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autisticoscarpiastri · 3 days ago

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Just Hormones, Right?

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’re pregnant, emotional, and exhausted, and a careless comment from Max during an argument leaves you wondering if he really understands what you’re going through. (Requested)

2.1k words / Masterlist

The fight doesn’t surprise you. It started the way most fights do, after too many days of pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Tonight it starts with a text that never came, a clock ticking past midnight, and the hollow ache of waiting. It starts with the weight of carrying too much, your own body, your own fear, yours and his child.

You’re already pacing the kitchen when the door opens, the slam of it too casual, too late.

Max stands there like nothing's wrong, shoes still on, Red Bull jacket half-off, thumb still tapping at his phone.

“You said you’d be home by nine,” you say, sharp and quiet. Controlled. The kind of quiet that only comes after hours of swallowing it down. “It’s almost midnight.”

He glances up, sighs. “The meeting ran late. I told you that.”

“You texted that at eight,” you fire back. “Then nothing.”

He looks at you properly now, but there’s nothing in his expression, just exhaustion and that maddening calm he wears when you’re storming. “What do you want me to say? I’m here now.”

You blink. That’s it?

Not sorry, not I should’ve called, not even a look that says he noticed the lights still on when he walked in. Just I’m here now, like that’s supposed to be enough.

“I wanted you to care that I waited up,” you say, the words cracking mid-sentence. “That I’m pregnant, hormonal, and alone in this apartment all day while you’re off—off doing whatever you want, like nothing’s changed for you.”

His expression shifted instantly, brows knitting, jacket still hanging off one shoulder. “It was work.”

“I know it was work. I’m not saying you’re out partying,” you said, voice shaking. “But you come home and act like nothing’s changed for you. Meanwhile I can’t sleep, my back hurts constantly, I cry all the time, and now you’re looking at me like I’m some ticking bomb and not the person carrying your child.”

Max’s jaw tensed. “You’re not being fair.”

You laughed, harsh and hollow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was it unfair when I threw up for the third time today? Or when I started crying because someone in the grocery store bumped my cart?”

He exhales hard through his nose, rubs a hand over his face. “Jesus. You’re just doing this because you’re pregnant. It’s hormones.”

Silence.

A thick, choking kind of silence.

You blinked, once. Twice. Then your arms dropped to your sides.

“I’m doing this,” you repeated, voice low, flat, as if you needed to say it aloud to even process it. “Because I’m pregnant?”

Still, nothing. Just that heavy, awful quiet.

“I’m carrying your child,” you whispered. “And you think this is just about hormones?”

Your voice cracked on the last word, but you didn’t back down. You stood in it, even as your throat burned and your chest rose and fell in uneven, shallow breaths.

“Oh. Right. So that’s what this is,” you said after a beat, nodding slowly like the realisation had knocked you backward. “It’s not us having a problem it’s me being the problem.”

Max’s face shifted his expression softened in that way it always did when he realised too late he’d gone too far. His mouth opened, but the apology didn’t come fast enough.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, I get it,” you said, swallowing hard. “I’m just the crazy hormonal woman yelling at her boyfriend for being late. Never mind the fact I haven’t felt like me in months. That my body doesn’t feel like mine. That I’ve been trying so hard not to spiral, to give you space, to not drown us both.”

He stepped forward, slow and careful, like you were something fragile. “You’re twisting my words—”

“I’m twisting them?” you shot back. “You said I’m doing this because I’m pregnant. Like I don’t have a reason. Like the fear, the loneliness, the waiting, it’s all just silly hormones.”

“You know that’s not what I think—”

“But that’s what you said, Max. And you know what hurts the most?” Your throat burned and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I was excited to tell you the baby kicked today. I was waiting all night. But instead you came home and made me feel like I was overreacting for needing you.”

That shut him up. Entirely.

He looked stunned. No guilty. He opened his mouth again, then closed it, hands useless at his sides.

The tension in your chest cracked. You walked past him brushing his arm, he flinched slightly, like instinctively reaching to stop you, but his hand hovered in the air too uncertain to follow through.

You didn’t cry until the bedroom door was closed.

Max didn’t sleep.

You knew that because when you woke up in the middle of the night heart thudding, sheets twisted around your legs like vines his side of the bed was still cold. Still untouched.

The door to the bedroom had stayed closed, but the soft glow beneath it told you he hadn’t left.

You crept out quietly, just for a moment. Just to see.

He was on the couch sitting rigid, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped together, staring at something that wasn’t there.

You didn’t say anything.

You watched him for one breath. Then another.

And then you went back to bed, the silence following you like a ghost.

He was gone by morning, back at work again.

You spent the whole day nauseous.

Not just from the pregnancy, but from the weight in your chest, coiled and unrelenting. From the ghost of last night’s silence. From the way you’d looked at him and seen a stranger instead of the man who once kissed your belly like it was sacred.

You loved Max, but sometimes you weren’t sure he knew how to love this version of you, this fragile, emotional, sleep-deprived mess.

Late afternoon, you wandered into the bedroom without really thinking, the sun casting long shadows through the window. You started sorting drawers not out of purpose, just to do something. Something that felt normal.

That’s when you found it.

The envelope. Tucked in the back of the bottom dresser drawer, sealed neatly, edges a little worn from being handled more than once.

You knew what it was before you opened it. The first ultrasound. The little blur that had made you both cry.

You’d clutched Max’s hand so tightly that day. He’d kissed your forehead afterward like you were the bravest person he’d ever met.

He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t careless.

He was scared.

Just like you.

You sat on the floor, knees drawn to your chest, the photo shaking in your fingers. And for the first time in hours, you let yourself feel all of it.

By late afternoon, you were too tired to keep thinking. You curled up in bed and tried to sleep.

You didn’t know when the door opened. Didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear him drop his bag or kick off his shoes but you felt the mattress shift.

The slow, cautious dip of weight behind you as Max sat down gently, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be there.

You didn’t move. Not at first.

But then something brushed the comforter beside your hip a soft crinkle. A sound that didn’t belong.

“I brought something,” Max said quietly. His voice was rough, like he’d barley spoken all day.

You turned your head slightly.

“It’s stupid,” he added quickly, holding it up now you could see it was a small, plush lion with a Red Bull cap stitched on. The kind of thing you'd normally laugh about, silly, overly branded, too on-the-nose but now, in his hand, it looked more like an apology than a gift.

“I know it doesn’t make up for anything. I just… I saw it on the way home and thought maybe if I brought something for the baby… maybe it’d be a start.”

You stared at it. Then at him.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “What I said. I was frustrated. Defensive. And I said the worst possible thing. And I swear to God if I could take it back—”

“You can’t,” you said, your voice scratchy from crying and sleep.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “I know.”

You turned your head fully, meeting his eyes finally.

The silence stretched between you again but this time it wasn’t heavy.

“I was waiting to tell you the baby kicked again,” you whispered. “It happened last night. I wanted to share that with you.”

Max’s face crumpled, like the words physically hurt him. He placed the lion down gently on the nightstand and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he was bracing himself for judgment.

“I feel horrible,” he said. “There’s no excuse for the way I’ve been acting. I’ve been selfish. I’ve been scared. I kept thinking if I just… kept going like normal, maybe it wouldn’t feel so overwhelming. But that meant leaving you behind while I pretended everything was fine and that’s not fair.”

“I’m so scared,” he admitted, voice small and raw. “I didn’t think I would be. I thought I’d rise to it. I thought—hell, I don’t even know what I thought. But suddenly it’s real and I don’t know how to be everything you need while still being everything the world expects me to be. And I know you’re the one doing the hard part. You’re the one growing a person, and I’ve made it about me, and that’s—” he shook his head. “That’s not who I want to be.”

You reached for his hand beneath the covers, your fingers brushing his knuckles first, hesitant, uncertain, but the second you touched him, he moved.

Max’s hand closed around yours like he’d been holding his breath all day, like that one simple touch was the only thing keeping him afloat. His grip was firm but trembling, desperate in a quiet, wordless way.

“You don’t have to be everything,” you whispered. “I just need you to be here.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “And I’m sorry I made you feel like you were alone. That’s the last thing I ever wanted. I thought if I kept working, kept pushing forward, that somehow I was doing the right thing. That it meant I was providing, preparing, being strong. But I wasn’t with you in any of it.”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t need perfect Max. I don’t need you to have all the answers. I just need to feel like I’m not invisible in this.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly, his voice full of urgency now. “I see you.”

You took a breath, then said, softly, “You don’t have to make it up all at once. Just… stay. With me. In this.”

Max nodded, eyes glassy. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“Did they really kick?” he asked, voice trembling with something between hope and regret.

You guided his hand to the spot low on your belly, where the flutter had happened hours earlier. “They did. Probably annoyed I was crying again.”

His laugh was soft and wet with relief. “Sounds like they’ve got your attitude.”

You smiled, the ache in your chest finally easing. “They’ve got your stubbornness.”

You stayed like that for a long moment foreheads touching, your hand holding his against the swell of your stomach, both of you breathing the same air, the same fear, the same fragile hope.

“I’ll be better,” he said, voice barely a murmur. “I’ll listen. I’ll come home. I’ll hold your hand through every meltdown, every mood swing, every craving at 2 a.m.”

“You’d better,” you replied, teasing, though your voice still carried the edge of exhaustion.

“And next time,” he added, “when you say something’s bothering you, I won’t call it hormones. I’ll sit down. Shut up. And maybe bring ice cream.”

You gave him a faint smile. “Smart man.”

He kissed you then, gentle and slow, full of apology. Full of love.

Just as he pulled back, his hand still resting lightly on your stomach, something shifted beneath it.

A kick. Sharper this time.

“Oh,” he gasped, eyes wide, snapping back to look at you.

You laughed softly. “See? They forgive you.”

He slid beneath the blankets properly this time, arms wrapping around you from behind, his chest pressed to your back, his breath steady against your shoulder. One hand still resting protectively on your belly.

You fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, the baby, and something new that didn’t quite feel like only forgiveness, but maybe the start of something better.

You slept better that night than you had in weeks.

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autisticoscarpiastri · 4 days ago

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Private ride

Spa 2025

Warnings: smut, car sex, pretty vanilla, mention of... performance enhancing substances... if you catch my drift lmao. Tiny bit of backstory between Osc and reader.

One of the Boys Masterlist

Oscar was... uncharacteristically happy.

Like. Not only grinning and laughing and just being all around pleased with his victory.

No, he was bubbly. He was giggly and shy and currently cornering you against his car in the parking lot as he mouthed up your neck.

"I won, baby. I won at my favourite track, and now I get to have you"

You were breathless, focused more on his hands travelling up your skirt than his words.

He ushered you into the borrowed SUV, into the spacious backseat and climbed in after you.

"God, you really are needy today, Osc. What's gotten into you?"

He blushed and buried his face into your tits as he pawed at your body like a cat.

"I don't know" he mumbled. "Just happy I guess... want you so bad"

You chuckled at the eagerness with which he was trying to pull your clothes off.

His hair was dishevelled and his gaze lidded as he devoured you. Literally, his mouth was on your cunt before you could say much else, pulling sounds from you over and over again until you were shaking.

He didn't let you come, though. He pulled away just as your back was starting to arch, and you whined and tried in vain to drag him back by his hair.

He crawled over your body, getting his pants off along the way and rubbed his cock against you.

You looked into his eyes, he looked gone.

He crashed his lips to yours, all-encompassing and overwhelming as your hands cupped his cheeks to deepen the kiss. The moment was charged with a sense of intimacy you rarely let yourself enjoy much anymore, this was a nice change of pace.

He lined himself up and pushed inside you halfway, letting you briefly adjust.

His thrusts were shallow at first, and little by little he sank in further, down to the base, encouraged by your sweet moans.

He didn't know what it was, maybe the unusual setting, but this felt different than most times. It almost felt like the first time all over again.

He thought back to his first sprint win. Qatar 2023. He was so nervous he almost bailed out of a night with you. That was the first time you and Oscar were alone together, and by the end of the night you were very thankful that he hadn't stayed at Alpine.

Two years later you were still thankful, and so was he.

His forehead pressed against yours, he gazed into your eyes as he took you apart, hips rolling into you expertly. He knew you inside and out after all this time, exactly how to make you lose it, how to make your orgasm creep up on you so slowly you didn't see it coming until you were crying out, his name on your lips as you pulsed around him, dragging him through his own high.

He pumped his hips some more, ensuring you were properly full of him before he rolled you over, so you were on top.

You were panting, looking down at him questionningly.

"You want to go again?"

He nodded, equally out of breath.

"But what about the seats?" You could already feel him leaking out of you and down your thighs.

"Fuck the seats" his hands gripped your hips. "I need you, now."

Fair enough, you thought. You wouldn't be the one paying the cleaning fee.

You moved your hips, how he was still hard you didn't know, and started riding him, aided by his hands guiding you and setting the pace.

He split you on his cock over and over again in that car, making it rock for what felt like at least a couple of hours.

After orgasm number three he was still hard, and you stared at him when you realised it.

"Oscar. Are you on something?"

He looked at you through lidded eyes, smirk adorning his features.

"Maybe. I just thought it would make our celebration a bit more fun. Why? You tired?"

"You fucking wish, Piastri..."

You were on the verge of heatstroke, sweating buckets, and for the umpteenth time both your moans were once again filling the small space, and your hips slammed down on him as you chased another high.

You lost count of how many you were up to, but you were certain this was the last, if the way you were both starting to struggle was any indication.

His fingers danced along your thigh, up to where you were joined and he played with your clit lazily.

"You close?" He panted.

You nodded and he smirked, increasing the pressure of his thumb on your sensitive nerves.

Your knees trembled as you tried and failed to keep the pace up, so he let you lay against his chest, and took over, pounding into you with every last bit of strength he could muster.

The obscene squelch of his cock ramming into you with his cum leaking out of you only made you both more desperate to add to it, and without much further ado you came with a whine into his neck, and he shouted as he filled you up once more.

The seats were ruined, and the car smelled like sex. But at least for now, he was sated.

Well... at least until Hungary.

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autisticoscarpiastri · 4 days ago

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"She's wet"

Oscar spreads your legs, and marvels at the wetness already coating your inner thighs.

"Don't be shy, you can touch her"

Lando is sitting next to him, smirking at the younger man's face. It's a slow day at the MTC. Not many people around except you and the boys, and a few engineers down in the hangars. The offices are deserted.

Oscar's fingers are unsure, the brush against where you're aching, testing what feels good for you.

"You sure about this, Lando?"

"Of course. Who better to do this with than people you trust? Go ahead, have a taste"

Oscar gulps, eyes meeting yours. He slides down onto his knees so that he's eye level with where you're perched on the desk, dripping onto the wood.

Your gaze drifts to Lando, who's palming his hard cock through his trousers.

This was his idea. Oscar mentioned he'd never touched anyone before, and Lando had jumped at the occasion.

Oscar is tentative, little kitten licks against your skin, groaning at the taste.

Lando's fingers thread through Oscar's hair and pushes his face against you fully.

"Come on Osc, I know you're a virgin but you could at least show a little bit of enthusiasm"

Oscar's demeanor immediately changes, he eats you out harder, like he'll die if he stops, and his arms wrap around your thighs to stop you squirming away.

Lando chuckles at his obedience.

"Good boy, that's what I like to see"

gif blurb masterlist

TY @girldriveroscar for the gif :))

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autisticoscarpiastri · 5 days ago

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⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Drift

Pairing: Isack Hadjar x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, yearning, lots of it, isack gets flustered often

Word Count: ~6.5k

Summary: It's summer, so it makes sense that you and Isack share a Mediterranean villa on the Italian coast.

Masterlist

⸻

The bedroom window is wide open, but the air is still heavy.

You can hear the ocean just past the cliffs, the lull of it breaking gently against the rocks. It’s dark out now — soft, summer dark — and the warm breeze that blows in smells like salt and lemons and dust from the hills. You’re lying flat on your back, sprawled across white sheets that feel too warm against your skin, even though they’re barely covering you.

Your phone rests on your stomach, one finger lazily scrolling. You’re in your grey cotton underwear and that white lace bra — the soft, sheer one you packed last-minute, because you thought it looked cute and never expected it to be a problem. But now, with the AC dead and the air thick, it’s all you could bear to wear.

And you didn’t even think about it being see-through.

Not until the door creaks open.

“You’re just gonna hide in here all night?” Isack’s voice is casual, teasing. His footsteps pad across the hardwood, bare and familiar.

You glance up, not moving. “You mean hide in my room. The one you just walked into without knocking?”

He smirks, already crossing the space between the door and your bed. “You always act like you don’t love the attention.”

You roll your eyes and shift slightly under the sheet. It slips a bit lower over your hip. “You’re the one who keeps showing up. What, the couch too lonely tonight?”

He shrugs, and you finally take a proper look at him.

Isack’s shirtless — of course. His skin is still sun-warm and a little flushed, his curls messy, damp from the late shower he took after dinner. His shorts hang low on his hips, and the waistband is slightly rolled like he’s trying to survive the heat in whatever way he can.

Then he sees you.

Or sees too much of you.

You notice it — the way his breath catches just a little. His eyes flicker down your body, just a heartbeat too long, before he snaps them back up, suddenly very interested in the ceiling fan sputtering above.

He doesn’t say anything.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m just gonna…” He points vaguely to the space beside you on the bed.

You raise an eyebrow. “You want to lie here?”

Isack shrugs again, playing it cool. “You have the only room where the fan even makes noise. It’s comforting.”

You scoff, but nudge the sheet over to give him space. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to complain about the heat if you’re the one climbing into my bed.”

He climbs in without another word, lying flat beside you — not touching, not close enough for skin, just there. Like he’s done this a hundred times before. Like the bed isn’t creaking beneath his weight, like your heartbeat isn’t speeding up with every second he stays quiet.

You try to focus on your phone. You don’t mention the way your bra feels thinner than ever. You don’t mention that you’re basically naked except for sheer lace and fabric that couldn’t hide anything. You don’t mention how his shoulder is inches from yours and the fan keeps making that dull ticking sound.

He doesn’t mention any of it either.

Ten minutes pass like that — heavy silence, soft breathing, you scrolling through the same paragraph of your book three times because your brain can’t focus with him this close. You peek at him out of the corner of your eye. His eyes are half-lidded now. He’s blinking slower.

He’s not going to last.

And he doesn’t.

A few more minutes and he’s out cold.

You hear his breathing even out. His arm drops down to his side, brushing the sheet near your thigh. Then he shifts. Rolls onto his side. His chest bumps your arm lightly. He’s not touching you, not exactly, but he’s drifting closer in his sleep, like gravity’s doing the work for him.

His head dips forward until it rests against your shoulder.

You glance down. His face is barely an inch from your chest. His nose nudges your collarbone. You freeze.

Isack mumbles something — soft, unintelligible — and shifts again. This time, his cheek rests right over your heart.

For a second, you just lie there.

He’s warm.

His breath is slow.

And he looks so peaceful like this — not cocky, not sarcastic, not teasing. Just… Isack. Your best friend. The one who always knows when to push your buttons and when to pull back.

Carefully, you lift your free hand and slide it into his curls. The hair at the nape of his neck is still damp and soft from the shower. You let your fingers play there, light and slow. He doesn’t wake — he just sighs, and leans in a little more.

And then you do it.

You shift slightly and ease him closer, letting his head rest fully on your chest.

He fits there like he’s always meant to.

His leg brushes yours. One arm drapes across your stomach, heavy and warm. You’re barely covered, but he doesn’t react. Just sleeps. Trusts you. Sleeps like your heartbeat is the only thing keeping the world steady.

You tilt your phone away, screen dimming.

Your hand stays in his hair. You don’t dare move.

The fan ticks quietly above you, useless.

And you — for once — don’t mind the heat.

Because Isack is asleep on your chest in nothing but shorts, breathing like you’re home, and your sheer lace bra is the last thing either of you is thinking about now.

⸻

You don’t remember falling asleep.

One moment you were stroking Isack’s hair, eyes heavy-lidded and phone forgotten on the bed, and the next—

It’s morning.

The light is golden through the shutters, bleeding across the white sheets and spilling warm across the room. The breeze smells like sea salt and something floral from the garden. The air is still humid, still too warm, but it feels soft now. Gentle.

And Isack is still wrapped around you.

No, more wrapped around you than before.

Somewhere in the night he must’ve shifted again, because now he’s got one leg draped across your thighs, one arm slung across your waist, and—most dangerously—his face is fully buried between your breasts.

You blink at the ceiling, heartbeat thudding.

You can feel his breath, soft against your chest. The rise and fall of it. You’re still wearing the sheer white lace bra—thin, soft, not even close to hiding anything. And Isack… is asleep like it’s the most natural place in the world for his face to be.

You stay still for a moment, not breathing.

And then, slowly, like a switch being flipped—

He stirs.

You feel his body tense slightly. His nose twitches. He shifts his head just enough to nuzzle into you.

And then freeze.

Absolutely freeze.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“…fuck.”

It’s mumbled. Muffled. Straight into your chest.

You press your lips together, a laugh bubbling up before you can stop it.

His voice comes again, muffled and mortified. “Please tell me I’m dreaming.”

You grin. “If you are, it’s a really vivid one.”

He pulls back like he’s been electrocuted.

Scrambles upright, hair completely disheveled, blinking down at you with wide, panicked eyes—and suddenly very, very aware of exactly where he’s been sleeping.

You stay where you are, sheets pulled up just enough to keep things decent, but your bra is still there, still sheer, still very much not hiding anything. His gaze flickers down and then immediately away, color blooming across his face like a sunrise.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—fuck, I—”

“Isack.”

He’s still rambling. “I thought I was dreaming about, like, a pillow or—Jesus, why didn’t you wake me up?”

You laugh, fully now. “You looked comfortable!”

“I was on your boobs!”

“You’re very cozy,” you tease, trying to sound breezy even as your skin flushes beneath his gaze. “And very cute when you snore, by the way.”

“I don’t snore—”

“You do.”

“You let me fall asleep on you in that?” He gestures vaguely toward your chest, not daring to actually look. “Do you realize what you’re wearing?”

Now it’s your turn to go a little still.

You look down, just for a second. The lace is soft and white and very see-through in the morning sun. It clings gently to your skin, doing absolutely nothing to disguise what’s underneath.

“Oh,” you say quietly.

Isack looks like he wants to die.

“Fuck, I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to be weird,” he says quickly. “You know I wasn’t. I didn’t even notice last night, I swear, and I wasn’t, like, looking, I just—your heartbeat was—fuck.”

You blink up at him, startled. “My heartbeat?”

He immediately looks like he regrets speaking.

You sit up slowly, careful not to knock him off the bed. “Isack.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Were you listening to it?”

“I—” He shifts. “I guess. It was nice.”

That silences you.

Just for a second.

Then you smile, softer now. “It was nice having you there.”

He finally looks at you again, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to read between the lines. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

A long pause stretches between you.

The room is still warm. Still golden. Still thick with something you’re both too scared to name.

Isack bites his lip. “Can I… lie back down?”

You blink. “On me?”

“No!” he says too fast, ears turning red. “Just—next to you. I wasn’t ready to be awake yet.”

You bite back another smile and lift the sheet. “Then get in.”

He hesitates for half a second, then slips under the covers, close but careful now. Like he’s terrified of doing something wrong.

You roll onto your side, facing him. “You can come closer.”

He looks at you.

“You already slept on my boobs,” you add helpfully. “What’s closer than that?”

Isack groans and covers his face with his hand. “Please stop saying that.”

You laugh, reaching out to gently pull his hand away. “You’re cute when you panic.”

You hold Isack’s hand a little longer than you need to.

He doesn’t pull away.

He doesn’t meet your eye, not right away—but he lets your fingers thread with his. Lets the silence stretch, slow and full and humming, not with awkwardness but something else. Something almost electric.

Your sheets rustle as he settles closer under the covers.

Not touching, not quite. But his bare shoulder brushes your arm. You’re still in your bra—still barely covered by the thin white lace—and the only thing between you is one deep breath.

You roll onto your back again, phone on your stomach, and glance at him.

His hair’s a mess. One curl sticks up completely sideways. His cheeks are still faintly pink. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this—quiet. Careful.

It makes your heart ache.

“You know,” you murmur, “this is probably the first time in our entire friendship that you’ve gone ten minutes without insulting me.”

That gets a soft huff out of him. “I’m too emotionally compromised.”

“Over what?” you tease. “My boobs?”

He groans, pressing his face into your shoulder. “Stop.”

You’re giggling before you can stop yourself.

But your heart’s doing weird things in your chest—fluttering, skipping, aching a little with how close he is and how much you want to close the space between you. It’s Isack. Your Isack. The one who used to throw sand at you on the beach when you were eight. Who made you watch dumb horror movies and whispered jokes through half of them just to make you laugh.

And now he’s here, grown-up and warm and shirtless, under your sheets with a sun-kissed flush and hands that tremble just a little when they brush yours.

Your voice is quieter when you ask, “Did it freak you out?”

He turns his face, looking up at you. “What?”

You shrug, eyes on the ceiling. “Waking up like that. On me.”

There’s a pause.

Then: “No.”

You look over. “No?”

He licks his lips, throat bobbing. “It freaked me out that you might freak out. Not the actual… position.”

You blink. “Why not?”

He swallows hard. “Because I… liked it?”

It comes out a question. Like he’s testing it on his tongue, scared it’ll land wrong.

Your heart skips again.

And suddenly you feel it—the shift. The quiet, unmistakable slide from teasing into truth.

You sit up a little, propping your weight on one elbow. He does the same, mirroring you. The sheet slips a bit down your chest and he definitely notices but tries very hard not to.

Your voice is soft. “You did?”

He meets your eyes, finally. Really meets them. And he doesn’t look away.

“I like being close to you,” he says, no joke in it. “I always have. Even before I realized why.”

Your stomach swoops.

Before you can answer, his hand reaches—slow, almost hesitant—and rests just above your wrist. His thumb brushes your skin.

You can feel your heartbeat there now, too.

“You always say I’m annoying,” he says, voice low, “but you never actually push me away.”

“I don’t want to,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

A breath passes.

Then two.

And Isack leans in—just slightly, just enough that you know where it’s going. But he pauses, close enough that you can feel the shape of his breath.

He waits.

And waits.

And it takes every ounce of courage you have to lift your chin and meet him halfway.

The kiss is barely there—soft, tentative, like the beginning of something you’re both too scared to name. But it’s warm. And real. And it lingers, like sea salt on sun-warmed skin.

When he pulls back, his forehead leans against yours.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he murmurs.

You nod, breath shaky. “Me either.”

The AC groans somewhere in the villa, still broken.

But the heat between you isn’t from the weather anymore.

Not really.

⸻

By the time you both pull yourselves out of bed, the sun has climbed high enough to bake the villa tiles warm beneath your bare feet.

You shuffle to the kitchen in your oversized pajama shorts and the same sheer bra—too lazy to find a shirt, too wrapped in the morning haze to care. Isack’s behind you in that loose pair of shorts, still shirtless, hair pushed back from his face with damp fingers from a rushed attempt to fix it.

The air smells like lemon and thyme from the open window. Somewhere down the hill, someone is playing guitar.

You open the fridge, peer inside, and frown. “Why do we only have, like, three eggs and… half a zucchini?”

“I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday,” Isack says from behind you. “But someone distracted me by dragging me to the beach.”

You turn slowly, eyebrows raised. “You’re blaming me?”

He leans against the counter, smirking. “You’re very persuasive.”

“You’re very lazy.”

He shrugs. “Also true.”

Your heart does a weird little thing in your chest—because his smirk is warm now. Familiar. But under it, there’s something new in the way he looks at you. Like the kiss from this morning still lingers in his mouth. Like he’s remembering the way his hands felt on your waist.

You bite your lip and look back at the fridge.

“Okay, chef,” you say, grabbing the eggs. “You’re on breakfast duty.”

He groans. “Can’t we just have gelato again?”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “You slept on my boobs. The least you can do is make eggs.”

He puts his head in his hands. “Please stop bringing that up.”

You grin.

⸻

The “cooking” is a disaster.

You’re sautéing zucchini in olive oil while Isack tries to scramble eggs and instead somehow burns them to the bottom of the pan.

“I’m not a breakfast guy!” he says defensively, waving a wooden spoon like a sword.

“Clearly,” you say, laughing.

You nudge his hip with yours as you pass behind him. He doesn’t move. Just lets your body press into his like it’s something he’s allowed now. Something he wants. You feel the way he inhales—just slightly, just enough to feel the side of your thigh against his. You hug him from behind, cheek on his back, breathing in, this summer, this week, this moment, and he just lets you, grabs one of your hands that is holding him and brings it to his face, to kiss it.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

But it’s there.

It’s so there.

By the time you manage to plate everything, the eggs are edible (barely), and you’re both grinning like idiots. You sit on the tiled terrace with two mismatched plates, sun warming your knees, hair damp from a quick rinse in the outdoor shower.

Isack props his feet on the rail. His plate rests on his lap. And his arm? It’s behind you. Not touching—not quite—but close enough that his fingers graze your shoulder every time he shifts.

You steal a piece of his toast. He pretends to be offended. He gets crumbs on his stomach trying to brush you off, and you laugh so hard your eyes water.

It’s stupid.

It’s perfect.

It’s everything you didn’t know you wanted until it happened.

⸻

Later, after dishes and sunscreen and the sun making you drowsy again, you lie on the shaded couch in the garden, your book open across your stomach.

Isack flops down beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just rests his head on your thigh like it’s natural. Like it’s normal now.

You don’t say anything either.

You just thread your fingers into his hair—slow, lazy movements, brushing over the curls at his nape, the skin just beneath his hairline. His eyes flutter closed.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that only happens when two people don’t need to fill it.

You’re reading again, eyes skimming the page.

But then you hear it—soft, half-mumbled.

“Hey,” he says, eyes still closed.

“Hmm?”

“I meant it,” he murmurs. “This morning. What I said.”

Your hand pauses in his hair.

He cracks one eye open. “About not pretending.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

He smiles—barely. Just a little curve of his lips. But it’s enough to make your chest feel like it’s glowing.

Then he says it, so soft you almost miss it:

“Does that mean I get to kiss you again?”

You glance down at him.

“Are you asking permission?” you tease.

“I’m trying to be respectful,” he says, half-whining.

You grin, lean forward just a little—and tilt his chin up with two fingers.

“Good,” you say, brushing your lips against his. “Because you’re about to be very, very spoiled.”

He doesn’t reply.

He’s too busy kissing you like he’s been waiting for years.

⸻

“You packed the sunscreen, right?”

You glance at Isack as the two of you walk down the path toward the beach, bare feet kicking up sand.

He holds up the bottle with a mock flourish. “Do I look like an amateur?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. You once used body lotion as shampoo.”

“That was one time. And it smelled incredible, for the record.”

You snort. “Yeah, like fake coconuts and bad decisions.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t argue, just lets out a quiet laugh and adjusts the towel slung over his shoulder.

The beach is basically empty—just a curve of pale sand and soft waves stretching into blue. The villa’s umbrella sets up easily, and you both drop down onto the towels without a word.

There’s something about being here, with him, like this, that makes everything slow down. No rush, no pretending. Just sun and sea and Isack’s shoulder brushing yours as he lies back beside you.

“Do you ever shut up?” he says eventually, eyes closed behind his sunglasses, but you already know the corner of them are crinkled from the way he is smiling.

“You’re the one who started talking,” you shoot back.

“Only because you always have some smartass comment locked and loaded.”

“Someone’s got to keep your ego in check.”

He exhales a small laugh and turns his head toward you, still half-asleep behind the shades. “You act like I’m some cocky guy who needs humbling.”

You raise a brow. “You literally referred to yourself as ‘the blueprint’ last week.”

“I was joking.”

“You weren’t. You were completely serious and drinking orange juice like it was champagne.”

Isack sighs dramatically. “I’m misunderstood.”

You roll onto your side and poke his arm. “You’re annoying.”

He lifts his sunglasses just enough to look at you. “You still like me, though.”

You go quiet for a second.

Then you smirk. “Debatable.”

He grins, satisfied, and drops the glasses back over his eyes.

The breeze kicks up a bit, warm and salty. Somewhere down the shore, a gull screams like it’s personally offended.

Neither of you says anything for a while.

You close your eyes and feel the heat of the sun settle into your skin. Next to you, Isack’s hand shifts in the sand. Not touching, not exactly—just close enough you notice.

“Did you bring water?” you ask, eyes still shut.

“Yeah. Cold, too.”

You smile. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“Still debatable.”

He groans.

But he doesn’t stop smiling.

⸻

You stay stretched out under the umbrella, head resting against your rolled-up towel. The heat sinks into your skin in that perfect way—just warm enough to lull you into a lazy haze, but not enough to make you miserable. And with the sea breeze drifting up the shore, it’s kind of perfect.

Isack stands up with a stretch, casting a shadow across your legs.

You peek up at him through your lashes. “Leaving me already?”

“I’m going for a swim.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back before giving you a look. “You coming?”

You tilt your head, eyes lazily trailing up his frame. His swim shorts hang low on his hips, and the sun makes his skin glow golden. He squints into the light, one hand on his hip, waiting.

You shake your head. “Nah. I’m too comfy. You go be a little sea creature.”

He scoffs. “Wow. Supportive.”

“You knew what this was.”

He laughs, backing away toward the water. “Just don’t cry when I come back and get sand all over your towel.”

You flip him off without looking.

He’s still laughing when he hits the water.

It’s quiet again once he’s gone, save for the soft crash of waves and the occasional sound of his splashing in the distance. You turn onto your stomach, resting your chin on your folded arms, and watch him.

Isack moves through the water like he was born for it—easy strokes, then letting himself float on his back, eyes closed like he’s part of the sea now. Like he belongs here.

You wonder if he knows how easy he is to watch. How relaxed he looks, out there in the blue, with no cameras, no racing, no pressure. Just him. Just this.

When he finally comes back in, he’s dripping wet and grinning, curls plastered to his forehead.

“You look like a wet dog,” you say.

He flops down onto his towel without replying, shaking his hair out just enough to spray you lightly.

“Isack!”

“You said I looked like a dog. I figured I’d commit to the bit.”

You wipe water from your arm with an exaggerated huff.

He rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. “You were watching me.”

You raise a brow. “You wish.”

“I saw you.”

“I was checking for jellyfish.”

“Sure. Totally what that look on your face was about.”

You try to fight your smile, but it’s a losing battle. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He grins, eyes squinting against the sun. “Too late.”

He’s too close now—barely a few inches between your towels. And though you’re still covered by the umbrella’s shade, the air feels warmer suddenly. Still soft, still easy. But warmer.

You look at him, and he meets your gaze like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. Like he doesn’t have a drop of self-consciousness left in him.

You nudge his towel with your foot. “You gonna dry off, or just soak through everything?”

“Why? You afraid I’ll get your hair wet?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to share space with a damp human sponge.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

You laugh, and he lets his head fall back onto his towel, eyes closed again.

And for a while, you both just… exist there. In the sun. In the quiet. Together.

Until he speaks again, voice softer this time.

“…Thanks for coming with me.”

You glance over. His eyes are still shut, but the edge in his voice is gone. It’s just Isack. Tired. Warm. Real.

You answer just as quietly. “You kidding? You dragged me here.”

He smiles. “Still.”

You don’t say anything, just shift your hand in the sand so it’s a little closer to his. Not touching—just near.

He doesn’t move away.

⸻

The sun climbs higher, the breeze softens, and neither of you moves.

Isack’s hand stays where it is—just a breath away from yours in the sand, fingers almost brushing. You can feel the warmth of him without touching, can practically count the grains of sand clinging to the edge of his wrist.

You turn your head, cheek against the towel. “You’re not even trying to dry off.”

He hums without opening his eyes. “Why would I? It’s warm.”

“So now you’re just… baking like a lizard?”

“Exactly.”

You glance at him sideways. His lips twitch like he knows you’re staring.

“Not a flattering comparison, Hadjar,” you murmur, letting the silence stretch again.

A beat. Then, with a soft voice and a grin you can hear more than see:

“Least I’m a pretty lizard.”

You snort, your smile pressing into the terrycloth of the towel. “Debatable.”

He finally opens his eyes, tilting his head toward you lazily. “Tell that to the girl who’s been watching me swim for the last thirty minutes.”

You keep your gaze forward, unmoved. “Still just on jellyfish patrol.”

“Mm. Right.” He squints against the sunlight filtering through the umbrella, then lets out a soft sigh, like the heat and stillness are getting to him too.

After a moment, he moves again—sits up this time, brushing sand off his legs. You feel the shift of the air, the way his presence pulls slightly away, and you hate how your skin already misses the warmth of him.

But then—

“Come on,” he says, rising to his feet. “You’ve been under that umbrella all morning.”

You roll onto your back, hand shielding your eyes. “Maybe I’m smart.”

“Or maybe you’re scared to get your hair wet.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You already got my hair wet, you sea rat.”

He laughs and steps closer, reaching out a hand toward you. You squint up at it, suspicious.

He wiggles his fingers. “Truce. Come swim.”

You let the moment drag out. Watch the way water drips from his wrist, how the sun catches the freckles on his shoulder. Then, finally, you reach up and let him pull you to your feet.

Your fingers brush again—still casual. Still not lingering.

But you don’t miss the way his hold slows just slightly. Or the way he looks away a moment too late.

You grab your sunglasses from the towel and adjust the tie at your hip before following him down to the shoreline. The sand is hot on your feet, and you skip a few steps to avoid burning them, laughing as Isack jogs ahead.

The water is cool and perfect.

You both dive under the same wave, surfacing with hair slicked back and eyes squinting. He shakes his curls out dramatically, sending a spray of seawater at you for the second time today.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, blinking through the droplets.

He grins. “You love it.”

And you don’t reply—not really—because you’re not sure what would come out of your mouth if you tried.

So instead you swim out a little further, float on your back, let the sea hold you for a while. He stays nearby, always within reach, the silence between you thick but not heavy. Just… full.

When you both finally wade back to shore, sun-drunk and quiet, you collapse onto your towels again—closer this time. Shoulder to shoulder. Still not touching.

But now you can feel his breath when he turns his head. You can hear his swallow when you speak. And when your fingers curl into the sand between you, they graze his—not by accident this time.

And still.

He doesn’t move away.

You sit up on one arm, heart pounding, and close the distance between the two of you.

He’s already smiling, like he’d been waiting for this exact second. Your lips meet his, soft at first, testing. The kiss tastes of salt and sun, of all the words you’ve both been too scared to say.

Then his hand slides to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone so gently it makes your chest ache. You melt into him, kissing back harder now, and he meets you halfway—like he’s been holding himself back for far too long.

The world narrows to this: the sound of waves crashing just a few feet away, the warmth of his palm against your skin, the way his other hand sneaks to your waist to pull you closer. You let out a quiet, surprised laugh against his mouth when he nips playfully at your bottom lip, and he grins into the kiss, clearly pleased with himself.

It isn’t rushed—it’s slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that feels like a beginning. Like something finally cracking open.

When you part, you’re both a little breathless, foreheads leaning together, eyes still closed.

He whispers, barely loud enough to hear over the surf, “Took you long enough.”

You laugh softly, brushing your nose against his. “Shut up.”

But you kiss him again anyway.

⸻

After a long takeout session you didn't even think was possible yesterday, you reach for the cooler you’d dragged out earlier, still tucked under the umbrella’s shade. Inside, the water bottles are slick with condensation, nestled beside a plastic container of chopped fruit. You hold up a peach slice and wave it temptingly in front of him.

“Bribing me with fruit now?” he says, grinning.

You pop the slice in your mouth without answering, juice slicking your fingers, sweet and sticky on your lips. His gaze flicks to your mouth for a second too long.

“Want one or not?” you tease, nudging his bare side with your foot.

He shifts toward you, reaching lazily for the container. “Hand it here.”

But instead of passing it, you grab another peach slice and hold it out between your fingers.

He raises a brow. “Seriously?”

“Come on,” you say, voice lilting with mock innocence. “Childhood best friends feed each other fruit all the time. It’s completely normal.”

Isack eyes you for a moment, then leans in slowly—mouth parting just slightly before he bites the peach from your hand.

You try not to react. Try not to show the way your breath catches just a little as his lips brush your fingers, as juice drips to your knuckles and his tongue darts out to catch it.

He sits back like it was nothing, chewing with that same casual grin. “Sweet,” he says, licking his thumb.

You try to swallow, but it catches in your throat. “The fruit or the moment?”

He glances at you. Shrugs. “Both.”

Your face heats, and not from the sun.

You busy yourself with another bottle of water, twisting the cap and taking a long sip. The cold hits your chest like a shock, but it steadies your head just enough to breathe again.

“Want some?” you offer him the bottle without looking directly at him.

He leans over, eyes on yours this time, and drinks from the same bottle. Doesn’t wipe the rim. Doesn’t need to.

You both settle back down, peach container between you now, your legs just barely touching. The heat makes it easier not to move—like you’ve both been melted into the moment, too sun-stupid and slow to fight how natural it feels.

After a while, Isack lifts his head, squinting at you under the umbrella.

“You always chew on your lip when you’re thinking,” he says softly.

You blink. “Do I?”

He nods. “You’ve been doing it since you were thirteen.”

There’s something in his voice—fond, and quiet, and a little too aware.

You meet his gaze and don’t look away this time.

“I’m thinking about what happens if I feed you another peach slice,” you say carefully.

He doesn’t laugh.

He just looks at you, then glances down at the fruit, then back up.

His voice is low. “Try it.”

The air thickens—not heavy, but warmer than before. Like something’s shifting between you, curling up from the sand and sea and years of pretending you don’t feel it.

You take another slice. Hold it out again.

He leans in slower this time. And when he takes it from your hand, his lips brush your fingers a second longer than necessary.

And still, neither of you moves away.

⸻

You both go quiet after that second peach slice. Just… looking at each other, like neither of you knows exactly what you just did.

Until Isack clears his throat, leans back with exaggerated drama, and says, “Well. That wasn’t weird at all.”

You snort. “Oh yeah, super normal. Just two besties sharing some sensual fruit. As one does.”

He grins, eyes lighting up as he reaches for another slice. “Should we start feeding each other grapes next? Maybe lie back and fan each other with palm leaves?”

You hum thoughtfully. “Only if I get to be Cleopatra.”

“I’m not calling you ‘Your Majesty’ on this trip. I have limits.”

“Too bad. You definitely give off royal servant energy.”

He gasps, clutching his chest. “Wounded.”

You toss a peach slice at him and it bounces off his collarbone. He stares at it, then at you.

“…That was an attack.”

“You deserved it.”

“Rude.”

“True.”

He throws a piece back—misses—and it lands in the sand.

“Wasting fruit and failing dramatically,” you murmur. “That’s gotta be a new low.”

“Okay, first of all, rude again.” He sits up a bit, brushing his sandy hands off on his towel. “Second of all, this was supposed to be a relaxing beach morning, not a peach-throwing war.”

“You started it.”

“I was eating.”

“You were flirting.”

He pauses, lips parted around whatever comeback he had queued up. You can see the shift—just for a second—in the line of his jaw. His gaze flicks to you again, quick and unreadable.

“…Was I?”

You feel heat bloom somewhere behind your ribs, slow and steady.

You smile—light, breezy, as if your heart isn’t suddenly thudding a little harder than it was a minute ago. “You tell me.”

Isack leans back again, crossing his arms behind his head like he’s stretching. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“Oh, how convenient.”

“I’m mysterious like that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, laughing softly.

He tilts his head toward you without looking. “But you like me when I kiss you.”

The words come easy. Familiar.

Still, there’s something soft in his voice now. Something a little too real.

You reach for your water bottle again, stalling. “I guess I do.”

You hear his quiet hum—approving, or teasing, or maybe both. You don’t ask.

Instead, the two of you go quiet again, still smiling, still close. Your feet brush his under the towels and he doesn’t pull away. The sea stretches out in front of you, sparkling. The air smells like sun and salt and whatever this thing is between you that neither of you is quite naming yet.

Eventually, Isack shifts beside you and mutters, “I think I got sand in my shorts.”

You snort. “Romance is dead.”

He looks over, grinning. “Unless…”

“Don’t even think about it.”

He laughs again, head tipped back, and you do too—because god, it’s easy with him. It always has been.

Even if it’s starting to feel like something more.

⸻

The laughter dies down slowly, trailing off like waves against the shore.

You stay lying back on your towel, legs stretched out, your body warm and lazy from the sun and the lingering taste of fruit. Isack’s beside you, hair drying in messy curls, arm close enough that if you moved just slightly to the left, your elbows would touch.

For a while, there’s just the wind and the sea.

And him.

You glance over without turning your head. “You gonna swim again?”

He stretches his arms overhead, eyes still closed. “Nah. I like it here.”

You hum. “Because of the sun or the peaches?”

“Neither.”

He doesn’t elaborate.

You nudge his foot with yours. “Well now you have to say what you meant.”

He opens one eye, barely. “I meant you, obviously.”

Your heart skips—because he says it so easily. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s fact.

And maybe it is.

You sit up slowly, brushing sand off your thigh, trying to act unfazed. “Careful, Hadjar. That sounded dangerously like affection.”

“Guess the sun’s making me soft.”

“Or the peaches,” you murmur, half under your breath. “Or the makeout session”

He catches it anyway. Smirks. “Could be the peaches. That second slice really did something to me.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile won’t quit.

Then he props himself up on one elbow and looks at you for real, and it’s not playful anymore. It’s quiet. Like he’s letting himself say something without actually putting it into words.

“You look happy here,” he says.

You blink. “I am happy here.”

“With me?” he asks, and this time, his voice dips lower. Less teasing. More unsure.

You meet his eyes. And you think about how he’s been your best friend since you were kids. How he’s always made you laugh, how he always knew when to sit in silence and when to pull you out of it. How every memory lately seems to include him, even the ones you didn’t think were supposed to matter.

And now you’re here. On a beach. Sharing fruit and sun and glances that linger too long, and kissing him too often.

“With you,” you say, steady. “Yeah.”

He stares for a second longer. Then drops back onto his towel with a dreamy sigh.

“Well,” he says, hand behind his head again, “good thing I packed enough peaches for a week.”

You toss your towel at his face.

He catches it too late, laughing again, and the moment shifts back into something easy. Safe.

But not the same.

Definitely not the same.

Because even when you lie back again and close your eyes, you feel the warmth of his arm beside yours. You feel the echo of his words in your chest.

You look happy here.

With me?

And maybe he doesn’t say anything else. Maybe neither of you does.

But you both stay there long after the sun starts to dip—just a little too close, just a little too quiet—and the space between you isn’t just sand anymore.

It’s something else entirely.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

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autisticoscarpiastri · 5 days ago

Text

she's so polite, it hurts - LH44

Masterlist

Summary: when lewis walks into the paddock holding your hand, nobody says anything. but everybody thinks it. 21. bright-eyed. painfully polite. always smiling. the kind of soft that makes engineers stand up straighter and team principals shift awkwardly when you walk past.

Warning: age gap (21/f & 40/m), public paddock setting, hand-holding, paddock gossip, reader is polite and sweet, possessive lewis, power imbalance, lowkey slutshaming from others (subtle), protective behavior, slightly unsettling tension, confrontation

The paddock goes quiet when you arrive. Not silent. Not in the literal sense. The engines still buzz. Cameras still click. Lando’s still yelling something stupid into his phone across the way. But there’s a pause. A shift in attention. A ripple.

Because Lewis Hamilton just walked in with his hand wrapped around the waist of a girl almost half his age. And you’re smiling. Radiant. Like you don’t notice the way people turn. Like you don’t feel the stares sticking to your legs.

You’re wearing one of his old Mercedes shirts - sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned, cinched at the waist with a tiny white skirt and soft cream sneakers. There’s a claw clip in your hair. Pink gloss on your lips. You look like you just wandered in from a university library and got swept up in a legend’s orbit.

He’s got his hand on your lower back like he always does. Fingers trailing down to rest just above your ass. Possessive. Protective. Casual enough to deny but obvious enough to be noticed. And you let him. You always let him.

“Morning,” you say, nodding to the FIA coordinator who holds the door. “Thank you so much.”

She blinks. “Uh - you’re welcome.”

You smile like you didn’t just catch her eyeballing the age gap with her jaw halfway down her neck.

Lewis doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t flinch. Just guides you toward the Mercedes motorhome like this is any other weekend. Like you’ve always been here. Like you belong. But you know they’re watching.

George does a double take when you pass. Christian Horner raises both eyebrows before whispering something to Helmut Marko that makes him chuckle. Carlos Sainz stares too long. Yuki bows a little. Toto just exhales like this is exactly the kind of chaos he should’ve seen coming.

You pretend not to notice. But you do. And so does Lewis. You’re not naïve. You know how it looks. 21. Sweet. Polished. Clapping after Lewis’ interviews and handing him his sunglasses and taking his hand in yours when the cameras get too loud. You’re careful not to touch him too much. Careful not to stand too close. But he doesn’t care. He never does.

You try to be polite. You try to be warm. You thank every mechanic who offers you a headset. Compliment Susie’s dress. Tell the engineers you love the new livery. You make yourself small in the most gracious way. Soft. Demure. Unthreatening. But still they look at you like you’re a sugar baby with a PR clause and a hidden agenda.

You’re not. You just like him. You like the way he listens. The way he asks questions. The way he eats strawberries with his fingers and lets you read out loud from your favourite books on long flights. You like that he knows every part of you - every fear, every dream, every late-night confession you barely knew how to say.

You like that he doesn’t make you feel young. Just real.

And he likes that you’re sweet. That you ask before you reach for his hand. That you still get nervous before big weekends. That you call his trainer sir the first time you meet him and say thank you so much for looking after him. That you remember the names of the junior drivers and bring Max’s girlfriend an extra lip gloss you think she’ll like. That you never ask him to prove anything. That you love him for who he is when no one’s watching. That you’re not afraid to be soft in a world where softness gets mocked.

“Are you okay?” he asks once you’re inside. Hand on your hip. Eyes soft. Searching.

You nod. “I’m okay.”

He leans down. Kisses your temple. “You look beautiful.”

You smile. “You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

You sit beside him during the driver briefing. Quiet. Perfect. Legs crossed, eyes wide, listening like it matters. Some of the younger guys whisper. But Lewis sits straighter. Shoulders squared. Expression daring anyone to speak.

And they don’t. Because no matter what they think of the gap, no one can deny the way he looks at you. Like you’re sunlight. Like you’re gold. Like he’s the luckiest bastard in the world just for being the one you chose. And eventually… that’s all anyone can see.

The door is already shut when Lewis gets to the office. Toto stands behind the desk. George leans against the far wall, arms folded. Susie’s seated in the corner, legs crossed, face unreadable. There’s no shouting. No accusations. Just that quiet tension that says we’re all here for a reason and no one’s pretending otherwise.

“Hey,” Lewis says, voice low, carefully casual. “Everything alright?”

“Sit,” Toto says.

It’s not a command. Not really. It’s the same tone he uses before strategy debriefs. When something matters. Lewis sits. No one speaks for a second. The room feels too quiet. Outside the motorhome, the paddock buzzes. But in here, everything stills.

Toto exhales. “We just want to ask you something,” he says, tone even.

Lewis nods. “Go ahead.”

George clears his throat. “It’s about her.”

Of course it is. Lewis nods again. “Okay.”

There’s a beat. Susie’s the one who breaks it. “She’s very sweet,” she says. “So warm. So… soft.”

Lewis smiles, just barely. “Yeah. She is.”

“She’s also very young,” Toto adds. Not accusatory. Just a fact.

“I know.”

“She called me sir,” George says.

“She was raised that way,” Lewis says. “Polite. Careful. She grew up in a house where please and thank you were survival tools, not manners.”

That lands heavier than expected. Susie nods. Quietly.

“We’re not trying to be invasive,” Toto says. “But she’s twenty-one. You’re nearly forty. You’re Lewis Hamilton. It’s a lot.”

Lewis doesn’t flinch. “I know what it looks like.”

George shifts a little. “It’s not about what it looks like. It’s about what it is.”

Lewis meets his eyes. Calm. Steady. “I’d never hurt her.”

“We believe that,” Toto says. “But love isn’t always enough. There’s power there. Structure. She’s young, Lewis. Even if she says yes to everything, she might not always know why.”

Lewis leans forward. “She doesn’t say yes to everything,” he says softly. “She’s not stupid. She’s just… gentle. She thinks before she speaks. She asks instead of demands. That doesn’t mean she’s being controlled.”

Susie tilts her head. “Does she have friends here? People her own age? A space that’s not… yours?”

“She’s close with some of the McLaren girls,” Lewis says. “She texts Oscar’s girlfriend too they met at an event in Monaco. I try not to be her everything. I know that’s not healthy.”

George frowns. “We’ve just seen how quiet she gets. How she shrinks a little when the cameras come near. She looks like she’s bracing for something.”

“She always does,” Lewis says. “Even when it’s not me. That’s how she is.”

“She was like that before?” Susie asks gently.

He nods. “She’s like a glass kept in a cupboard full of hammers. She doesn’t speak unless she’s sure it’s safe. She doesn’t touch unless she’s invited to. And I never make her guess.” The room quiets again. “I know the age gap is intense,” he says finally. “But I’ve never raised my voice at her. Never told her what to do. Never asked her for anything she didn’t offer first. I wait. I listen. I let her set the pace.”

Toto leans forward. “And what if the power imbalance still affects her?” he says. “Even without you meaning to?”

“Then I want to know,” Lewis says. “I want to learn. I want to do better. I didn’t start seeing her thinking it would be this serious. But it is. And I care more than I can explain.”

Susie watches him. “Would you ever walk away? If it was hurting her?”

He hesitates. Only a second. “Yes,” he says. “I’d hate it. But I’d never keep her in something that made her small.”

George exhales. “Alright.”

It’s not a resolution. Not really. But it’s not an attack either. They don’t hate him. They just care. Maybe more than he realized.

“She’s lucky,” Susie says after a pause. “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Lewis says.

Toto claps a hand on his shoulder. “That’s good.”

Outside, the sun’s slipping lower. Someone knocks on the door. Meeting’s over. As Lewis steps out, he sees you waiting by the wall. Hands behind your back. Head slightly bowed. Like you were worried. Like you felt the shift in the air and didn’t want to intrude. You smile when you see him. Small. Warm. Unshakable. He crosses the distance and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just people who love you. Making sure I do too.”

Your smile falters. Just slightly. But it returns when he wraps an arm around your waist.

“Do you?” you whisper.

Lewis pulls you in tighter. “More than anything.”

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autisticoscarpiastri · 10 days ago

Note

hey girlll i was reading your NSFW alphabets and was wondering if you’d do a franco one if you haven’t already.

also could i pretty please be 😛anon?

Wild child Franco, here you go <3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

No cleanup is ever necessary, because his mouth will do all the work in that department. He's so soft after coming that he'll do anything you ask, including licking up his own cum, even if you have to finger fuck it into his mouth yourself.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your ass. He's not a complicated man. Your ass has so many uses it's genuinely his favourite part of you. He uses it as a pillow, as a stress ball, and occasionally as a cum dump. As for his own body, he's pretty proud of his muscles and strength, and the fact that he's able to cater to your every whim.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically…)

Like previously mentioned, he loves coming inside you, and certainly doesn't care about licking up his own mess, especially if he's feeling a bit subby or spaced out.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

If he could he'd show everyone how good he fucks you. As in, he'd bend you over in the middle of the paddock and make you scream his name for everyone to hear. Or live stream it. 24 stream of him abusing your body for the world to see.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's good at every new thing he tries, it's infuriating. He's done a lot despite his young age, he's an absolute menace with how many people he's been able to seduce over the years. And he's great at studying people, he knows exactly what you need just by looking at you.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

He's very into bending you in half, whether that means putting you in a mating press, or some weird version of doggy that he invented, he's obsessed with making sure you can't move too much, and manhandling you around.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

If he's in a dom mood, he'll be dead serious, but if he's needy the mood is entirely different. He's not afraid to laugh at his own patheticness if it'll get him closer to being railed.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He's generally smooth because he shaves a lot during the season, but when he's on break, expect curly bush galore because that man is not touching a razor unless he has to.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He's literally obssessed with you, everything he does is for your pleasure. Whether he's domming or subbing, he lives only to please you. Even when he's pulling your hair, he's rough and gentle at the same time, it's inexplicable.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

I mean this man is insatiable, he's horny 24/7 so obviously when you're not there to help him he'll used his hand (or toys 👀) and get off to videos and photos of you he's taken while fucking you. Very into sex tapes.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Very into somnophilia. Both ways. If he's home late and you're already asleep he'll slide his cock into you and get off like that, he may even clean you up with his mouth if he's feeling generous. And if he's asleep and you need him, you have his full permission to use him as you please. He'll always be in a good mood if he starts the day being woken up with your mouth around his cock.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He's an exhibitionist at heart, so anywhere where there's a risk of getting caught. Like his car for example. He's had to get his suspension checked several times.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

There's no need to turn him on, because he's never really off. He'll pop a boner randomly for no apparent reason and with a bit of luck you will be in the vicinity to help, otherwise he has to go and rub one out.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything more painful than a spank, he is going to be reticent about. This guy is all about pleasure, and if you ever got hurt, even accidentally he would hate himself forever.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Franco "I am talented with some things" Colapinto will eat you out until you are sobbing and begging to stop. He's the actual devil with his tongue, and if he adds a finger or two you stand no chance of keeping any sanity whatsoever.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

If he's feeling like being a little shit, which is most of the time, he'll go so slow and deep to make you come without doing much of anything at all. Then he'll fuck you like a damn rabbit and force another orgasm out of you just because he knows he can.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

If the two of you are out and about, you can be sure there will be at least one quickie before you get home. You always have to be prepared, so you only wear clothes that are easy to get off, or bunch up. And if there's no time for clean up, you always carry a plug in your purse just in case.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Experimental is this man's middle name. Especially when it comes to his own body, he's open to anything, literally. He fingers himself as a special treat sometimes when he's jerking off. He loves wearing plugs when he fucks you. He also is a whore for being bent over and letting you peg him. He's also not against threesomes, and letting other men fuck him while you watch. There's nothing he loves more than showing you (and himself) off to his peers by letting them join in the fun. He's been fucked by half the grid.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He comes quickly if he's especially riled up, but he can go for many rounds.

Many. Rounds. And the more he comes, the more subby he gets.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Vibrators, plugs, handcuffs, ropes, anything you could possibly need he has in a special case under his bed. He uses them just as much on himself as on you. He's especially fond of tying you up and stuffing you full of vibrators and leaving you there to think about how much of a brat you've been. He's also not averse to you doing the same to him occasionally.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Once he managed to make you say 'please' a whole one hundred times before he allowed you to come. That should give you some idea.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Grunts and growls mostly. Unless he's being pegged in which case he's perfectly capable of waking up the neighbours with his screams.

He's also very, very big on dirty talk. Shocking, I know. That mouth of his gets him in trouble more often than not. Even in public, he'll whisper absolute filth in your ear just to watch you squirm.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He cries when you eat his ass.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He may have an ego, but at least it's earned. He's big, and he knows exactly how to use it to take your breath away. He does this thing with his hips to make it feel like his cock has a curve to it. Your g-spot is hanging on to life at this point.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His engine is revving 24/7. If he's not doing sex he's talking about it. And if he's not talking about it he's at least thinking about it. He will never get enough of you so any free time he has is spent between your legs.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Franco sleeps a lot, and once he's done, he is done. He'll drop into a coma and snore as if he didn't just rearrange your guts like a wild animal.

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autisticoscarpiastri · 11 days ago

Text

Dorito Man

"Why do you call me Dorito man on twitter?"

Warnings: smut, reader being feral, Oscar being a clueless twimbo, marking and mention of blood

Oscar had just come home from an evening run and was sitting on the couch while he scrolled his socials, your latest fruit smoothie concoction in his hand.

He was frowning at your latest post. In which you referred to him as "your Dorito man". It wasn't the first time he'd noticed that nickname, his followers sometimes used it in his comments.

"Because that's your nickname? That's what me and your fans call you."

He just stared at you blankly.

"But... why?"

You stared back.

"Because... you're shaped like a Dorito? You know? Like the captain america meme?"

The look on his face told you he had no clue what you were talking about.

"I'm shaped like a dorito? What does that even mean?"

You gesticulated towards his body. "You know, broad shoulders and tiny waist... like an upside down triangle. From the back you look like a literal dorito."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was flabbergasted by the whole conversation, and was almost sorry he'd initiated it.

"And people... notice that? What my back looks like? Why ?"

You sighed. "Oscar, this may come as a shock to you, but you're hot as fuck, and your muscles drive a lot of people crazy. And a men shaped like that are... sexy."

His eyes narrowed as he tried to comprehend what you were saying.

"My back is sexy? Is that really what people are turned on by these days?"

"Well... that and your thighs..." you mumbled and he looked down at them with a frown.

"What about my thighs?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Nevermind, the point is you're shaped like a dorito, and you have a slutty waist that drives the internet mad with lust"

"My waist is slutty?"

You laughed and he huffed, standing up and making his way over to the large mirror hanging in the corridor. He took his shirt off and peered over his shoulder at his back in the mirror.

You appeared next to him. "See? Your shoulders are like twice the size of your waist"

He flexed the muscles in his back and you bit your lip to hide your grin. The biceps, the stupid tan lines, the newly defined muscles and the constellation of moles made a picture you definitely weren't insensitive to. And that sight would definitely make all Oscar's fans implode if they ever witnessed it.

"I take it you like what you see" he flashed you a smirk and you suddenly felt hot all over.

"Yeah... if only you'd let me peg you so that I could grab that waist and admire this view."

You gave his ample behind a slap and he groaned.

"Let me guess, my arse is also an object of lust?"

You giggled. "You have no idea"

"I think I have some idea"

He turned around, smirking at you trying to keep your eyes on his, despite him being shirtless, inches away from you.

Your hands went to his waist, and you sighed at how fucking grabbable it was.

"Honestly, if I had the strength I would be lifting you up non-stop. Are you kidding me with this? Your waist... I don't even know what to do with it but it turns me on"

Oscar's grin just got wider as you got more flustered while admiring his body. Your hands travelled up to his chest to squeeze his pecs.

He hadn't had them for that long, and every time you saw him without a shirt you wanted nothing more than to bite down on him.

Like cuteness aggression but with sexy muscles. Hotness aggression?

Anyway, Oscar pulled you closer and placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

"You look like you want to eat me."

You gave him a look. And he gulped.

You leaned forward slowly, lips brushing over his collarbone.

"Just one bite" you whispered, teeth catching on his skin lightly. "Please"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine"

You didn't need to be told twice, you pushed him back against the wall and licked a stripe just next to his left nipple, and before he had time to react you sank your teeth into the flesh with a groan.

Oscar gasped, taken aback by just how enthusiastic you were. His fingers threaded through your hair as you worked, sucking and biting at his pecs. The back of his head bonked against the wall.

He had to admit it felt kind of good to be worshipped like this, and he could feel himself hardening in his shorts.

Soon his chest and neck were littered with love bites, and the ache inside him could no longer be ignored.

He picked you up, and carried you back towards the couch, plopping you down and slid between your legs.

"Shit, look what you've done to me..."

He was talking about his cock, tall and proud against his stomach, but you only had eyes for the bruises all over his torso.

"Beautiful" you said. "And all mine"

Oscar couldn't have agreed more. He dragged your shorts off your frame and lined up with your warm cunt.

"Need you so bad" he groaned, trying his best to hold back.

Your hands curled around his waist and pulled him in, flush with you and he whined.

You grinned. "Oh... looks like I can manhandle you after all"

He thrust into you, hard and fast, and your hands drifted towards his shoulder blades, nails digging into his skin.

You could feel his muscles shifting as he moved, body rolling into yours as he fucked you. He was like a well oiled machine, working you towards an orgasm with sheer brute force.

He was panting and groaning in your ear as he felt your nails scratching marks into his back, and your moans echoed in the room.

"That's it baby, mark me up. This is all yours."

You screamed, his hips snapped faster and your nails dug deeper, drawing blood. Oscar's torso dwarfed your body and you felt tiny under him as he leaned over you, all-encompassing and protective.

He fucked you through an orgasm, then two. He didn't care that you were basically scarring his back, if anything it only spurred him on.

Something about you being so insane about his body, and marking him up, claiming him as yours in such a way was getting riled up, and in no time he was spilling inside you with a loud groan.

"If this is what I get for complimenting your muscles, maybe I should do it more often"

He finally slowed down once you were both fully spent, and stretched his back. You admired his figure, the way his broad chest puffed out and his arms flexed.

God, what a man.

He lifted a brow, dopey grin pulling at his lips.

"Well if that's the attention I get when I take my shirt off, maybe I should work out more"

746 notes · View notes

autisticoscarpiastri · 16 days ago

Text

perfect mom

summary; life as a f1 wag and a mom of four might seem wonderful to the world, but to reader raising four under six while her husband is busy traveling for races is such a hassle so when the opportunity comes along for her kids to bother her husband and the drivers during a race weekend she waste no time in taking it

pairing; dad!max verstappen x mom!reader

˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚˚·⋆✿˚˚

Silence. The worst sound for a parent.

"Girls! Is everything okay?" Y/n shouts from the kitchen hoping it will reach her twin daughters in the living room.

Again, silence.

Throwing the kitchen towel over her shoulder, Y/n wanders into the mess that they call a living room. The TV was still on with some cartoon playing while her eight month old sat in the pack and played by himself and her toddler napped on the couch.

She walked past the foyer into the dining room where she began to hear giggling.

"Grace? Marie?"

And as if she was in a movie, Y/n let out a horrifying gasp as if she had just found a body. On the floor sat her twin girls with markers in their hands as they scribbled on the wall.

"Girls! What do you think you're doing?"

"Drawing," Marie smiled at her mother.

"We're painting Daddy a picture," Grace said.

"But on the wall?" Y/n gasped, jaw dropped in disbelief.

The twins paused, slowly turning their heads around. Their faces painted with a guilty expression when they heard the words come out of their mother's mouth.

"Oh," Grace titled her head to the side.

"Sorry Mommy," Marie whispered.

"Just go to the kitchen, we'll talk about this later." Y/n sighed as she inspected the scribbles.

What am I going to do?

Y/n took out her phone and began to search for solutions. Soap, toothpaste, hairspray. So many moms had encountered the same problem that she was facing now. Just as she was about to get a tube of toothpaste from the guest bedroom she felt her phone buzz with an incoming call.

"Hi,"

"Hi baby, how are you?" Max smiled.

"Uh I'm okay, but your daughters just left me a beautiful mess for me to clean. They said it's a drawing for you." Y/n sighed again.

She flipped her screen to show her husband the dining room wall.

"Oh my God," Max let out a laugh at the sight of him on what seems like a pony mixed with a race car.

"Yeah," Y/n turned her screen back to face her. "So, what's up?"

"I have an idea for you. That might sound more appealing now after the girls have channeled that inner Van Gogh on our wall. Bring the kids to the race next weekend. It'll give you some time alone and connect to real life again." Max said.

Y/n thought about what her husband was saying for a minute. He wasn't wrong. Their kids were a handful and some time alone would be nice with the other girlfriends and wives. Even if it meant taking their four kids to a Grand Prix.

"You know what, sure. Let's do it."

"Okay then,"

Putting his phone away in his pocket, Max was a little shocked as he thought about his wife's words. He looked around the paddock at the unsuspecting grid and mechanics, none of them aware of the wrath and power of the Verstappen children. Especially his twin girls.

This was a bad idea.

Y/n sighed to herself, something that she realized she had been doing a lot since the twins were born. She hustled Marie and Grace towards the Red Bull garage while holding her toddler on her hip and pushing the stroller.

"Where's Daddy?" The twins asked in unison.

"We're going to see him right now," Y/n replied. "Just keep walking."

"Are we gonna see Uncle Lando too?"

"Yes, just keep walking to the garage, okay?"

The twins nodded happily, their little hands entwined together as they walked. Y/n smiled at the sight of her husband when they finally reached the garage.

"Hey you," she smiled, immediately handing Max their toddler who had began to reach for his father.

"Hi," Max smiled back, taking their son in his arms. " Hi girls."

Marie and Grace waved from where they were with Yuki.

"Wow, they don't waste any time." Y/n laughs as she takes their youngest out of his stroller.

A couple mechanics and engineers begin to crowd the two Verstappen boys who are shyly tucked away in their parents' arms. Their toddler offers cheeky smiles and waves while their baby hides his face on his mother's shoulder. However, the twins were definitely the opposite of their brothers. Marie was still talking and laughing with Yuki about something while Grace was busy with the strategists, listening in on their planning.

"See, I told you. Our kids are very favored among people." Max smirked.

Y/n nodded, distracted by her youngest.

"I heard there were some special guests in the paddock today."

The voice of Charles Leclerc fills the Red Bull garage. He walks in with Leo who immediately grabs the attention of Marie and Grace.

"Hi Charles," Y/n says politely.

"Y/n, how are you? Haven't seen you in awhile." Charles smiles.

"Oh you know, raising the kids of Mad Max over here is tiring as ever." Y/n grins, shoving Max gently.

"Haha, very funny." Max rolls his eyes.

Charles laughs, his attention being taken away by the twins who were now bothering him with questions about Leo.

"Where are they?"

"How would I know?"

"Are you two stupid? The Red Bull garage, where else. Oh and look where we are."

The annoyed and tired voice of Liam Lawson gets louder as he, Alex Albon, and Lando Norris enter the Red Bull garage.

"So, where's my godson?" Lando grins.

Y/n laughs, handing off her youngest to the excited Brit. After six years of Lando begging to be a godfather to one of Y/n and Max's children, they finally gave in with their baby boy.

"Uncle Lando!" The twins yelled as they sprinted over.

"Hey, girls." Lando smiled at them.

"Well, I guess I'm not popular anymore." Charles sighs.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Alex smirks as he grabs the toddler from Max's arms.

Charles offers a dirty glare before inching closer to Lando, the twins, and the baby away from Alex, Liam and the toddler.

"I told you," Max whispers, leaning in closer towards Y/n's ear. "Our children are very popular."

"I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"It means that they have good people looking out for them." Max said as he rested his hands on her hips.

"Yeah,"

Max turned Y/n around with his hands still on her hips, leaning forward to rest his chin on top of her head. His arms moved around her waist as she pressed her forehead into his chest.

"I love you, you're such a good mom."

"I love you too-"

"Mommy! Can we go with Uncle Lando to the McLaren garage, please?" The twins' shrill voices break Max and Y/n out of their trance.

"Uh, sure. Just come back before the race starts." Y/n stutters as she waves at Lando who was already walking slightly ahead than the girls, cooing at the baby.

Max and Y/n look at each other in silence for a moment before breaking out in laughter. Their plan had really worked and they finally had their time alone.

"I guess I should listen to your insane ideas more often, huh?"

"Yeah, you never know what might happen." Max said with a smirk and a wink.

1K notes · View notes

autisticoscarpiastri · 18 days ago

Note

Can you please write soft!sub Oscar?

Reader and Oscar have a fantastic sex life - Oscar has always been a selfless lover. Always focused on reader’s pleasure, taking pride in how he can undo her so completely. But he’s always cool, calm and in control.

So reader decides to challenge him and see if she can make him break. She realises that he likes to be gently dominated and he has a praise kink.

break him - OP81 🔥

Masterlist

summary: reader decides to challenge Oscar Piastri’s famously calm control in bed — and discovers exactly how to make him break warnings: explicit smut, soft dom!reader, sub!Oscar, praise kink, orgasm control, reader teasing and edging him, intense power shift, oral (m receiving), deep emotional sex

The first time it happens, it’s not even intentional. You’re not trying to flip the dynamic. You’re not trying to break him. You’re just sucking him off like you always do, slow, messy, tongue deep in your throat, the way he likes it. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, thighs wide, one hand clenched on the back of your neck, the other gripping the sheet like he’s holding himself together. There’s a tightness to his voice that always turns you on.

“Fuck. Baby, wait- wait- I’m gonna come-”

But he doesn’t. You pull off at the last second, hand replacing your mouth with a firm stroke, spit shining your fingers. His head falls back. And you realise something. It’s not the orgasm he needs. It’s you. Your voice. Your body. Your command.

You lean up, kiss his hipbone, and whisper, “Not yet. Be good.”

The noise he makes is soft. Breathless. Almost broken. And when you glance up, his mouth is parted, lashes low, the furrow between his brows tight with restraint.

Oscar Piastri, cool, calm, collected, is struggling. And he likes it.

You clock it instantly. The way his abs flutter. The way his hips twitch forward like they’re chasing your mouth. The way his voice drops when he says, “Please.”

So you slow your hand. Just enough to tease. “Such a good boy,” you murmur, watching his cock jump in your hand. “So polite for me.”

His eyes snap open. And it’s game over.

The second time, you do it on purpose.

He’s above you, like always. One hand braced on the headboard, the other gripping your thigh as he fucks into you in deep, precise strokes that scream Olympic-level control. That’s the thing about Oscar, he never gets lost in it. Never fucks wildly or sloppily. Every thrust is calculated. Every touch designed to pull you apart.

He loves how messy you get. Loves watching you beg. But this time, you decide to turn the mirror on him.

You wait until he’s close. Until you know his rhythm by heart, the way you’ve memorised every single part of him, the twitch of his jaw, the deeper breaths, the way he bites his lip and slows down like he’s dragging it out just to be good to you.

Then you lock your ankles behind his back. And flip him. He gasps as his back hits the mattress, his eyes wide, mouth parted, stunned. But he doesn’t stop you.

You climb over him, straddle his hips, and sink down in one slow, steady push. His hands fly to your thighs. “Fucking hell,” he whispers.

You set the pace, slow, deliberate, all grind, no bounce. You ride him with purpose. Watch him fall apart with every single motion. His neck arches. His hands tighten. He’s never been this quiet before. “Oscar.”

He opens his eyes.

“Tell me what you need.”

You see it. The war in his face. The want to stay in control, and the deeper, darker ache to give it up. “You,” he chokes out. “Just- keep going-”

You lean down, kiss him hard. “You’re such a good boy,” you whisper against his mouth. “So good for me. Let me take care of you.”

He moans. High and desperate and needy. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him truly lose it. He comes with your name on his lips, the praise echoing in his ears. And you don’t stop. You fuck him through it. Ride every twitch and shudder. His hands scrabble at your thighs like he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling.

Afterward, he doesn’t say much. Just lies there, blinking at the ceiling, chest heaving, heart racing. But the way he kisses you? It’s grateful. Deep. Submissive in the quietest, purest way.

The third time, he asks. You’re in the shower. Late night, post-race exhaustion, the kind where your bones ache and your skin feels tight with adrenaline. He’s washing your hair like always, gentle and focused, fingers tracing your scalp like it’s a language only he speaks.

And then he says it. “Can we… do that again?”

You look up through the steam. “Do what again?”

He swallows. Pink-cheeked. Barely meeting your eye. “The thing. From last time. When you…”

You tilt your head. Wait.

“When you said I was a good boy.” There’s a flush in his chest now. He’s not even hard. Just… shy.

“You liked that?”

He nods. Barely. “I liked… all of it.”

You step into him. Press your wet body against his. Drag your fingers down his ribs, lower, until you reach his cock and stroke him once. Slow. His mouth parts. “You like when I tell you what to do?”

Another nod.

“Use my voice?”

He closes his eyes. Breath catches.

“You like being taken care of?”

A breath. A whisper. “Yes.”

And just like that, he’s yours.

After that, it becomes a game. You edge him. You tease him. You build him up slowly over hours. Some nights he doesn’t even get to touch you, he just lies back, legs spread, wrists in silk restraints as you suck him soft, then hard, then soft again.

“You’re doing so well,” you whisper. “So patient.”

He’s pink-cheeked, eyes glassy, whispering your name like a prayer.

Other nights you fuck him until he’s shaking. Until he’s begging. Until he comes and then begs to come again.

“You’re allowed,” you whisper, right at the edge. “Come for me.”

And he does. Instantly. It becomes a language. You tell him what a good boy he is. He gives you every part of himself in return. No control. No performance. No act. Just Oscar, raw and wrecked and yours.

But the real moment , the breaking moment, happens in the middle of the day. You’re on the sofa. Lazy, post-practice energy. Oscar’s in sweats, hoodie bunched up at the sleeves, one leg hooked over the couch. You climb into his lap, kiss his jaw, nuzzle into his neck like it’s innocent.

It’s not.

You kiss your way down his throat, open his sweats, and wrap your hand around his cock without a word. He gasps. You stroke him slow. “You look so pretty like this,” you whisper.

“O-okay.” He swallows hard.

You fist his cock tighter. Drag your lips up to his ear. “You want to be good for me, baby?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“You want me to ruin you?”

“Please.”

You shift your position, knees on either side of his hips, and sink down onto him with one smooth roll of your hips. His eyes fly open. You put a hand on his chest.

“Don’t move.”

And he doesn’t. He stays frozen beneath you as you ride him with slow, grinding control, your nails dragging across his chest, your praise spilling into his ears like honey.

“You’re doing so well.” “You feel so good inside me.” “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you.”

His mouth drops open.

You lean in. Brush your lips against his. “Come for me.”

He shatters. Quietly. Violently. With every part of his body twitching beneath yours. You stay right there. Keep moving through it. Keep kissing him.

And when it’s over, he doesn’t say a word. Just pulls you down onto his chest and holds you like you just saved his life.

Maybe you did.

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autisticoscarpiastri · 22 days ago

Text

The Flour Incident

The first in an instalment of blurbs about Lando Norris and his Big Ass Hands

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral, bruising

You were a simple girl. A simple girl who likes to bake. Part of you also liked the mess that came with it, the satisfaction of licking the mixture of sugar and butter from the spoon, wiping the flour from the side, and licking out the bowl.

You were a girl, and your boyfriend was a fucking child.

He also loved it when you baked. He loved the end result, loved the goodies you pulled from the oven. More than once you've had to slap his hand away, stop him from burning his fingertips on the hot food.

But he also loved watching you bake. He loved watching your concentrated face as you whisked the mixture into something edible. When Lando tried to dip a finger, you let him. Just to watch him place his finger into his mouth and suck it clean.

(Once before, you'd dipped your own finger into the batter and held it out towards him. Lando moaned around it, mouth working to clean you up. You were far too attracted to this man).

This time, you didn't notice it when Lando stepped into the kitchen. You were too busy carefully pouring the mixture into cupcake cases. Quietly, carefully, like some sort of cat, Lando stepped around you. He placed his hand in the mess of flour left on the counter.

He didn't dust off his hand, didn't clean it in any way.

His hand connected with your ass. A big, strong hand that gripped your cheek.

"Shit!" You hissed, both in surprise and because the cupcake mixture went everywhere. On the counter, on the floor, everywhere but the cupcake cases.

"You ass!" You cried, putting the bowl down to smack his chest.

He giggled as he wrapped his arms around you. Flour covered his hands as he held you, hands once again on your ass. The boy just couldn't keep away.

Once the cupcakes were in the oven, Lando lifted you up and sat you on the counter. He kissed you, lips immediately moving to you neck. Again, his hands found your ass. "What if we fucked right here on the counter?"

You smacked his shoulder and Lando stood straighter. "Lan, honey, we cannot fuck on the counter. We'll burn the cupcakes!"

In response, he pulled his phone from his pocket. "How long do they take?" He asked, pulling up his timer. You told him and he put the numbers into his phone.

"Bet," he said, putting his phone down and pressing GO.

As soon as the timer started, Lando was on his knees. He parted your legs, touched you through your underwear. Your moan was almost immediate. "That's it," he mumbled, his hands on your thighs. If you were lucky, his grip would be bruising, leaving behind marks you would wear with pride.

Lando ate you out. He hooked your legs over his shoulders and ate you out with fury. Nose bumping against your clit with every swipe of his tongue.

In those moments, there was nothing in Lando's world but you. It felt unfair he was good with his tongue, his fingers and his dick. (Unfair to any other man you would be with after, since nothing would compare to him. Thankfully for you, he was gonna lock you down, put a ring on that finger).

Lando ignored his buzzing phone, the timer finishing. "The cupcakes," you managed through your moans. It wasn't easy, and you weren't trying very hard to push him away.

Finally, Lando let your legs drop. He turned off the oven, used the oven gloves to pull them out and dumped them on the stove top. It was careless, but you didn't fucking care. Not when he got right back to eating you out.

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autisticoscarpiastri · 24 days ago

Note

is there any chance you would do a threesome with sublando and suboscar with dom reader ?? If not, that’s totally fine !! I love your writing so much !

the concept of sublandoscar🤤

cw: smut 18+, sub!Lando, sub!Oscar, soft!dom & rough!dom reader, use of ‘good boy’, use of pet names (baby and what not), use of y/n, dryhumping, cumming in pants, begging, unintentionally disobedient!lando, use of the cuck chair, face riding, oral (m! & f! receiving), unprotected piv (don’t do that), cowgirl, hair pulling, praising, oscar loves tits in this,

They hadn’t heard you as you walked in, too absorbed in one another.

Both of them were shirtless. Lando straddled Oscar’s hips, devouring the younger’s face like he would die if he didn’t. It was clear Oscar was in control of the situation, despite being below his teammate. His hands gripped Lando’s hips, keeping his in place. Lando’s hands were all over Oscar, shamelessly running his hands over Oscar’s toned body.

“I was gone for not even five minutes and you two can’t keep your hands to yourselves.” The sympathy in your voice was fake, as was the pout on your face.

Oscar gasped, startling Lando who bit into his lip as a result. Despite being caught, Lando remained sat on Oscar’s lap.

You sauntered over. Slow, irresistibly sexy. With a hand under Oscar’s chin, you gently lifted his head. He looked up at you with those big eyes, his brows strewn together. Practically begging you to take care of the problem in his pants without saying a single word.

Red dotted Oscar’s swollen lips. You clicked your tongue. “Aw, Lando look what you did to our boy.”

Lando blinked. His pretty, long lashes fluttered. His expression mirrored Oscar’s. Wide eyes, inclined brows. Though he looked even more needy.

“Well, are you going to say sorry?”

He opened his mouth, but kept silent.

“You know only good boys get rewarded, don’t you?”

He swallowed and nodded. Then he looked to Oscar. “I’m sorry.” He muttered.

A look of disapproval was shot his way. “Now do you think that sounded very sincere?” You asked Oscar.

Yes was his real answer, but he went with what he thought you wanted to hear. “N-no.” He stuttered.

“Try again, Lando.”

He swallowed and shifted, making the both of them whimper at the jolt of stimulation. “I’m sorry for making you bleed, Osc.” He repeated, more sure of himself.

You let go of Oscar’s face and ran your fingers through Lando’s hair. “Good.” Then you glanced at Oscar. “Now kiss it better.”

He looked at you a beat longer before revising on Oscar’s lips again.

Hand yanking on his hair, you stopped him quickly. He whined at the burn of his scalp. “Be nice.” You instructed, another soft tug before letting go.

A small pout was present on his lips as he nodded. His lips met the younger’s again, softer this time, like he was experimenting. You watched, rounding the bed as Lando kitten licked over the wound and sucked gently. The whimper Oscar let out was so pretty.

You sat next to them on the bed, not enough to touch, but enough so that they’d feel your presence. “Roll your hips into his, baby. Feel each other through your pants.”

He wouldn’t dare disobey you, especially when you requested something so deliciously enticing. They both groaned at the first roll, their heads throw back like mirror images of each other.

And when Lando stuttered to do it again?

“Keep going.” You told him.

He listened, continued to rut his hips into Oscar. They were reduced to whiny, breathy messes. You scooted closer. “Look at me, Os,” your hand rested on his thick neck, a single finger turning his head toward you. He looked at you, begging to be ruined.

You kissed him, messy, hot, and heavy. He tried to kiss you. Really, he did. Wanted to be good so you’d give him a reward. But Lando was rubbing against him so sweetly, and he couldn’t stop the moans and whines that were drawn from his lips with every rut.

He whined, long and loud. “Please. I wanna cum.” The pleasure was becoming too much. And which your hand squeezing around his neck, he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. You ignored him, continued to kiss his face. “Please, baby, please I’ll be so good for you. Let you do whatever you want with me just please. I need it. Please please please-“

“So pretty when you’re needy.” You murmured against his skin while he continued to beg. “Go ahead, show me how good you feel.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He let his release coat his boxers and his pants, shuttering under Lando, whimpering into your mouth.

Unfortunately for him, Lando had come too. You gave him a look of disapproval. He shrunk in on himself, knowing he did something wrong. “Did I say you could come?” You glared.

Now Oscar was kissing you, coming out of the afterglow. Soft, delicate kisses to your cheeks. You let him.

Lando fell from his teammates lap. “N-n- I thought- I-“ he stuttered.

“Go on, spit it out, Lando.” You raised a brow, your harsh tone contrasted by the soft rake of your hand through Oscar’s hair.

“I thought you said we could both come.” He admitted, voice small as he could make it, ashamed.

You huffed, pulling Oscar away by your grip in his hair before removing your hand. He frowned at the loss, but didn’t say anything.

You pulled on Lando’s hair again, forcing his head back to look up at you. “Go sit in the chair.”

“No, please. I’m sorry.” Fucking hell, Lando hated the chair. Would burn it if he could. No moving, no touching yourself, just watching. A synonym for fucking torture. He found himself there more often than not. He’d just get so consumed by the pleasure, he forgot about the listening part.

“Lando,” a warning. One that meant no more arguing.

He swallowed hard, but listened. The chair was cold, unwelcoming. He hated everything about it.

Forced to sit and watch as you turned back to Oscar, manicured nails running down his chest. “Lay down for me.” You told him, your voice light and noticeably nicer than you were just a moment ago.

His eyes flickered to Lando. A spike of fear shot through his body at the thought of being in his position. He complied quickly while you hovered over him. Your nail traced shapes on his chest as he did.

You leaned over him, kissed his lips with a hum. “Will you let me ride your face?”

As soon as your words hit his ears, his eyes went wide. He nodded eagerly, looking wrecked already.

Your hand was back on his jaw, stroking it gently. “Words.” One word, but he knew what you wanted.

“Yes. Please.”

He watched intently as your clothes fell from your body. Everything expect your bra. He was practically drooling as you hovered over his face, slick with need. His hands hovered over your thighs. “Can I touch you?” He asked, his voice quiet in desperation.

“Yes,” you breathed, and his hands were gripping your thighs in an instant.

But still, you didn’t move. Didn’t get close enough for him to taste. He whined and shifted. “Please. I wanna taste you so bad.” All you could see were his pretty brown eyes, pleading for something. Felt his hands readjust on your thighs, a more secure grip.

When you finally lowered onto his face, he didn’t waste a second. Lapping up your juices like it was his only source of water. Sticking his tongue deep in your hole to drag more out of you. He groaned into you, addicted to the taste.

You braced one hand on the wall in front of you, the other went to his hair. Not tugging, but grounding. “Oh, fu-fuck.” Your head tilted back in pleasure, hips rocked against his face. His nose bumped your clit with every shift of your hips, shooting pleasure up your spine and moans from your mouth. “So- haa so good for me, Os.”

You mewled as you got closer and you looked over your shoulder. “Lando,” you gasped. “Come here.”

He stood right away, more than happy to be free from that chair. He stood by you, waiting for instruction.

But Oscar was feeling a little selfish. He wanted all of your attention. “Take- oh!” He sucked your clit into his mouth. “Fuck, me, you’re so good at this.” If only he knew what you called Lando for. “Take my bra off.” You commanded, out of breath.

His fingers fumbled with the clasp, shaking out of intense need. When your tit were freed from their confines, oscars eyes went wide. The sight spurred him on and he doubled his efforts as he groaned into you.

“Ah- shit,” you sighed, hand tightening in his hair. “O-oh, ke-ngh-keep going!”

Lando stood by, watching you writhe on the edge of peak pleasure, watched as you rolled your hips quicker. Small breathy “ah”’s fell from your lips every time his nose bumped your clit. Such a scene. He was so hard in his boxers, painstakingly so. But he wouldn’t touch, not without your go ahead.

When you came, Oscar made a noise somewhere between a groan and a desperate whine. He greedily sucked up all your juices, licking and lapping at everything leaking out of you while the roll of your hips slowed down.

“Fu- okay, hm,” you mumbled as the pleasure crossed into overstimulations. Your hands settled on his, and he pulled them away instantly.

Climbing off of him, Oscar’s mouth was finally exposed to the world. The leftover slick on his face glinted in the dim lighting.

You reached over, collecting it on your fingers. A wave of your other hand brought lando to you. He crawled across the bed, so painfully hard he’d take whatever you’d give him.

You shoved your fingers in his mouth roughly. He didn’t complained, moaned around your finger even, tongue swirling around, trying to savor the taste. You shoved your fingers further, making him gag on them. Tears sprung to his eyes.

Pulling your fingers away, you whipped them on his thigh. You grabbed his face and forced him to look up. You smiled at the nerdy look of him. “I knew you could be good. Just needed a little motivation.”

He licked his lips and you pulled back, looking between them. “Undies off, both of you.” You told the both of them. They couldn’t look more desperate if they tried, each of them fumbling to strip from their boxers.

They were both so fucked. Dicks soaked in precum, standing so tall and red. Rock solid.

The orders came one after another.

“Sit up.” You told Oscar.

“Go sit next to him.” You told Lando.

You sat between them, facing them, legs tucked under you. “Look at you two.” You frowned, feigning sympathy. “So desperate.” You clicked your tongue. “What if I just-“ you reached out, thumb brushing Lando’s tip. He hissed, bucking his hips toward your hand. You raised a brow. Dangerous and daring. He squeaked out a, sorry!

“Do you boys need to cum?”

The soft tone of voice was throwing them off. They exchanged glances.

“You can tell me.”

Oscar spoke first. “Y-yes.” Not very confident.

You tilted your head, reached out and wrapped your hand around the base of his dick. The faintest of touches “That didn’t sound too sure.” His hips twitched, but didn’t buck. A conscious effort to keep still. “Yes! Please, I need to cum.” He whined, trying his best not to squirm. His hands balled up the sheets in his fists.

You turned to Lando, who hadn’t said anything yet. “What about you?”

“Yes,” he gasped, “please.”

“Please what?” You hummed.

A needy sigh passed his lips. “Please make me cum. I need it so bad, baby, please!”

Much to his disappointment, you removed your hand from Oscar. Instead, you brought it to Lando’s face. “I love it when you’re needy.” You whispered, shifting to straddle his hips. You hovered over him, his tip ghosting your folds.

The room flooded with whines as you sunk down on him slowly. All his whines. Joined by small sighs and moans from you. “Feel so full,” You took him fully, resting with your hands on his shoulders for a moment.

And then a hand in his hair, a small tug. “Oscars been so good tonight. He deserves something too, don’t you think?”

His eyes darted to the younger boy. “Y-yeah.” Fucking hell he could barely focus when you were so tight around him.

You were both looking at Oscar. Lando carrying a look of need and you having one of consideration. “Suck him off.” You decided finally.

Lando’s head snapped back to you. “Wha-“ he blinked.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never done it before. Judging by the way you sucked my fingers clean, you have some experience.”

And you were right. After harsh races for the both of them. Even going so far as to pull out the six-nine.

“Okay.”

Oscar readjusted, sat on the pillows so it was easier for Lando. “Use your hand for what you can’t take.” You told lando.

And then you were guiding the bob of his head, matching the pace at which you were bouncing on his dick. The whines and whimpers blended together, a beautiful harmony to your ears. They both fisted the sheets, trying not to come before you. “You guys sound so pretty.” You praised, speeding up your movements as they spurred you on.

“Can- can I touch your tits, please?” Oscar asked, swallowing hard as lando groaned around his dick again.

You nodded and his hands were on you in an instant, squeezing and kneeling the flesh, tweaking your nipples. It made your hips stutter. You moaned Oscar’s name, shoving lando all the way down his cock. Lando choked. Oscar gasped and whimpered.

Tears brimmed Lando’s eyes once more. Not just from being forced to take all of his teammate, but from the effort of holding back from cumming. He was right there. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t unless he wanted another punishment. And your punishments were never fun.

Oscar was close too, twitching in the older’s mouth. And so were you, tight around him.

“Mmm- y/n- I’m so- ngh- so close,” Oscar spoke up, lando humming in agreement.

You just shook your head, too lost in your own pleasure to really form a response. You were so close, evident by how quick you rode lando. “Fuck, fuck, I’m- sh-shit!”

You came violently, loud moans, shuttering and hand tightening in Lando’s curls. You triggered a chain reaction, Lando cumming in you, groaning as Oscar shot his load down his throat.

After a moment, you all unraveled from each other, lying in a row. “Showers, boys.” You reminded when you caught sight of Oscar drifting off.

He sighed and rolled off the bed. Lando followed, biting his lip mischievously. He landed a harsh slap to Oscar’s ass, the sound echoing.

Oscar whipped around and shoved his shoulder.

Lando slapped his ass again.

“Cut that out, and go get clean.” You sent them off with a small laugh and a wave of your hand. And you went to change the soaking sheets into new ones

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autisticoscarpiastri · 26 days ago

Note

Hii!!

Can i ask for a Joaquin Torres x reader where they are married and Joaquin is returning from a mission earlier to suprise her but he finds her curled on the bed because she is on her period period and it hurts a lot. (Very fluffy)

Coming Home ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: Joaquín comes home early, but you're period is kicking your ass

tw: fem!reader, period pain, Joaquín being the best husband, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi!! This is so short and I'm sorry!!

➽──────────────❥

Joaquín had been gone for only two weeks but he was more than happy to get home to you. Sam and Joaquín had managed to wrap it up earlier than they originally projected. Joaquín hadn't told you, wanting to keep it a secret to surprise you. But Joaquín came home to your curled up on your shared bed with tears running down your face. "Mi amor, what's wrong?" Joaquín set his bag down and walked over to you, worry etched onto his face.

"My period," you groaned, gently pushing on your lower stomach. Joaquín relaxed just slightly, knowing you weren't in life threatening pain.

"What can I do?"

"Lay with me, please," you pleaded. Joaquín obliged and curled up behind you, the heat from his body relaxing the pain in your back. He wrapped his arms around you, taking over the action of gentle pressure against your lower stomach. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you a better welcome home," you told him.

"No need to apologize," Joaquín assured you. "Coming home to you is the only welcome home I need."

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

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autisticoscarpiastri · 27 days ago

Text

hover | j. torres

｡𖦹°‧ synopsis: you just want to enjoy one good night out with your friends, your boyfriend, and some dangerously good cocktails—but some guys never learned to take a hint. luckily for you, joaquin’s never been shy when it comes to reminding everyone that you’re completely and utterly spoken for

-> pairings: falcon!joaquin torres x fem!reader

-> disclaimers: fluff, cursing, post cap 4 and thunderbolts (but in my fic, we don’t suffer through a sambucky fallout), no use of y/n, established relationship, slightly suggestive, use of pet names (baby, love, etc), protective joaquin, flirting from unwanted parties, kate and yelena being annoyingly loving bffs, reader lowkey just wants to rip joaquin’s clothes off

-> word count: 4k

-> song rec: jealous by nick jonas

-> a/n: no thoughts, just danny ramirez in the karol g music video, dear god. that, and joaquin’s hands on your waist like they’re permanently branded there

Sam Wilson had outdone himself.

The rooftop venue was stylish and vibrant, perched high above Brooklyn with a view overlooking the New York skyline as the setting sun glowed a soft orange and pink. String lights hang overhead, casting a golden glow over the crowd and mixing with the soft rainbow of colors emitting from the DJ’s strobe lights beside his booth. Mellow beats spilled out into the early party, weaving through the laughter and chatter of the guests.

The bar, which is the “real main attraction” according to Yelena, is polished. Expert bartenders and mixologists reside behind the counter, crafting concoctions that are named after Sam himself and his close inner circle; “Captain’s Courage,” “Redwing’s Glide,” “The Winter Sour,” and the one you’ve been most excited to try, “Falcon’s Flight.”

Nearby, low velvet couches and cocktail tables form islands where heroes, intel, and allies lounge, swapping stories and drinks.

It was Wilson’s idea for an after-mission-party, to recognize the collective effort of merged teams in retrieving an important object overseas. While the party was originally for Avengers, inner operatives, and close friends or family, the guest list extended vastly to people who work behind the scenes and now mingle among Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

It isn’t a gala or a press event, but a celebration—a rare night to unwind and have some fun after weeks of chaos and work.

Stepping through the glass doors to the rooftop and beneath an intriguingly big archway of balloons, you are engulfed by loud conversations and the hum of music.

At your sides, Yelena and Kate take in the sight with just as much surprise and wonder. Yelena’s eyes sparkle with mischief and Kate’s with disbelief.

“Fancy,” The blonde widow says, scanning the scenery. “I’m already planning on starting a fight near the DJ booth.”

“You gonna want me to break it up?” You mumble, unable to take your attention off of the elegant decorations and deliciously warm scent of drinks in fancy glasses.

“I want you to record it.” She says right back and you both snicker quietly. “Seriously though, don’t wander off far. I need you by me the whole night if I want to survive this thing.”

“Don’t listen to her. You should wander far,” Kate teasingly nudges you with her elbow and nods in the direction of the bar. “Especially wander towards him.”

Your gaze follows hers to the center of the room where Joaquin talks with Bob and Sam, that casual smile plastered on his face as he speaks.

He’s clad in black slacks and a loose white button up sleeve, save for the top few buttons that he’d purposefully left undone for some unknown reason (not that you were complaining). His curls are prominent on his head and a singular gold chain dangles from his neck. You snap your mouth shut at the sight, willing yourself not to drool. He looks incredible and you struggle to understand how he gets more and more handsome everyday.

“Don’t be shy now.” Kate says playfully.

“She is shy. Look, her face is getting warm.” Yelena jokes, raising her eyebrows with a smirk.

“It is not.” You snap.

“Yes, it very much is.”

“Shut up.” With a roll of your eyes, you turn towards your best friends. “How do I look?”

“You look good.” Kate nods confidently and Yelena hums in agreement. “Irresistible, even.”

“Thank you.” You breathe gently before twisting around in your black heels.

Straightening your shoulders, you adjust the straps to your black mini dress that cuts off mid thigh, revealing just enough leg to be considered scandalous. You inhale sharply because you find yourself suddenly nervous to greet your boyfriend even though you’d literally seen him merely hours ago at work. With as much self-encouragement as you can muster, you make your way to him through the crowd.

Joaquin’s gaze finds you immediately, pulling away from the conversation the second his eyes land on you. His smile widens on his cheeks, and he excuses himself from his friends to start off towards you.

“Mi amor,” He hums with a small tilt of his head as his eyes scan your outfit from top to bottom. “You look gorgeous.”

The feeling of his eyes on you—drinking you in like you’re a glass of wine—is enough to make your knees buckle beneath you. You never quite learned how to keep your composure around him. “Quin, you look so handsome.”

“It’s not too much?” He asks, placing his arms on your waist to tug you closer.

You shake your head with a small hum, hands gliding up the front of his shirt to fiddle with the unbuttoned buttons. “Not too much—too little.”

He makes a deep noise of satisfaction at your comment, a smirk curling up at his lips. “You like it?”

“Of course I like it.” Your hands slide up to his shoulders before gently wrapping around the back of his neck to pull him close.

With his lips now hovering against yours, he says, “Did it just for you.”

“Oh.” You tease. Then his lips connect with yours, pressing you into a singular kiss.

Whatever he’s been drinking tastes sweet in your mouth and you hum at the flavor. The kiss, though short, is passionate and you both figure you could stay forever that way. Though, as much as you want to, you can’t kiss in the middle of the crowd all night, so you pull away with a sweet smile.

He groans playfully at the lack of your lips on his.

“Later.” You say, adjusting the collar to his shirt.

“Can’t wait for later.” He mumbles with a sideways smile.

Joaquin always gets painfully soft around you, though he isn’t far from it normally. His clinginess seems to skyrocket whenever he’s in your proximity, needing to keep his hands on you no matter what the two of you are doing. You always joke that he’s like a puppy in that way because he’ll follow you around everywhere, if it means he won’t have to be without you.

“You gotta try,” You smile, gently running your hands through his hair to fix it. “Right now, we’re celebrating you.”

“And you.” He quickly corrects. “We couldn’t have finished the mission without you, baby.”

As Mission Intel Lead, you aren’t necessarily a hero like your friends and boyfriend are—shining under the spotlight and prying cameras of the press—but you’re extremely important in your own way. While everyone else’s boots are on the ground, you’re feeding them information through their earpieces, from tactical layouts to enemy movements. You’ve earned a reputation as the sharpest mind behind the scenes and there’s a chance that if a mission goes smoothly, it’s because you’re two steps ahead of everyone else the whole time.

“Says you, Mr. Falcon,” You smile, dropping your hand to his so you can give it a light squeeze. “I wanna try the drink Sam named after you.”

“Oh, you wanna drink me?” He raises his eyebrow. “Querida, say the word and we can leave right now.”

With a small eye roll and a gentle tilt of your head, you grin, “You wish.”

“I do,” He nods. “I really do wish.”

“Joaquin.” You laugh lightly and he does the same, watching your smile brighten.

The sound of footsteps grows louder in your direction and you both pull apart to watch Sam, looking as fancy as ever in a black and white tux, maneuver towards you with a knowing smile.

“Well, hello,” Sam smiles, tugging you into a side hug the moment he sees you. “Was wondering when you were gonna show up so lover-boy over here would stop looking over his shoulder for you.”

“Was not.” Joaquin sheepishly smiles, the apples on his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“You were too,” Sam points. “Which is why I hate to break this up, but we’ve got people asking about you, Falcon.”

“Right now?” He asks.

“No, tomorrow,” Sam sarcastically comments. “Yes right now, man.”

“Okay, okay,” Joaquin quickly turns back to you, his hand squeezing the side of your arm gently. “I’m gonna go take care of this, then I’ll find you. Or you find me. Either one works. You gonna be alright?”

You grin at his soft rambling, nothing out of the ordinary for him. You reach up, adjusting the chain on his neck so it sits flat. “Of course, my love. I’ve got Kate and Lena waiting for me.”

“Tell them I said hi.” He leans down to press a fast but sweet kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

You hum, reciprocating his smile before he and Sam take back off into the crowd. Just as you’re turning around to walk back to your friends, they beat you to it, joining you at your side.

“You two are disgusting.” Yelena says.

“Disgustingly adorable.” Kate corrects.

“No, pretty sure I just said disgusting,” Yelena jokes, her voice monotone.

You roll your eyes before grabbing onto both of their hands. “Come on, I need a drink.”

“I second that.” Kate perks up, letting her hand go limp as you drag her and Yelena off into the direction of the free bar.

The three of you do just that—huddled at the bar like self-appointed critics, spending your first hour of the party sampling every custom drink and pretending you have the credentials to back up your reviews.

“I wonder if Bucky actually had any say in what his drink tasted like,” you muse, happily sucking the last of your drink through the straw. “‘The Winter Sour’ is just…so sour.”

“I doubt it,” Yelena replies, swirling the remnants of her own drink. “I overheard him and Sam arguing about the name on the phone the other day. Bucky thought it was a personal attack.”

You and Kate both break into quiet laughter, muffled behind your cups.

“Okay,” you say, placing your empty glass down with conviction. “I know what we’re trying next.”

Kate clocks your determined stare at the drink menu and quickly downs the rest of her cocktail like a dare was issued. When the bartender glides over, you confidently order three “Falcon’s Flight” —no hesitation.

The drinks arrive moments later, a trio of vibrant ombré cocktails glowing like the same sunset just outside the windows. Shades of orange and pink swirl together beneath rims coated in glittering chili sugar, catching the light like something magical.

“Oh, this is good,” Kate murmurs with wide eyes, blinking through the surprise of the spice. “Like, dangerously good.”

Yelena takes a tentative sip and immediately grimaces. “Ugh. It’s too sweet.”

You just grin, cradling the glass. “Well, it is Joaquin’s,” you say, taking a much more enthusiastic sip.

Kate nods thoughtfully, glancing around at the other drinks on nearby trays—neutral tones of yellow, white, and pale gold. The others barely hold a candle to the pink hue glowing in your hands. “Explains the color choice.”

“I think it’s delicious.” You say with a shrug.

“That’s because you think he’s delicious.” Yelena teases, downing her drink anyway.

“Gross.” Kate mumbles.

“I do.” You say without shame.

You’re halfway through the sugary concoction when the empty space on your right grows occupied.

Landon. A tall blonde with blue eyes that have a habit of lingering in places they don’t belong. He works in the tech logistics division of the team, one of the behind the scenes brains who helps coordinate comms. He’s a smart guy, useful too, but he carries himself with far too much confidence for someone whose greatest heroic feat was troubleshooting encrypted routers.

You’ve run into him a few times—in the hallway, during briefings, on awkward elevator rides—but you never spoke to him directly. You did notice, though, the way his gaze focuses too long on the office secretaries as they pass or the way he watches you tie your hair up when it gets too hot. Tonight, he looks painfully aware of his own smug reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar.

“Ladies,” He says smoothly, sliding beside you with a drink in his hand and a smile that was clearly trying way too hard.

Kate offers him a polite nod, Yelena blinks once in response and you sip your drink slowly, hoping he’ll just greet you all and move on.

Wishful thinking.

Quickly and almost like it was first nature, he launches into some ridiculous joke that claims the three of you are “Earth’s Mightiest Threat,” which earns a pity-laugh from Kate and a blank stare from Yelena. Out of social habit, you give him a sympathetic smile but then you’re already looking past him to determine what drink you’re ordering next.

“You really pull that off,” he says, tone slick with something he drunkenly probably thought was charm. His eyes drag down your body in a slow, deliberate sweep that makes your skin crawl.

You shift uncomfortably, glancing between him and the other girls in the hope that maybe—maybe—he wasn’t talking to you. But then his gaze lands right back where it started: you.

“Me?” You ask, more out of sheer confusion than anything.

“Yeah,” he says and you immediately resist the urge to gag at the smell of alcohol wafting from his breath. “That dress looks good on you.”

You pause, the need to cringe coming naturally in his presence. Far too polite for your own good, you give him a nod that doesn’t even qualify as a thank-you.

“I know.” You reply, already turning your attention back to the bar and reaching for a napkin that you didn’t need.

Anyone in their right mind would have heard your snappy, hostile remark and automatically back off, understanding that you’re so clearly not interested. But, either it’s the drinks or simply a lack of social awareness, Landon is not catching the drift.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” He asks.

With a few blinks of disbelief at his utter determination, you sass, “We’re at a party with a lot of people so probably not.”

Your sarcastic comment went right in one of Landon’s ears and out the other. He smiles with a confidence that might've made you think he won the lottery. “Right,” He smacks his hand down on the table, standing with pride. “Catch you later, ladies.”

The moment he finally walks away, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “God, he was wasted.”

Yelena and Kate remain silent for a beat before the latter raises her eyebrows with a smirk. “Oh, he wanted you.”

“Told you, you look irresistible.” Kate adds.

“What?” You reply a little too quickly. “No, he was flirting with all of us.”

“Oh, come on,” Yelena scoffs. “He was not, his eyes were on you the whole time.”

“Ew, gross.” Your stomach twists in disgust.

“He’s always like that at parties,” Kate points. “No sense of awareness when it comes to flirting with girls, let alone ones in committed relationships.”

You nearly shudder at the lingering discomfort of his shameless flirting. “Whatever, he won’t come back.”

“Oh, believe me,” Kate arches her brow. “He’ll try.”

You let out a small scoff and shake your head, trying to brush off the feeling. In an effort to shift the energy, you joke, “He’s always so quiet in debriefings. That might’ve been the first time I’ve ever heard him speak.”

Your friends laugh too, Yelena bringing her drink up to her mouth for a sip. “I know right.”

“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” Kate chuckles.

The night carries on, warm and electric with the kind of celebratory buzz that made every second of that mission feel worth it.

You stand near the bar surrounded by your friends—Kate, Yelena, Sam, Bob, Bucky, and Joaquin—conversation flowing easily between the group, full of laughter, jabs, and the type of energy that only came after completing a mission together. Joaquin has his arm loosely wrapped around your waist while he chats with Bob, the casual touch a quiet but grounding reminder of his presence.

You’re mid-laugh, fully invested in whatever chaotic story Sam and Bucky are trading off telling, when the soft vibration of your phone buzzes from inside your purse. With a curious frown, you pull it out and glance at the screen—your smile falters slightly at the name lighting up the display.

“I’ve gotta take this,” You turn to Joaquin, holding it in front of him. “Work.”

He tilts his head, concern stretching across his features. “I can go with you.”

Quickly, you shake your head, not wanting your small phone call to take away from his celebration. “No, it’s fine, love. Just five minutes. I’ll be back, yeah?”

Without pressing, he nods and gives your hand a soft squeeze before letting you go, despite how much he ached to hold onto you longer.

You weave through the crowd, slipping out of some glass double doors and onto an empty balcony, where the music grows muffled and the night air chills your warm skin. You lean against the balcony ledge, answering the call with a hushed voice as you speak.

A few minutes pass of your boss speaking through the phone about something that could’ve easily been passed on through an email, and you’re wrapping up the conversation when you feel company—unwelcome but, unfortunately, familiar.

“Work calling?” A voice asks, just near your shoulder.

It wasn’t the second time Landon tried to make an advance towards you, again. He’d done so earlier when you and Kate stumbled off to the bathroom, the man opting to wait outside the door for you to come out. Only, you shot an “S.O.S” text to Yelena who distracted him to give you and Kate enough time to sneak back outside, in between heaps of giggles.

You tense, lowering the phone the moment your boss hangs up. “Yeah,” You blink at Landon, taking a small step away to increase the distance that he is so clearly trying to minimize. “Always seems to when I’m having fun.”

“I get that,” He nods, voice slightly more slurred than the last time he spoke to you. “Enjoying the party then?”

“Was.” You say quickly, hostility rolling off your tongue.

“I can keep you company.” He presses, shrugging his shoulders casually.

With a sharp inhale, you glance up at the night sky and hope it’ll give you the strength you need to not kick him in the ankles with your heel. “No thanks. I was just about to head inside anyways.”

“I’ll go with you.” He responds.

He is unbelievably relentless and somehow even more oblivious. Kate had been right; his persistence is quiet, but annoyingly steady. It’s not like you’re trying to entertain him or give him anything to work with either. You just hope he’d be socially aware enough to pick up on the vibe—or complete lack of one, to be correct.

“Landon,” you twist towards him with a shake of your head. “I have a boyfriend.”

And you’d think it would stop there.

Wrong.

“How come I haven’t seen him?” His shoulders drop, bottom lip pushing out from beneath his top one with a look that tells you he really just doesn’t care.

Despite the fact that you’d been with said boyfriend all night, the man in front of you was clearly too drunk to tell the difference between flirting and flat-out disinterest.

You open your mouth, preparing to curse him out, when soft footsteps sound from behind the two of you.

“You’re seeing him now.”

Joaquin.

His voice is calm but cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth it usually carries. You turn, relief washing over you like a wave as he stares down Landon. He looks different, not angry but protective as his eyes narrow and he walks towards you.

With ease, his hand instinctively settles on your waist, his thumb tracing gentle circles as if silently asking, ‘are you okay?’

You nod up at him, and his gaze shifts back to the blonde beside you.

“Oh, Torres,” Landon says, straightening his posture despite the tension radiating off him. “I didn’t realize you two were a thing.”

Joaquin practically scoffs.

Bullshit.

Everyone knows you two are together—he makes sure of that. Your boyfriend treats you like you’re every star in the galaxy wrapped into one, making it hard for him to stay grounded when he’s with you. He isn’t shy about showing it; loud in the best way, and more importantly, proud. There isn’t a single person in that entire building who doesn’t know he’s yours.

So he reads Landon’s lie right through his horribly fake white teeth.

“You need something, man?” Joaquin asks with a faux friendly tilt of his head, as his cheeks grow read with a jealous heat.

Landon blinks, pushing himself off of the balcony with pursed lips. “Just saying hi.”

Joaquin lets out a laugh—one obviously forced and sarcastic, but equally as hostile. “Yeah, you’re the third guy tonight who’s tried to corner her just so he could ‘say hi.’”

A warm flush spreads through your stomach at his words and the way his hand massages your hip protectively. You can’t take your eyes off him, studying the side of his face as his jaw clenches—whether consciously or not. His eyes aren’t dark, but they hold a sternness that warns the blonde while quietly reassuring you.

Landon, who seems to finally catch the hint, raises his hands in mock surrender and begins backing away. “Alright, alright, my bad. I’ll go.”

Joaquin nods once, slow and easy. “Right.”

Taking the hint, Landon retreats quickly, weaving through the crowd to put distance between himself and the two of you.

When he’s finally gone, you allow yourself a deep exhale as your shoulder muscles loosen. Joaquin turns towards you fully, his hand gently brushing your arm.

“You good?” He asks, eyebrows knitting in concern as he scans your face for any sign of discomfort.

You can’t help but smile up at him, the action coming instinctively. You don’t say anything, only nod your head as an answer. Your silence, accompanied by the way you stare up at him with sparkles in your pupils, makes him still.

He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk of suspicion as he side-eyes you. “What?”

“Nothin’.” You hum simply, reaching down to tangle your hands in his. “I was trying to get rid of him all night, y’know?”

Joaquin nearly grumbles at the mention of Landon. “I know. It’s not your fault, baby,” He spares a glance in the direction of the door where the other man has disappeared. “He should know better. They all should.”

You watch the way his scowl contorts into something similar to a frown.

“Is it not obvious that I’m your boyfriend?” He asks, his lips puffing out in a pout that makes you want to lean up and capture it between your own lips.

“Oh, believe me, they know,” You answer, reaching your hand up to run it gently through the curls on his head. “I just don’t think they care.”

He scoffs but his eyes are on you now, watching your face like he can’t be bothered looking anywhere else. “I’ll kick all of their asses.”

You hum out a noise of satisfaction, raising your eyebrows. “I’d like to watch that.”

“You would?”

“Mhm,” You smile. “You’re pretty hot when you’re jealous.”

His shoulders straighten, like your comment gave him an automatic confidence boost. “I am?”

You nod your head, fingers trailing down the sides of his face to brush over his soft skin gently. “You got all serious and scary. I never see you like that.”

“Cause I’ve got no reason to be,” He says, letting you run your fingers over his face like you’re just desperate to be that close. “Except for when weird guys flirt with my girl all night. I mean, I was right by you for half of them, that’s just ridiculous.”

A small giggle leaves your mouth, hands dropping to find his hands again. You twist one of the rings on his thumb, eyes blinking up at him with such admiration, you thinks you might explode.

Joaquin treats you with a kindness and devotion you once thought existed only in romance novels and movies. He worships the ground you walk on, and in moments like this, when every glance and touch is focused on your comfort and safety, you can’t help but feel like royalty.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, watching your gaze flicker across his face.

With a small shrug of your shoulders, you respond simply, “How lucky I am.”

“I see,” He nods, a playful smile stretching across his cheeks. He brings your hands up to his mouth, taking a moment to place a soft kiss on the back of each one. “I’d actually like to argue that I’m the lucky one. Clearly, every other guy thinks he’s got a shot, but I’m the only one who gets to hold you,”

A smirk curls up at your mouth, as you watch him plant kisses on your fingers like you’re a delicately crafted statue that he doesn’t want to risk damaging.

“I’m the only one who gets to kiss you,” His lips against your skin sends a vibration of goosebumps across your body. “To make love to you.”

Warmth pools at the bottom of your stomach, his words igniting a heat that only Joaquin is capable of bringing to life. Your teeth find the corner of your inner cheek to chew on. “Quin,”

“Not much of a competition between me and them, right, mi amor?” His voice is sultry and flirtatious as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. He’s teasing you because he knows exactly what to say to make you squeeze your legs shut and leave you wanting more.

You’d take him right there if you weren’t publicly exposed thanks to the glass doors that revealed the two of you to the party like an open book. Instead, you squeeze his hand and tug him closer, chest lightly bumping against yours. “I’m yours.”

A hum leaves his mouth, his beautiful curls dropping over his forehead as he looks down at you. Completely enamored by the loving haze dancing across your eyes like smoke, he smiles, his arms finding their spot on your waist again. “Good.”

His fingers trail across your back, with a light touch that tells you he was doing it on purpose. It has your breath rattling in the back of your throat, burning with a thirst only he can quench.

“You wanna head back inside?” He asks, casually and composed.

You want to scold him for his blatantly obvious taunting. He knows what he’s doing and he’s doing it well. “You’re gonna get me all riled up and then ask if I wanna go back inside?”

Joaquin raises his eyebrow in an effort to pretend he hadn’t been whispering sweet nothings on purpose. “What do you mean?”

With a roll of your eyes, you nudge him on the arm. “You’re an asshole.”

He laughs, the sound warm as it bounces off of the balcony and through the chill air of the night. His smile nearly reaches his eyes, impossibly gorgeous in a way that makes you smile too. “I’m your asshole.”

“Ew.” You whine, but hold him close to you anyways. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How else am I supposed to say it?” He grins, head dipping to press a gentle kiss to the side of your cheek.

Your eyes flicker shut in satisfaction, just as his small path of kisses trails to your lips. When your mouths press against each other, you’re humming into the kiss, holding him there with a hand behind his neck.

The kiss is sweet—hungry—but sweet, how it always is with Joaquin. You kiss each other like it’s the first time you’ve ever done so. No matter how many moments your lips have met, they move in a unison that makes every shared exchange feel fresh and youthful.

You never get tired of it. It’s a pleasure that comes with a fervent beating of your heart and a bubbling of your stomach, like your insides are made out of the same sparkling champagne you’d long abandoned inside. Kissing him—being with him—makes you feel light on your feet, like you’re floating on Cloud 9.

“My girl.” He mumbles against your lips as the two of you slowly part.

“Always.” You say, leaning back to look at his face.

He licks his lips, playfulness glinting in his eyes. “You taste like sugar.”

You giggle as you grab his hand to begin tugging him back inside the party where all of your friends are waiting—Yelena, who you promised you wouldn’t abandon that night, likely more impatient than the rest.

“You’d know,” You respond. “I’ve been drinking ‘Falcon’s Flight’ all night.”

He lets you drag him, following behind like a puppy. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You laugh. “Shut up.”

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autisticoscarpiastri · 28 days ago

Note

Hiiii can you please do one where it’s reader and Daniel, (and Oscar)

So basically Oscar doesn’t know reader is dating Daniel so he asks her out but then finds out they’re dating and then gets super shy and mad at himself for hitting on a taken woman but reader didn’t mind and neither did Daniel and they ask him to join

You can have her too - DR3 & OP81 🔥

masterlist

Summary: Oscar quietly falls for you, only to discover you’re already seeing Daniel Ricciardo — until both of you reveal you’re into him too. What starts as heartbreak turns into the night of his life, with Daniel and you seducing him into a shared, worship-heavy threesome that leaves Oscar dizzy, ruined, and adored.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, threesome (M/M/F), oral (F receiving, M receiving), praise kink, voyeurism, light cuckquean/cuckolding themes, emotional intensity, soft dom!Daniel, gentle first-time energy with Oscar, group sex dynamics, aftercare.

Oscar didn’t mean to fall for her. It started the way these things always did, too many weekends in too many paddocks, laughing over coffee in the hospitality lounge, catching her smile across the motorhome hallway. She was smart, quick-witted, way too pretty to be single, but she never mentioned anyone. Never posted anyone. Always alone.

So he asked her out. Simple. Quiet. After a long day of media. She was packing up her laptop and he scratched the back of his neck, leaned on the doorframe of the McLaren motorhome, and said:

“So, uh. Would you want to maybe… grab a drink sometime?”

She blinked. Looked up from her screen. “You’re asking me out?”

“Only if you want me to.”

A beat. Then she smiled. “That’s really sweet, Oscar.”

He smiled too. Nervous. A little hopeful. But then she added, softly, “I should probably tell you… I’m seeing someone.”

He deflated immediately. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I probably should’ve said that earlier. I didn’t think-"

“No, no, it’s totally fine,” he rushed out. “I just… didn’t know.”

There was an awkward silence.

And then, of all people, Daniel strolled in. “Hey babe,” he said, casual as ever, leaning down to kiss the top of her head and steal the pen out of her hand. “Ready to head back?”

Oscar froze.

She met his eyes. A little sheepish. “Oscar, you know Daniel, right?”

“Yeah,” Oscar muttered, staring at the man who’d just kissed the girl he’d asked out sixty seconds ago. “We’ve met.”

He avoided them for two days after. Not in a dramatic way. Just… subtly. No shared rides. No lingering in hospitality. No stupid jokes in the engineering room. He couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking stupid he must’ve looked.

Flirting with someone Daniel Ricciardo was dating. Asking her out when Daniel had probably been fucking her for months.

He hated himself a little. But then came Saturday night. Post-qualifying. Team dinner. A little too much wine. And she sat beside him again.

"You've been quiet," she said softly, when Daniel got up to grab drinks. "Avoiding me?"

He flushed. “No. I mean-maybe. I didn’t want to make things weird.”

“They’re not,” she said. “We liked it.”

He blinked. “You… what?”

“The way you looked at me,” she said. “The way you asked. It wasn’t creepy. It was sweet.”

Oscar opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Then Daniel came back, slid into the booth beside them, and dropped a hand to her thigh like it was normal. “You tell him yet?” Daniel asked her.

She smiled. “Just did.”

Oscar stared between them. Daniel grinned. “Mate,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I asked out your girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “And she liked it.”

Oscar flushed again. “That doesn’t mean-”

Daniel leaned in. “It means,” he said slowly, “if you want her, you can have her.”

They didn’t take him back to his room. They took him to Daniel’s. The door locked behind them with a soft click.

Oscar stood awkwardly for a second. Jacket still on. Shoulders tense. You stood in front of him, hands on his chest, and looked up through your lashes. “You nervous?” you asked gently.

He nodded. Daniel came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, pressed his mouth to your ear.

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “You’ve got two people here who want to make you feel really fucking good.”

And then you kissed him. Oscar melted. Soft at first. Tentative. Your hands cradled his jaw, lips warm, slow, patient. Daniel stood behind you, hands moving up your sides, watching as Oscar’s hands settled on your hips.

When the kiss deepened, when you tilted your head and slipped your tongue past his lips, Oscar groaned.

You smiled. “That’s it.”

Daniel moved around you, caught Oscar’s mouth in a kiss of his own, and fuck did that break him. He let go.

The clothes came off in pieces. Your dress. Oscar’s shirt. Daniel’s hoodie. Shoes kicked into corners. Laughter and breath and skin against skin. They laid you down on the bed like you were something sacred.

Daniel kissed your neck. Oscar kissed your thighs.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Oscar whispered, mouth hovering just above your pussy. “Can I-?”

“Please,” you moaned.

He licked a stripe through your folds. Shuddered. “Fuck…”

Daniel smirked, watching your body arch, one hand on your chest, the other stroking himself lazily. Oscar buried his tongue in you like he was starved. Like he’d been dreaming about it. Messy. Deep. Moaning into your pussy like he couldn’t help it. His hands gripped your thighs, kept you open, took everything you gave him.

You came once on his mouth. Then Daniel pulled him up and kissed him, licked your taste off his lips, and flipped you onto your hands and knees. Oscar’s breath caught.

You looked back over your shoulder. “You ready, baby?”

He nodded.

“Come here.”

Daniel lined himself up behind you. Slid in slow. Deep. Familiar. You moaned, head dropping, body trembling.

Oscar sat in front of you, panting, hard, unsure. You reached for him. “I want you,” you said softly.

He let you pull him forward. Let you take him in your mouth, slow and careful, eyes locked as Daniel fucked you from behind.

The bed shook. Your moans were muffled. Daniel’s hands gripped your hips.

“Such a good girl,” he groaned. “Letting us both use you. So fucking perfect.”

Oscar came first, with a hand in your hair and your lips around his cock, eyes wide, chest heaving. Daniel didn’t stop. Just moved you back onto your back, lifted your leg, fucked you into the mattress until you were crying his name, coming again with his mouth on your tits and his cock deep inside you.

He came with a low fuck, buried inside, forehead pressed to yours. They collapsed on either side of you, breathless. And you just smiled. “Told you it wasn’t weird.”

216 notes · View notes

autisticoscarpiastri · 28 days ago

Text

the price of neediness

lewis hamilton

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (40s/20s), (slight) sugar daddy!lewis, gentle sex, dirty talk, cowgirl position, body worship

author's note: back for hiatus! recovery from surgery is going well, feeling like a brand new person and about 10lbs lighter! hoping to get back into the game with writing fan fics! i hope ya'll enjoy this!!

How Lewis spoke to you left shivers down your spine. There was something about the older man that mad you straighten up your posture and keep your eyes on how his hands grazed across your skin.

"Feel like heaven." He said softly, you wrapped up in the softness of his sheets, "look like it too." His chuckle was soft as well as his hands slid across your middle, "Pretty little thing." He near cooed as he leaned over to kiss you gently on the lips.

"Sir." You whispered, the pleasure thick in your core.

“You’re such a needy girl”

It was a glamorous little life. To be the beloved arm candy of one of the most famous drivers to ever drive for Formula One. Well, most thought it was just simple arm candy. You were a darling for the press, they simply ate you out. But the age gap was one that cold raise a few eyebrows. You didn't care, you were happy.

And while you could have survived without the luxury, Lewis had a habit of spoiling you. At first it left you flustered, but eventually you took to it quite well. Often calling you the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on - so why not adorn you in the most beautiful things the world had to offer?

The sentiment made your cheeks run hot and when he said it you immediately hid your face from slight embarrassment. When he managed to pry your hands away from your face, he kissed you and you made you promise him not to hide your face like that.

"I want to see your face when I treat you."

"You don't need to spend money on me."

He smiled, the kind of smile that twinkled in his dark eyes, "I don't need to. I want to. That's the difference, my dove." Then kissed you once more.

He did have his favourite when it came to things you wore - one of those things was his clothes. While it wasn't the most sexy article of clothing. The over-sized fit of the Ferrari red t-shirt looked nice on you. A little more form fitting, due to the shape of your body - but you looked good in. Especially when you reached up to fix one of the framed photos of on that wall that had gone crooked.

The peek of your round ass was all he could eye while he sat on the couch. He swallowed back the lust as he asked, "Now where did you get that, my dove?"

You looked over your shoulder while you settled fully back on your feet. You looked over your shoulder, your eyes glanced towards him. Then you said very casually, "Found it in your drawer, didn't think you'd miss it too much."

He chuckled as he shifted in his spot on the couch. Pretty little thing. Soft ass with softer thighs - the kind of skin that marked easily between his teeth. The roundness of your face and the slight pout in your lips. Not to mention your large breasts that Lewis often thought about during his off-time while you were apart.

You were his dove, his perfect beauty. So to see you covered in the logo of his new team left him feeling a little excited.

"You're finally learning what's mine is yours." He said as he spread his legs a little more, "Can I get a closer look at you?" And his gaze lingered on you as you approached him, then ended up in his lap.

His hands traced the logos of the shirt before he cupped your breasts in both his hands. They fit just right. He licked his lips and met your eyes.

"Like what you see, honey?" You asked coyly.

"No one ever told you looked good in red?" Then broke out a proper grin. He was smitten, horribly so. But he didn't care, not when you were in his lap looking like an angel from the heavens above.

"No. But I have a feeling you like me in this colour." You then carefully pulled his hands away from you and added, "I wonder what it would look like on the floor?" Then got the shirt over your head and tossed over your head. Your soft curves were on display, every inch exposed to your lover.

"Where did you get this?" He said as he played with the strap of the bra you wore. It was a light grey colour and did not match the blue panties you had on.

"Discount section of the department store." you replied with humour.

He laughed, "I could have bought you something nicer. Something that matched." And you laughed as well.

You placed a hand on his chest and leaned in further, "Why? Do you not want to fuck me now, Mister Hamilton?" Then you winked at him.

He shifted in his spot and held his smile, "Oh, dove. I would fuck in a Red bull t-shirt or a potato sack."

You snickered, "What's the difference?"

He cupped your ass in his hands and raised his eyebrows, "That's my girl." Then laughed before you moved your hips up against his cock. He could feel the shudder of pleasure course through him. He stopped you prematurely and said, "Let's get a little more comfortable."

Then both of you worked to get his cock out of his sweatpants before your mismatched pair of bra and panties were tossed somewhere in the living room. But it didn't matter - he 'd happily buy you the same set if you so desired.

His hands roamed your body, you were so warm under his touch. You looked like one of those classic paintings he had seen in museums over the years. Curves in ways that made his mouth water, a laugh that pulled him in like a ship to shore. A beautiful woman in his lap, that thrilled him like no other. It was why he wished to spoil you, adore you - give you anything you desired. Because you had given him everything he needed and so much more.

He admired you once more, the flutter of pleasure in your chest before you took a hold of his shoulders. You rubbed them gently as he helped you onto his cock, then slowly you sank down on it. Your thighs framing his. This felt right, you felt right in his arms.

Your pussy wrapped around his cock - it felt perfect. And when you started to move your hips, the feeling only felt more real. This was the best feeling he ever had - more so than all those wins, in all those cars. To have you in his lap, your painted nails dug into his strong shoulders while you worked yourself on his cock. Now that was a perfect feeling - a right feeling.

You two shared a kiss, your eyes closed as your soft lips pressed against his. He took a hold of your ass, the flesh under his grasp as he guided you further onto his cock. He set the pace in a way that made your soul sing from the heat of the pleasure that wrapped you up.

The feeling of him around you felt welcoming - warm in a way that kept your body moving. You chased after the pleasure that bloomed in your heart. Took in the sight of the handsome man that you're riding. His cock that rubbed up against all the right spots, the pleasure that continued to build up in your body. You panted a little heavier as you felt heat sting your cheeks. Your body moved so well against his.

And how he held you made you feel adored, beautiful with every inch of skin on display. When he licked his lips you felt a shudder run through you.

"Look at you." He praised, "Can't ever get enough of you. Love the sight of you on top of me." He continued to palm at your ass while you picked up the pace of your movements. You felt the pleasure on the tip of your tongue, as did he.

Another passionate kiss was shared and you soon held onto the back of his head to deepen the kiss. You moaned against his lips and the movement of your hips increased, pleasure flowed through both of you with excited want.

He groaned against your lips as the pleasure mounted for him. Never had he had a woman like you, a lover like you. That was why he was so keen on making you feel as well as you could. He would do everything in his power to make sure that you experienced only heightened euphoria.

You kissed the corner of his mouth before you pulled away and gazed down at him lovingly. Your body moved against his and the pleasure continued to course through you. You licked your lips and admired him, "Lewis."

"Dove." He replied softly, the look in his brown eyes only spurred you on further. The feeling of your bodies together only heightened the lust. That he could simply have you in his lap and he got to watch your rut against him.

"Fuck." You gasped as the pleasure quickly became too much. Your movements became less focused, the speed was quick as you needed you climax. You clutched onto him tightly by the biceps once more as you worked your achy thighs and your pussy clenched around his cock.

He shared another kiss with you before you finished around his cock. Your wetness dripped down his balls and the leather of the couch. The kiss was heated and he gripped onto you tightly to make sure that you kept those hips moving while he was close to his own climax.

"Lewis." You whined.

"Beautiful." He said with lust heavy in his tone. He moved you up and down his cock. The pleasure mounted in him before he shared another tender kiss with you. The kiss was heated, but tinged with sweetness as he got you fully down on his cock. With that he finished inside of you with a visible tension then relaxation of his body.

He groaned against your lips and you moaned in response. You held onto him tightly, wrapped up in each other's pleasure for a few more thrusts of your hips before they died down to a stop. You stayed straddled in his lap and tenderly kissed him.

"You look good in my colours." He said with a smile.

"I'd look even better with your logo on." you winked in response, "Maybe a pair of panties will do. Something on you'll see." And he pulled you in for another hot kiss.

"That sounds like a great idea, dove." He purred, "And I'm sure you'll make the logo look fantastic." You couldn't wait to tell him that you already a pair in the same drawer he happened to have a velvet box in.

But you weren't going to give away your surprise until he gave away his. But you had a feeling his was more expensive. <3

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autisticoscarpiastri · 29 days ago

Text

in the still quiet of night

daniel ricciardo

tags: smut/pwp, breeding kink, trying for a baby, missionary, sweet/dirty talk, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), sweet!daniel

author's note: i hope everyone enjoys this! still getting my handle back on writing fan fiction so i hope that everyone enjoys this!

"There she is." Daniel cooed as he crowded your space. His large hands had your hips pressed up against the counter top. There was a sleepy look in his brown eyes as he leaned in to kiss you on the forehead, "Where did you go, angel?"

You couldn't help but notice the erection in his boxers as he pressed up against you. You held the plastic water glass to your lips and smiled softly, "Thirsty."

"Could have given you something to quench it." He purred before he went it to kiss you along your neck. You clutched onto his shoulder with one hand while his trimmed beard tickled the side of your neck along with his kisses.

"Fuck, Danny."

"Always love how you say my name, beautiful." His voice a low purr as he pressed you further against the cold counter.

Not that it was anyone's business, but you two were on a little vacation. After two years married and three years post-retirement from racing - you two were now trying for a baby. Little chubby Ricciardo baby at your hip.

And Daniel was taking every opportunity to make sure no moment was wasted. As if you didn't have almost all the time in the world to start your little family. Now, you were pressed up against the kitchen counter with your husband's lips at your neck and his hands pushing up the tank top you wore.

"Looking good, angel." He said lowly as his kisses led over your cheek and near your lips, "Taste good too."

"Yeah that's all the drool from my sleep." You said cheekily before you put the glass down then wrapped your arms around his neck. He pulled you in closed by the hips and kissed you deeply.

Even with his scratchy beard, you felt something stir in you. Even with your mild exhaustion, you felt the thrill of pleasure climb through you. You moaned into the kiss and he held on a little tighter.

He held you like he did when he came out victorious from a race. How he grabbed you by your behind and kissed you mere moments after his helmet was taken off. Sometimes he dame near threw the helmet to the side just to his hands on you. You really were his everything in the end. It was why he promised to marry you after his retirement - a promise that he kept when he popped the question years earlier.

You moaned further into the kiss before he pulled away. He cupped your face and then pinched your cheek before he herded you back into the bedroom. Your little love nest for the rest of the vacation - a shame too. The little island you were visiting had the nicest beaches and the most delicious local cuisine.

But you could always come back once you had your baby. This vacation had a mission attached to it, and while the beaches were lovely - your husband's cock was better.

"Missed you in bed." He cooed as he got you on your back with his hand snaked up under the shirt you wore. He leaned in closer, his nose once again to your neck, "Missed you so much, angel."

His words were like honey that pooled in your gut. There was something about how Daniel spoke to you at that moment, with sleep still tinged in his voice. But the excitement still rang through.You moaned as he toyed with your breast and rubbed himself against you further.

"Drive me crazy, baby." He said, "Nice little vacation to get you relaxed to have my baby."

You moaned, "Keep talking like that and we're gonna have six kids eventually."

He laughed lowly as he played with your nipple between his fingers, "Be more than happy to have a full house with you, angel. Hope they're all as beautiful and funny as you." He then got the shirt over your head before he started to kiss your chest. He groaned against your flushed skin, "No idea what you do to me, baby. How much you turn me on."

You helped him by getting your sleeping shorts off and he got himself out of his clothes. All that strong, lean muscle and tattoos stirred something more in you. Your husband was unmistakable hot, in a way that made you rub your legs together with anticipation.

"Staring?" He asked.

"Can't help it." You replied as you moved up onto the pillows.

"Like what you see, sweetheart?" he asked before he took you by the legs and got them around his waist. He admired you for a moment, in the low light of the bedroom. How sweet you looked under him.

The love of his life, how lucky he was to have met you. For you to let him love you - it was something he could not thank you enough for. He ran his hands up and down your soft thighs and admired you.

His cock was at full attention as his brown eyes drank in the sight of you - you looked divine under him. He leaned forward, his cock pressed up against you. He then kissed you deeply on the lips and held onto your thighs a little tighter.

"Look at you." he then mused, "My sweet wife. Fuck, you're beautiful, angel." His voice low and it sent ripples through you, "I knew from the moment I met you that I wanted you in my life always. My special wife."

You blushed, "Danny."

"I love you."

"I love you too." The tenderness if your voice was hitched as he sank his cock inside of you. You reached for him and held onto his shoulders while the two of you rocked against one another. No protect needed, you two were on a mission tonight.

You moaned and he chased it with kisses, his lips sealed against yours as he held on to get the best leverage to rut his body against you. It felt amazing, there were no other words for it. It sank something deep in his core as he moved his hips in time with yours.

You two were the perfect couple, happily married. And neither of you would want anyone else. Two perfect pieces of a similar whole and as Daniel continued to rut against you - he felt complete.

Another tender kiss was shared and he hiked your hips a little higher to move himself against you. You held onto his face, his beard soft under your fingers while he moved up against you at a steady pace. You moaned a little louder against your husband.

"Remember the first time I saw you on the track." He mused when he looked at you once more. He rocked himself against you, "Fuck remember it like yesterday. How you looked in those tight shorts. I remember I wanted to take you out for a nice dinner."

You chuckled lightly, "and you also wanted the shorts over the back of the couch in your driver's room, right? I remember that quite well." You mused which made your husband grow a bit more flustered.

"I'm not an animal." He defended.

"I know, honey." You replied, "Never worried about that. I just know I have a certain charm that only works on you."

"And I'd rather it only be me who is effected."

You pulled him in once more and you two shared another kiss while his pace quickened.

He groaned, "You feel amazing, baby. So fucking good for me. Look how you look under me." He shuddered as he felt the flowering feeling of pleasure curl in his gut. He continued his quickened pace and hiked your hips up a little bit more to get at best possible angle he could have you in.

"Please." You moaned.

"That's it, that's what I like to hear. Feel like heaven angel. And you're all mine - lucky me." He purred as his strokes increased in speed. Your moans were rather loud and the bed rocked against the wall.

The two of you were wrapped up in one another and the warmth spread through your body. It was exhilarating in a way that made your back arch as you held onto your husband's shoulders.

Tattooed hands grazed across your skin and you felt the pleasure only grow further in your core. It left you excited in a way that made moans slip past your lips.

"Gonna have a baby with you." He said lowly, "Have a nice little family with you. Fuck, that's it, baby. Take me. Take all of me."

Your nail dug into his shoulder a little tighter and soon the pleasure felt so much closer inside of you. You gasped loudly as he continued to fuck you with such a feverish pace that you could feel your heart racing in the back of your mind.

"Danny."

"My girl." He purred before he sealed your lips into another heated kiss. He held onto your hips tightly and fucked you the way a husband should fuck his life. And it made you only curl closer to towards him.

You moaned into his kiss once more before you came around his cock. You held on as tight as you could, leaving trails of red across his beck. You swore under your breath when the kiss broke and pleasure consumed you. It elated you, it made your soul burn in a certain way that pleasure felt like a kiss from the heavens.

To make love to your husband always felt like an experience like no other. Especially when he fucked you through climax. He continued his quick movements and clung to you as he finished inside of you.

"I love you." he said between heavy pants.

"I love you too." you said in response as you both came down from your highs, "I wonder if it worked this time." You were soon at your side next to your husband.

He kissed across your flushed cheeks for a moment before he said to you softly, "Well, even if it doesn't. We still have a whole vacation to make sure it does." And sealed that promise with another tender kiss.

Just like how Daniel promised to marry you, he would keep his promise to grow your little family. <3

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