar hadn’t heard your entrance or your exit. You couldn’t believe he had been acting as a little thief, using your panties for his own dirty pleasures as if you wouldn’t know. It was gross, despicable, and downright disturbing… And yet when you returned to your room, you couldn’t get the image out of your head as your hand snuck down your little shorts.

You couldn’t confront him until later. He was graciously cooking you a delicious dinner when you decided to sneak behind him, fabric folded neatly in the palm of your hand as your arms wrapped around his waist innocently. He chuckled, mindlessly stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. It was just playful affection between friends, no?

“It’s almost d- ahh, Y/N what the hell?” Oscar breathed out softly as your hands trailed down, palming his crotch through his sweatpants. He twitched, staring at you in shock. You raised your closed fist and then extended your fingers, displaying the pair of panties you had shoved in there. These ones were a pastel orange— Not nearly as scandalous as the pair you caught him with earlier. His ears visibly flushed red, and his lips were drawn into a tight line.

“Is this what you want?” You whispered teasingly, your breath flush against the back of his neck. He was frozen. Unmoving. Completely still. “My dirty panties for you to jerk off with?”

“Wh…” He finally spit out. “What are you talking about?” He spoke quickly, stumbling over his syllables with disgrace.

“I heard you. I saw you. You’re fucking filthy.” His erection was growing involuntarily, and you slowly moved your hand down to drag your underwear across his growing boner. He shuddered, his knees buckling momentarily. “Do I need to punish you? Teach you about respect?”

“No, I-”

“I think I do.” You slowly tugged his waistband down. His boxers were tented still, a spot of pre-cum seeping through. Oscar whined, leaning back against you and holding onto the edge of the counter for support.

“Y/N- Oh fuck,” He whispered as a curse as you slid your hands, along with the panties, down his boxers, wrapping both around his length. His was still as you started to stroke him, making soft whimpering noises. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

“How often do you do this, Osc?” You whisper, and he doesn’t respond. “Do you like fucking my panties? Bet they still smell like me. Makes you feel like you’re fucking my pussy, huh?” You sped up, and his hips slowly fucked into your hand to quicken the pace.

“Yeah,” He admitted pathetically, his voice high pitched. “Please, please— I’ll be good, I promise!” He reached back to hold onto your arm for support, tossing his head back. “Y/N I’m gonna-”

But before he could come, you pulled your hand away. He froze, eyes wide as his orgasm was washed away.

“You think you’ll just get to come when you want?” You turned him around, walking him back to one of the chairs in your dining room. He fell back onto the seat as you climbed into his lap, his big pathetic doe eyes staring into yours. “No. You’ve been naughty, Osc. Time to pay the price.”

You yanked down your shorts. You lacked a pair of panties, which meant he made direct eye contact with your pussy. Oscar adverted his gaze, only to lock eyes with you instead. You slowly lifted your shirt over your head and your tits spilled free, and Oscar’s gaze on them was most certainly not subtle.

You sank down onto his cock with a giggle. “Tell me when you’re about to come, okay?” He stared up at you in awe, and nodded without really considering the implications of that. Oscar was just here for the ride. Literally.

He helped you bounce on his cock. His brain was already completely fucked out by you, his breath soft and whiny. “Yes, fuck yes,” and “you’re so pretty,” were just about the only sentences he could actually get out. Everything else was a pathetic cry from his lust filled lips.

“I’m coming-” He would announce again and again, only to be met by your pussy sliding off his tip, leaving him without any sort of satisfaction. Every time he whined with his head thrown back, nearly crying at the lack of proper stimulation.

He finally grabbed your hips, desperately holding you down. “Please let me come, please-” Oscar begged, tears brimming his eyes from almost a full hour of your merciless edging. “I’ll be a good boy, I won’t steal anymore! Just please let me come… I wanna come inside, please-”

He was rambling as he fucked up into you, his eyes glazed over. You giggled, brushing a sweaty strand of hair away from his face. “You wanna come inside?” You repeated. He nodded, whining. “Then do it, Osc. Be a good boy.”

He didn’t need much more incentive. He held your hips down with his strong hands, his cock twitching inside before releasing ropes of white hot cum inside of you. You slowly pulled yourself off, and he audibly moaned out as he watched the cum drip from your hole.

“You tease,” He whined, throwing his head back as he slumped down in the chair.

“Maybe don’t steal my panties.”

“Well, I might have to if it leads to this every time…”

Yeah.

That wasn’t going to be a one time thing.

[yourlittlebunnyy]

all the times franco and yn were unhinged on each others socials

francolapinto just posted.

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, williamsracing and 405.292 others

francolapinto working hard🔥

see comments

user1 great job!

user2 he looks so good omg😫

williamsracing 💙💙💙

ynusername oh!

ynusername papi

ynusername why are my panties suddenly wet?

francolapinto let me help you get rid of them mami

alexalbon I DID NOT WANT TO KNOW???

user2 THEY CANT BE STOPPED DAMN

ynusername papi i want you to choke me with those biceps

francolapinto gladly mami

user99 daddy/mommy kink goes HARD

user45 THEY HAVE NO SHAME

charlesleclerc there are FAMILIES HERE

user18 who is this DIVA?💜

landonorris WHAT DID I JUST READ???

user3 oh she's unhinged

user4 i mean look at him who wouldn't

user5 yn is lucky 😖

user6 actually ☝️🤓 franco is lucky to have yn

ynusername just posted.

liked by francolapinto, yourbestie, user7 and others

ynusername life lately🌞🌻

see comments

francolapinto mami porfa dame tus hijos🙏

user8 hey! so this is actually insane

francolapinto why are you so hot 😞

ynusername you tell me papi

alexalbon wait why are the comments actually nice?

francolapinto i may or may not have a problem right now...

ynusername a big one? 😏☝️

user13 ehm... i suddenly feel in the middle of something😞

charlesleclerc that's how we fill everyday, every hour, every second.

alexalbon NEVERMIND

user9 IT GIRL

yourbestie 😍😍😍

user10 the comments started nice...

williamsracing we are tired😃

landonorris someone tell me what the actual fuck i just witnessed.

user2 please tell us 🙏🙏🙏

landonorris i... i think i just saw franco looking at this and excusing himself...

user6 LOLOLLOLLLL

user7 he's so down bad it's cute

francolapinto just posted.

liked by ynusername, williamsracing, alexalbon and 378.292 others

francolapinto quick break with my babygirl🏋‍♀️🐎

see comments

ynusername damn papi i wanna sit on your face😫

francolapinto who's stopping you? definitely not me

landonorris WHAT

charlesleclerc someone needs to start a petition to media train this two because man, i am tired...

alexalbon the way i would sign so quick...

ynusername didn't realise everyone hates us😟

user11 GIRL-

ynusername i want to climb you like a tree🙏

carlossainz i sighed so loud.

user12 me too, carlos. me too.

user13 GIRL WE GET IT PLS STOP😭😭😭

user14 atp im just here for yn comments😔

williamsracing looking good🔥💙

user15 i just know yn is giggling and kicking her feet rn

yourbestie she is. she is also blushing and she's been staring at this post for the past 10 minutes. send help.

williamsracing just posted.

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williamsracing ready for today💪 we will keep pushing💙🏎

see comments

user16 omg im here before than yn it feels so weird

francolapinto 💪💙

alexalbon see how its nice now that she's been media trained?

user17 noo pls they got my girl😔

ynusername AHAHAHAH NO you guys thought williams could trap me? 👺

user18 PLS NEVER CHANGE QUEEN🤲🙏

williamsracing well, fuck.

ynusername i think i just got pregnant

francolapinto milf yn?😏😏😏

user19 i dont think thats how it works...

user44 mind that's my first impression of you! 🙂

ynusername currently hyperventilating dont ask me anything

user20 @ynusername quick question what color is the shirt?

ynusername uhmmmm he was... wearing a shirt?☝

user21 SHE IS SO ME DJKDFJJDJS

user22 realest queen ever

user28 DIVA💜

alexalbon why i always speak too soon

landonorris nurse she's out again

yourbestie i tried. i failed. i can't defend you anymore, yn. 😞

ynusername damn... now a girl can't even admire his bf without being blamed...

yourbestie ADMIRE??? SISTER YOU'RE BASICALLY SEXTING WITH HIM IN THE COMMENTS🙏

user24 i love these two sm😭

user23 yn comments never disappoint🤭

more here!

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

F1 Head Cannons

Sex Chocolate! 

Drivers Included: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Carlos Sainz and Franco Colapinto.

Lando Norris:

He didn’t believe you.

“Swear down,” he laughed, turning the heart-shaped piece of chocolate over in his fingers. “It’s just a stupid TikTok sex trend.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Don’t take it. But I hope you can handle being edged for three hours when I’m the one who takes it and begs for more.”

That did it.

He popped it in his mouth with a smug little chew. “Tastes like a Cadbury. Bit of mint. Not bad.”

It hit twelve minutes later.

One second he was giggling through a movie with his legs draped over yours on the couch.

The next?

He was straddling your thighs on the living room rug, shirt off, pupils huge, hips grinding down against your clothed core as he moaned—actually moaned—into your neck.

“I feel,” he breathed, pulling his mouth away from your collarbone, “so fucking horny I could die.”

You were still laughing when he ripped your top clean in half.

“Lando—!”

“No, no, no,” he whined. “Need it. Right now. I don’t care. Gimme.”

He dragged your panties down with his teeth.

This Lando? This was feral.

He didn’t even prep you. Just spit, aligned himself, and pushed in with a desperate grunt.

“FUCK—you’re warm, you’re warm, you’re warm—”

He set a pace like he was possessed. Messy, frantic, hips slapping, hands everywhere—your wrists pinned, your thighs shaking, his forehead pressed against yours with insane eye contact the whole time.

Kink unlocked: Overstimulation and begging.

Because once you came the first time, it was like a switch flipped.

“No, no, don’t stop—don’t stop, baby, come on, be good for me, again, again—please again, I swear I’ll die—”*

When he came, it was with a whimper, his whole body shaking like he’d never felt it before. But the worst part?

He stayed hard.

“What the fuck was in that?” he gasped, laughing while flipping you onto your stomach. “Round two, yeah?”

…You didn’t walk for two days.

Charles Leclerc:

You left it on the kitchen counter.

Just a silly little heart-shaped chocolate in pink foil with a note next to it that read:

“⚠️ DO NOT TOUCH — SEX CHOCOLATE. For later. I’m serious.”

You figured he’d laugh.

He’s always teasing you for getting things off TikTok.

You never in a million years thought Charles “Mr. Control” Leclerc would eat it without asking.

So when you come home and find him shirtless, sweat beading at his temples, sprawled across your bed like a painting in distress, hand fisting the sheets while his boxers tent aggressively…

You drop your fucking keys.

“Charles?!”

His head lifts slowly, neck flushed red, pupils dilated to hell.

His voice is wrecked. “Ma chérie… I—what the fuck was in that chocolate?”

You freeze. “You ate it?!”

“I thought you were joking!” he groans, grabbing his cock through his boxers with a desperate, strangled sound. “You left a snack! On the counter! What was I supposed to do?!”

You laugh. You shouldn’t laugh.

But your boyfriend—the stoic, calm, always-in-control Charles—is quite literally bent in half by horniness.

And then he moves.

He gets up slowly, like his own body is too much to handle.

And he stalks toward you—hungry, trembling, growling.

Eyes locked on yours. Lips parted. Breathing like he’s run a marathon.

“You did this,” he rasps, trapping you against the wall. “You put that in the house. You—*fuck—*you knew I wouldn’t resist chocolate. You did this on purpose.”

He grabs your jaw. Tilts your face to his. Licks into your mouth like he wants to taste the sin before he sinks into it.

“Tu vas me laisser te baiser comme j’en ai besoin, n’est-ce pas?”

(You’re going to let me fuck you the way I need to, aren’t you?)

You nod. You whimper.

It’s all he needs.

He rips your leggings down, slides your panties off, then lifts you like nothing.

Holds you up against the wall with one hand on your ass, the other wrapped around your neck—gently, but firmly—and sinks in raw.

You scream.

He growls.

“Tais-toi… Don’t speak. Just feel me. Just take it.”

KINK UNLOCKED:

• Breath play

• French degradation/praise

• Wall sex + size kink

• Delayed orgasm control + possessive dom energy

His thrusts are hard, precise—a rhythm sent from the gods and delivered through Monaco’s most beloved slut.

He’s cursing in French, biting your shoulder, saying things like:

“Tu m’as manqué. Cette petite chatte—putain, elle m’a manqué.”

(I missed you. This little pussy—fuck, I missed it.)

You can’t think. You can’t breathe.

Every stroke is deep and perfect and made to destroy you.

When you cry out—because it’s too much, too full, too fast—he smilesagainst your neck.

“You’re crying?” he pants. “*Mais non, ma chérie—*don’t cry. It’s good for you. It’s supposed to feel like this.”

And then he starts thrusting even harder.

You come with a scream, legs trembling, body writhing—and he doesn’t stop.

Not until he’s filled you twice, not until your tears stain his shoulder, and definitely not until you beg him in French to let you rest.

“S’il te plaît—Charles—je peux plus—”

(Please—Charles—I can’t anymore—)

He kisses your forehead sweetly. Carries you to bed. Tucks your hair behind your ears.

Then pulls the vibrator out of the drawer.

“Non, non,” he murmurs. “The chocolate hasn’t worn off yet, bébé.

Let’s see how many more you can take.”

Oscar Piastri:

He took it as a joke.

Deadpan expression. Lazy shrug. Calm, quiet voice.

“So it’s like a… horny gummy bear?”

You held the foil heart out with a smirk. “It’s stronger than a gummy bear.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but popped the chocolate into his mouth anyway.

He kissed your cheek after. “I’ll let you know if I feel anything.”

Seventeen minutes later.

He’s pacing the room like a caged animal.

Hands flexing. Brow furrowed. Sweating, shirt discarded. Fully hard.

“…I don’t think I’m okay.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel sick?”

He stopped. Turned to you slowly. Eyes wild.

“No. I feel like I need to fuck you until you cry.”

You didn’t even get a full breath in before he grabbed you.

Clothes? Gone. Logic? Gone. Oscar’s whole soul? Possessed.

He didn’t even take you to bed.

He bent you over the counter, dragged your panties to the side, and shoved himself in with a desperate groan that vibrated down your spine.

He started pounding—deep and filthy—his chest pressed to your back, his hand tangled in your hair, his voice shaky and low.

“You gonna take it? Huh? Take it like my good girl?”

You choked. His pace got rougher.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you like this—use you, ruin you—”

KINK UNLOCKED:

• Corruption kink + degradation

• Choking + hair pulling + public risk (open blinds)

• Silent edging/overstimulation

• Possessive virginity-core flipped

He manhandled you like he couldn’t stop.

Thrusting so hard your hands were slipping on the counter, and when you whimpered, he let go of your hair—just to slap your ass so hard your knees buckled.

“Don’t go weak on me now, baby. Not until I say we’re done.”

You came once. Then again. And again.

He refused to stop. Didn’t even slow down.

He came inside you, moaning low and guttural—but stayed rock hard.

Oscar Piastri after sex chocolate is not quiet.

He’s sweaty. Messy. Loud. Obsessed.

When he finally collapsed on top of you, breathless and shaky, he murmured:

“You’re not going anywhere. We’re doing that again. And again. And again.”

Lewis Hamilton:

Lewis knew what he was doing.

He lit candles. Put on a playlist. Set out satin sheets and massage oil like it was a full ceremony.

You placed the little chocolate on his tongue and kissed him slow.

“Think it’s gonna hit hard?” you teased.

Lewis just gave you that smug little smirk. “I don’t need the chocolate to ruin you, baby. But I’ll let it enhance the experience.”

Ten minutes in, he was already kissing down your stomach.

Fifteen minutes in, he was eating you out so slowly you were shaking from restraint.

But at the twenty minute mark?

He flipped.

His calm, sensual energy turned into dirty spiritual chaos.

He was fucking you with two fingers, mouth on your clit, grinding his hips into the mattress like he was the one being touched.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “That’s me inside you already—and I haven’t even started.”

When he finally pushed his cock into you, he did it with a slow, intentional roll of his hips that made you see stars.

“Let me make you transcend, love. I wanna fuck you into another plane.”

KINK UNLOCKED:

• Tantric edging + praise kink

• Mirror sex + nipple play + temperature play (warm oils, cool fingers)

• Throat fucking (gentle but deep)

• Long, slow, multiple orgasms

• High-intensity eye contact and spiritual daddy energy

He had you in positions you’ve never even seen before.

He lifted your legs, curved your back, laid you out with a vibe pressed to your clit while he drilled into you at a luxurious pace—stretching you out until your brain short-circuited.

“You’re shaking. That’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You came hard. Then again. Then again with his tongue between your thighs and his fingers inside you.

He licked every drop of his own come off your stomach with deep reverence.

And just when you thought he was done?

He rolled you onto your side. Bit your shoulder. And whispered:

“You’re not going to sleep tonight, sweetheart. I’ve got plans.”

Max Verstappen:

You were warned.

Max took the chocolate without even asking what it was. Just bit into it, eyes still on the sim rig screen, and said:

“Tastes kinda bitter. What is it?”

You froze.

“…Max. That was sex chocolate.”

He blinked once. “Like Viagra?”

“Worse.”

He smirked. Shrugged. “Good.”

**Fifteen minutes later—**he was already twitching with tension.

He stalked into the bedroom shirtless, flushed, jaw tight, arms flexing as he stared you down.

“Take your fucking clothes off.”

“Max—”

“Now.”

You did. You didn’t question it.

Because whatever was in that chocolate had turned Max into a full-blown, primal predator.

He shoved you onto the bed, yanked your thighs apart, and stared at your pussy like it was his next podium finish.

“You’re wet already?” he scoffed. “Didn’t even touch you yet. That’s pathetic.”

Then he spit on it. And ate you out like a punishment.

Fast. Rough. Zero mercy.

You came screaming. He didn’t stop.

When he finally slid in, it was brutal—deep thrusts, rough grip on your hips, his voice ragged in your ear as he pounded into you like he was trying to break the bed.

“You wanted to fuck a world champion? You better act like it.”

KINK UNLOCKED:

• Degradation + primal dom + forced overstimulation

• Spit play + spanking + rough grip marks

• Breath play and crying kink (because he wants you to sob)

• Edging + fearplay light (you like the threat of him, even when he’s gentle afterward)

He flipped you face down. Pressed his palm between your shoulder blades. Fucked you so hard your arms gave out.

And when you whimpered?

“No. Take it. I’m not done yet.”

He came with a low growl—then slapped your ass so hard it echoed.

But he didn’t go soft. Not even close.

“You’re not leaving this bed tonight.”

You came six times.

He didn’t even kiss you until round three.

Just whispered: “Mine.”

Carlos Sainz:

You dared him.

“I bet you couldn’t handle the chocolate. You’re all talk.”

Carlos looked offended. Deeply.

He snatched the foil heart, unwrapped it slowly, and popped it in his mouth—with eye contact.

“You’ll regret saying that.”

And you absolutely did.

Because twenty minutes later?

Carlos dragged you back to bed with fire in his eyes and a hard-on that looked medically dangerous.

He didn’t even give you time to catch your breath.

Shoved your panties aside. Sucked your clit into his mouth and held your hips down while you screamed.

You begged him to stop.

He laughed. “We’re just getting started, mi vida.”

He threw you onto all fours, gripped your ass like a vice, and fucked you from behind deep and controlled—one hand tangled in your hair, the other smacking your thigh.

“That’s it. That’s how I like it. Let them hear you.”

KINK UNLOCKED:

• Praise in Spanish + breeding kink energy + DDLG softness layered under filth

• Hair pulling + spanking + body worship (he still calls you beautiful while railing you)

• Choking + mirror play (he makes you watch)

• “You’re mine” possessiveness in both languages

He bit your shoulder. Told you to keep your hands flat on the mattress.

If you moved? He started over.

You came once? He wanted two more.

“No lloriquees ahora. Tú querías esto.”

(Don’t whine now. You wanted this.)

He came inside you, held it there, then started rubbing your clit again while still inside.

“Otra vez, baby. Dámelo otra vez.”

(Again, baby. Give it to me again.)

You were crying and shaking by the end.

He kissed your forehead.

“Good girl. Now flip over—I’m not done loving you.”

George Russell:

George didn’t rush into the sex chocolate.

He researched it. Read the label. Looked up the reviews.

“I just want to know what I’m putting in my body,” he said with a perfectly reasonable smile. “Don’t want to lose control.”

…And then he took it anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, he had you lying back on silk sheets, completely naked and trembling, your wrists tied to the headboard with his Hermes tie.

George Russell was gone.

All that British elegance? Now poured into filthy, dominating, perfectionist-level sex.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low and firm. “You do not come until I say so.”

You nodded quickly. He smiled and kissed your forehead—then spread your legs and slipped two fingers inside you while keeping eye contact.

Slow. Deep. Precise.

He worked your body like a symphony, fingers curling just right, while his other hand trailed up to your throat.

“You’re dripping. Can you feel how desperate you are? Pathetic, darling.”

You whimpered.

He laughed softly.

Then the chocolate hit full force.

His expression shifted.

Suddenly he was flipping you over, arching your back with one strong arm under your waist, and sliding his cock into you with a grunt so deep it vibrated your spine.

KINK UNLOCKED:

• Bondage (tie kink) + obedient praise kink

• Degradation mixed with gentle dominance (“You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”)

• Precision edging—he makes you beg like you’re praying

• Mirror play. “Watch how I ruin you.”

He’d go so slow, you’d think he was being soft—until he gripped your jaw and whispered:

“You move without permission, I’ll start over. Are we clear?”

When you finally came—shaking, screaming, gasping—he didn’t even stop.

He gave you a look and said, “Count how many you can give me. Let’s make it a personal best.”

Then he came on your stomach, wiped it up with a towel, and kissed your hand like a gentleman.

You were tied up for two hours.

Aftercare included feeding you chocolate strawberries… and then round two.

Franco Colapinto:

You left it on his pillow. Wrapped in red foil. A silly little heart.

“One piece = one hour of nasty.”

Franco held it up, smirked, and raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t even ask. Just ripped the foil open with his teeth and ate the whole thing.

“Ojalá no llores luego, mi amor.”

(Hope you don’t cry later, baby.)

You thought he was being dramatic.

But fifteen minutes later, Franco was shirtless. Eyes blown wide. Breath shaky. Hands trembling.

He was standing at the edge of the bed, staring at you like you were dessert—naked, sprawled out for him, waiting.

His voice was low. Like a growl, but prettier.

“Don’t say a word. I want to see you cry before you say a single fucking word.”

And then he pounced.

Mouth on your neck. Teeth. Tongue. Fingers in your hair.

He yanked you up by the throat—not hard, just enough for your head to tilt back—and kissed you like he was starving.

Groaned into your mouth. Licked into it. Breathed, “open, bebé.”

You did.

Spit. Tongue. Heat.

He kissed like he fucked—hungry and dangerous.

And when he finally broke the kiss, he had that glint in his eye. That sinister spark.

“Let’s see if this chocolate’s as crazy as people say, huh?”

“Let’s see if I can break you.”

You didn’t even get a second to process it.

He spun you around, shoved you onto the mattress, and ripped your panties off like they offended him.

Then dropped to his knees.

Tongue on your pussy. Hands holding you wide. No warning.

“Ay, mierda… You’re already dripping for me?” he purred against your skin.

Licked a stripe up your center, then did it again. Sloppier. Wetter.

Moaned into you like it was for him.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this, mi chanchita. Look at you. Moaning like a whore and I haven’t even put my cock in yet.”

You came on his tongue. Fast. Hard. Shaking.

He didn’t stop.

He laughed.

“One. C’mon. You can give me seven.”

He spit on your clit. Slapped it once. Twice. You jolted—gasps turning into sobs.

Then he stood up, eyes dark and lips soaked.

And slid in. Raw.

No foreplay. No prep. Just dominance.

He pushed in slow and deep, watching your face twist, until he bottomed out.

Your hands gripped the sheets. He grabbed your wrists. Pushed them above your head.

“No touching. Just take it.”

And then he started fucking you.

No rhythm. Just chaos. Animalistic, deep, punishing.

Every thrust hit a spot you didn’t know existed. And the chocolate? Had him insatiable.

His mouth was right by your ear.

“¿Querías esto, no? Una noche conmigo.”

(You wanted this, right? One night with me.)

“Pues, prepárate, puta. No vas a caminar mañana.”

(Well, get ready, slut. You won’t walk tomorrow.)

⸻

KINKS ON DISPLAY:

• Spit play (in mouth, on pussy, on dick)

• Hair pulling, choking, wrist pinning

• Bilingual filth (“rich slut,” “my obsession,” “fucktoy,” “my girl”)

• Overstimulation (he keeps fucking you through your orgasms)

• Mirror sex (he drags you to the mirror just to watch)

• Breeding kink (“Gonna fill you up. Want it dripping down your thighs.”)

• Crying kink + degradation + praise mix

•  Mindfuck dirty talk (“I want you to forget what your name is and only remember mine.”)

⸻

He flipped you halfway through. Dragged you to the mirror. Bent you over the bathroom sink.

“Look at yourself. Look what I do to you. Qué rica te ves toda destruida.”

(You look so good all ruined.)

He fucked you like that, from behind—deep and steady, one hand around your throat, the other rubbing your clit just to watch your face as you sobbed through another orgasm.

“You love it. Admit it. Say it.”

You choked.

He slapped your ass, hard. “Say it.”

“I—I love it.”

“Mírame cuando lo digas.”

(Look at me when you say it.)

You came so hard your knees gave out.

He held you up. Kept fucking.

You sobbed. He moaned. Bit your shoulder and whispered every nasty word you’d ever wanted to hear.

Then he pulled out. Came on your back.

“That’s not the last one.”

Dragged you to the bed. Cleaned you with his shirt.

Then pushed your legs up and went back in.

Still hard.

Still filthy.

Still hungry.

“Give me one more. I want to see you lose your fucking mind.”

And when he was finally done—covered in sweat, glowing with pride—he curled up behind you, kissed your jaw, and whispered,

“You’re mine now, ¿sí? No hay nadie más. Just me.”

(There’s no one else. Just me.)

You passed out in his arms.

Woke up to chocolate on the pillow again.

“Round 2?” the note said.

“Be brave, chiquita. 🖤”