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dark-formula1-story · 5 days ago

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Velvet Cage

The sun bled across Monaco like a predator licking its lips — warm, slow, and watchful. Inside the penthouse above the city, silence lingered like perfume. Yn stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, the hem of Lando’s shirt brushing her bare thighs, a coffee mug cooling in her hands. Her neck still stung faintly where he’d bitten her that morning.

She loved it. Loved the way he touched her like she was something his. Loved how he always seemed to need her more than air.

Behind her, the bedroom was a mess — tangled sheets, the scent of sex and cologne soaked into the pillows, bruises blooming on her hips where his fingers had gripped too tightly the night before. But she didn’t mind.

She didn’t see it the way others would.

To her, it wasn’t control. It was passion.

To her, it wasn’t a warning. It was love.

The sound of feet brushing over marble floors stirred the air. Lando appeared behind her like a shadow — shirtless, hair still damp from the shower, that usual hunger glowing in his eyes. Not the innocent kind. The kind that devoured.

His arms snaked around her waist before she could turn, and he pressed his body flush against her back.

“You weren’t in bed,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “You always stay in bed after.”

“I just wanted some air,” Yn said softly, leaning into him without thinking.

He buried his nose in her neck and inhaled deeply. “You smell like me,” he whispered. “I love that.”

His hands roamed — lazy, possessive, like he was reminding her of who she belonged to. One hand slipped under the shirt, splaying against her bare stomach.

She gasped lightly. “Lando…”

“You’re mine, Yn.” His teeth grazed her shoulder. “All of you.”

She turned then, cupping his face, smiling up at him like he was her sun. “Of course I am.”

He kissed her hard — nothing sweet about it. It was deep, claiming, like he wanted to consume her.

And she let him.

---

He dressed her in silk that day. Cherry red. Barely decent. A whisper of a dress that clung to her like water and showed far too much leg. When she questioned it, he only grinned.

“I like when they look at you and know they can’t touch you,” he said, zipping it slowly. “It drives them insane.”

Yn didn’t notice the flash of something darker behind his eyes.

She just laughed and smoothed her hair.

He chose her shoes. Her earrings. Her lipstick. Every detail. Because she was a masterpiece — his masterpiece. No one else got to frame her. No one else got to have her.

As she twirled for him in the hallway, he leaned against the wall and pulled her into his lap with no warning. She squealed, caught off guard, but he was already kissing her neck again.

“You always distract me,” she whispered, breathless.

“That’s the idea,” he said, voice a whisper of silk.

“Maybe I should call—”

“No.” His tone sharpened like glass. Then it softened again, too quickly. “No calls. Just us today.”

“But Carlos—”

“Forget him.”

That tone. That edge. She paused. For just a second. But Lando kissed her again, rougher this time, dragging her attention back to him.

Back to his touch.

Back to the heat crawling under her skin.

She forgot all about the phone call.

---

They didn’t go out.

They never really did anymore.

Lando ordered dinner to the penthouse, lit candles, played her favorite playlist. He fed her from his fingers — slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving hers. And when she laughed and spilled wine, he licked it off her collarbone like it was sacred.

Later, as she lay naked in their bed, flushed and pliant beneath him, he whispered against her skin:

“No one gets to have you but me.”

She was too far gone to question the tremble in his voice.

---

One night, she found his phone unlocked. She wasn’t snooping — she just wanted to check the weather for the next day. But the first thing she saw was Carlos’s name.

Hundreds of unanswered messages.

Why haven’t you answered?

You were supposed to come to dinner

You’ve been different, mate

Is something going on?

I miss you. Just call me, bro

She frowned.

“Lando?” she called, stepping into the bathroom where he was shaving, towel low on his hips.

He looked up sharply.

“Why haven’t you answered Carlos?”

His eyes flickered.

“You shouldn’t go through my phone.”

“I wasn’t—I just wanted to see the weather.”

A tense pause.

Then Lando smiled. Too calm. Too smooth. He stepped toward her, taking the phone and setting it down. “He doesn’t matter.”

“He’s my brother.”

“He doesn’t know you like I do.”

She tried to speak, but he was already kissing her again, fingers sliding up under her shirt, touching skin he knew too well. His body pressing her against the wall like a shield.

“You always get scared when you start thinking,” he whispered against her lips. “Let me help you forget.”

And he did.

Again.

---

Carlos was starting to worry. Lando hadn’t come to family dinners. Hadn’t picked up calls. Hadn’t even posted. And his sister?

She barely texted anymore. Every message was one-liners. Dry. Short.

Good.

Fine.

Busy.

She wasn’t like that.

He didn’t know where she was. He didn’t know they were together. He didn’t know she was sleeping in Lando’s bed every night, marked and worshipped and blind to the storm building around her.

He didn’t know she wore a diamond necklace Lando gave her — not because it was beautiful, but because the clasp was too small for her to take off on her own.

He didn’t know she hadn’t had her own apartment key in months.

---

And still, Yn thought it was love.

Because he looked at her like she was air. Because he kissed her with heat. Because he whispered her name like a prayer. Because he needed her.

And love was about need, right?

Right?

She curled into him one night, completely bare, the air thick with their sweat and the sea breeze coming through the open window. He held her too tightly — like she might vanish if he blinked.

“You’ll never leave me,” he murmured against her temple.

She smiled sleepily. “Of course not.”

He kissed her shoulder.

“You don’t even see it,” he whispered. “But I’ve already made sure you can’t.”

---

My requests are open!

#dark f1 #dark fic #the dark side of f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x sainz!reader #sainz!sister #sainz!reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x sister!reader #carlos sainz x sainz!reader #couple

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dark-formula1-story · 13 days ago

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Could I request something please. Maybe a story where reader is the new intern at Mercedes and Toto becomes obsessed with her. So one day, when they are kissing and making our, Susie finds them and joins. Also, could the reader please be 19. That is like my hot fantasy

-🍁🍂

🔥THE WOLF'S OFFICE🔥

Yn had been warned.

Not in so many words, of course — no one said his name aloud, not when they meant that kind of warning.

But it was there in the way the other interns didn’t look at him too long. The way the engineers stood straighter when he passed. The way his office light stayed on long after midnight. The way Susie appeared at just the right moments, smiling like someone who’d seen it all and come back stronger.

And then there was her.

Nineteen. Too young. Too sharp. Too curious.

She didn’t stand a chance.

Not when Toto Wolff’s eyes finally landed on her.

It started with glances — but they weren’t harmless. Not with him.

He watched her the way a predator watches movement in the underbrush: patient, controlled, but unmistakably hungry.

She could feel it. The way his eyes lingered just a second too long. The slow sweep down her spine when she walked past in her tailored white blouse and fitted navy trousers. The way his tone changed when he said her name — low, drawn out, almost reverent.

“Yn.”

It wasn’t a name when he said it. It was a spell.

By the third week, he was in her head.

She dreamed of him behind her, whispering commands in a voice like cracked velvet. She’d wake up flushed and breathless, thighs pressed tight together, ashamed of how much she wanted more.

And then came the meetings.

He always sat at the head of the table, of course, but somehow his gaze found hers, always. Sometimes under the flicker of fluorescent lights. Sometimes during tense moments over data sheets. And when she spoke? He leaned in — elbow resting on the table, knuckle brushing his lips, that unreadable smile hovering like smoke.

“You have a sharp eye,” he said once.

“I try,” she whispered back, heart stumbling.

“You succeed.”

The hallway moment was a turning point.

She was alone, reaching for a file in the archive room. The ladder was missing. Typical. She stretched, blouse rising slightly as she reached upward, fingers grazing the folder but not catching it—

He stepped behind her without a sound.

“Let me help,” he murmured, voice right at her ear, so close she could feel the brush of his breath.

She froze.

Then his arm came up — around her waist, grazing the edge of her breast as he reached. His chest pressed to her back. Firm. Intentional.

The folder dropped onto the desk beside them, forgotten.

But he didn’t move.

His mouth was too close to her skin.

“This perfume,” he whispered. “It’s going to ruin me.”

She turned slightly, enough for her cheek to almost brush his lips.

“Then maybe I should stop wearing it,” she breathed.

He chuckled. Low. Dark.

“I’d rather burn.”

From there, the dam cracked.

He found reasons to call her in late. Redrafting data reports. Review sessions. Nothing that couldn’t have waited.

But she came. Every time.

And each time, his voice dropped lower. His body moved closer.

Until one night—

“Come to my office,” he said. Midnight. The factory empty. “Just you.”

Her hands trembled as she knocked.

The door opened before she could fully exhale.

The room was dark, save for the low lamplight by his desk.

He stood by the window, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows. No tie. Just heat.

“Lock it,” he said.

She did.

“Come here.”

The air between them was electric.

He circled her like something feral. One finger trailed up her arm, drawing goosebumps. He leaned in to speak just beside her ear, voice soft enough to melt her bones.

“I shouldn’t want you,” he said.

She swallowed. “Then don’t.”

He smiled. “I’ve never been good at denial.”

His hand slid to her waist. Gripped. Pulled her closer.

“Neither are you.”

She gasped — not from fear, but the sheer weight of him. The presence. The press of something ancient and devastating behind those cold blue eyes.

His thumb brushed her lower lip.

“Open,” he whispered.

She did.

And he kissed her.

It was all pressure — restrained at first, but just barely. His mouth was a study in contrast: soft lips, commanding motion. Her back hit the wall before she knew they’d moved. His knee wedged between her thighs, opening her slightly. His hands were large, greedy, one gripping the back of her neck, the other trailing down her hip like he owned it.

She moaned into his mouth. He swallowed it whole.

Clothes remained intact, but barely. Her blouse unfastened halfway. His shirt half-off, exposing the muscle underneath — hard, chiseled, made for war.

He didn’t rush.

He didn’t need to.

Toto Wolff devoured slowly. And it was worse — so much worse — because it made her want.

His lips dragged down her jaw. Her throat. His tongue flicked at the hollow where her collarbone curved. She arched into him, trembling.

“I could ruin you,” he said softly, licking the words against her skin.

“Then do it,” she whispered back.

The door opened.

Neither of them moved at first — their bodies frozen in heat, locked together, hearts racing like thunder.

“Am I… interrupting?”

Susie.

She stood in the doorway, calm. Polished. Wearing an ivory silk blouse tucked into high-waisted slacks, diamonds at her ears, and something far more dangerous in her eyes.

Toto stiffened.

“Sus,” he said, voice cracking.

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t look shocked.

She looked… pleased.

“I always said you’d break your own rules for something beautiful.”

She stepped forward.

Yn tried to move, to cover herself, but Toto’s hand on her waist kept her still.

Susie approached with the grace of someone who’d been here before. Who wasn’t afraid.

Her fingers reached out, gentle — and tilted Yn’s chin up.

“You really are stunning,” she murmured. “So young. So eager.”

Yn swallowed. “I didn’t—”

“I’m not angry,” Susie interrupted, brushing a thumb over her lip. “I’m intrigued.”

Her eyes flicked to Toto. “You were going to keep her all to yourself?”

He was silent.

Then, in a voice that sounded more like confession than defiance, he said:

“She’s mine.”

Susie smiled slowly.

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not until she says so.”

Then, to Yn:

“Do you want this?”

It wasn’t a question laced with jealousy. It was an invitation.

Yn trembled. She looked between them — the man who had haunted her dreams, and the woman who had just invited her into the fire.

And somehow, against all logic, all sense—

She nodded.

Susie kissed her.

Not fiercely. Not possessively.

Softly. As if Yn were something sacred.

Her hands slid up Yn’s neck, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her gently. The kiss deepened, slow and sinuous. Yn moaned softly — not from shock, but because she felt like she was falling into something bottomless and warm.

When Susie pulled back, she was smiling.

Toto stood behind Yn now, arms wrapping around her waist, mouth brushing her shoulder.

“You’ve been chosen,” he murmured.

“You belong to us.”

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Warning! This is just a story. None of this is happening in real life. This is a dark fic. The story is only here for entertainment and nothing else.

If you have any requests or what your fantasy to become reality, let me know!

#toto wolff x female reader #toto wolff x reader #susie wolff x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #the dark side of f1 #dark fic #dark f1 #mature content #18 + only #18 + content #mercedes

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dark-formula1-story · 14 days ago

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🔥 Bound 🔥

The world whispered. Always whispering. Always watching.

They didn’t understand.

To them, she was too young. Barely twenty, barely past the threshold of girlhood. He was nearly thirty-one, carved from the kind of experience they called danger and sin. Five a.m. training sessions, sponsor meetings, speed that blurred cities into streaks of memory. He'd lived ten lives by the time she turned eighteen. But none of them had meaning until she smiled at him for the first time.

She had just blown out the candles on a cake she didn’t even like. Surrounded by people who didn’t know her, in a dress her mother had picked, wearing makeup she hated. Her eyes had found his through the crowd. He stood in the corner, a stranger. Powerful. Famous. Dressed in quiet elegance, nursing a drink, expression unreadable—until he saw her.

And then he smiled.

He looked at her like he already knew the shape of her soul.

She had turned eighteen that night.

And everything changed.

---

Two years later, the world still hated what they were. They hated the fact that Yn turned twenty this year and Carlos, currently still 30, would turn 31 this year.

For the world, it was unimaginable that this relationship could ever worked, ever be something deeper than lust or sex.

But Yn didn’t care. And Carlos cared even less. Because nothing in his world—no championship, no car, no trophy—ever compared to her. She was his.

He needed to see her. Always. He needed her skin under his hands, her voice in his ears, her scent on his clothes. It wasn’t romance.

It was obsession.

It was a fire that never cooled.

It was lust wrapped in love, or maybe love so intense it turned into something darker.

He bought her silence with silk and diamonds, but she never asked for them.

She gave him her body because she wanted to. Because when he touched her, she didn’t feel nineteen. She felt infinite.

---

Their villa was perched on a private cliffside, wrapped in white stone and olive trees. The pool looked like it spilled into the sea.

Yn floated on her back, her skin kissed by sunlight, a soft smile on her lips. She was weightless. Free. Her long legs cut through the water, toes pointed. Her bikini was a thin red scrap that barely clung to her curves.

Carlos sat on the edge, watching.

He never swam until she did. He never moved unless it was toward her. Always toward her.

He watched the droplets slide down her neck. The way her chest rose and fell, nipples pebbling under the cold water.

He wanted to worship her.

He wanted to mark her.

He slipped in without a sound, stalking her like prey. His hands found her waist beneath the surface, hoisting her up easily. She let out a surprised laugh, immediately curling around him like she was made to fit there—legs locked around his waist, arms draped lazily over his shoulders.

Her face inches from his.

His grip was possessive. One hand wrapped firmly around her waist, the other sliding under her ass, palm pressed to the softest part of her. He gently pushed his hand in her swimming bottoms, fingers inching closer to her wet center.

"You’re never allowed to wear that bikini again," he growled.

She smirked. "You picked it."

"Mistake. A cruel one."

She leaned forward, lips brushing his. "Then take it off."

His kiss was immediate. Desperate. Not soft.

He tasted her like a starving man. Like every second he spent outside her was agony. His tongue immediately entered her mouth, fighting for dominance. He needed to taste her. It was like a wild urge in him.

His arm around her waist wrapped her even closer to him, pressing her firm breasts and hard nipples into his chest.

She moaned into his mouth, arching against him, grinding against the hardness beneath his swim trunks. Yn then started sucking on his tongue, with very much enthusiasm.

He pulled back slightly, breathing hard. His forehead pressed to hers. "Do you know what you do to me?"

"I have an idea."

"You don’t. You don’t see the way I look at you when you’re not watching. The way I check every room just to find you."

She bit her lip.

"Say it," he demanded.

"I’m yours."

"Louder."

"I’m yours, Carlos."

He kissed her again, pushing her back against the edge of the pool, water sloshing around them. One hand slid down her stomach, under the band of her bikini.

His fingers immediately found her center. He started rubbing her clit, with the speed of a Formula 1 car.

His other hand, the one that once held her up under her ass, now enter her fussy. His fingers met no resistance because of her wetness.

The finger inside of her immediately joined that fast pace of the ones rubbing her clit.

She gasped.

He didn’t stop.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

"Don’t you dare."

"Good girl."

---

After, they lay in the cabana, the fabric curtains fluttering around them. She wore one of his oversized shirts. Nothing else.

He watched her with heavy eyes, fingers lazily tracing circles on her bare thigh.

"You know what they say about us?"