#Lewis Hamilton and reader

[rana030]

Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

[f1amour]

「 ✦ F1 GRID — LETS GET PHYSICAL

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 navigation. | requests — open | main masterlist (coming soon)

drivers included | max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lando norris, oscar piastri, daniel ricciardo, franco colapinto, lewis hamilton

description | drivers and their favorite kinks

content warnings | mature content ahead — 18+ only, minors do not interact

authors note | hope everyone enjoys reading this one! if you have any requests for drabbles or blurbs involving those i write for please send it in and i will try to get it out as soon as possible <3 *not spelled checked*

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— 𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 ¹

҉ PRAISE KINK !

— whether he praised you or you praised him; max verstappen was an absolute whore for praising

— both in public and behind closed doors he would take the praises only from you. being a three time world champion as many reminded him of his accomplishments he’d down play it. but you? oh he loved when you’d sing his praises

— “you did so great out there, maxie. no one does it like you.” praising him in public after a great race would look like that. behind closed doors was another story; “right there, max. fuck you’re doing so well keep going.” “only you know my body, no one compares”

— on the other hand max loved praising you and he was an absolute menace for it when he’d have you bent over the bed fucking you with his hands gripping your hair; “come on, baby. squeezing me so tight you love being handled like this, hmm?” “you’re doing so well for me, baby.” “such a good girl for me.”

҉ QUICKIES !

— max loved taking his time with you but with his busy schedule especially on race weekends he couldn’t give you enough time. however, he always made the most of the 10-20 minutes you had together on any occasion.

— whether it be 10 minutes before he’s gotta go out for the national anthem or 15 minutes before he is due to attend the press conference he would grab you and take you in any room that had a lock. “fuck that’s it, you’re doing so good for me baby.” “gonna have you cum three times before i gotta be out there in ten minutes. you like that?”

— 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 ⁵⁵

҉ HAIR PULLING KINK !

— the man has beautiful hair…how can he not have a hair pulling kink?

— carlos loved pulling your hair whether it was while you rode his cock or he was taking you from behind; he loved having his hands in your hair

— but it was when you pull his hair that really gets him going both intimately but whenever you’d be watching a movie or out with friends your hand would go to the nape of his neck and travel up to his hair giving it a soft tug

— between your legs carlos is eating you out both sloppily and hungrily, tongue against your aching core his fingers now at your entrance giving you extra pleasure when they’re stretching you out, “fuck. just like that carlos,” you tangle your fingers in his hair giving it a rough tug when he rubs his thumb on your clit

— every thrust his fingers would give your cunt and tongue giving your folds so much attention you’d tug his hair closer to your pussy if that was possible; “fuck, baby, do that again. harder.” “god, hermosa, gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep pulling my hair like that.” “right there, keep doing that princesa. wanna suffocate in your pussy.”

҉ DIRTY TALK !

— his native language being spanish played a role in his love for dirty talking he loved the reaction he’d get out of you when you’d hear him speaking to you in spanish

— morning, noon, night; carlos fucked you any moment he had some free time which was rare but on those occasions he did he make sure to speak his dirty thoughts of you: and to you

— “fuck, my good girl, chokin’ on my cock” “that’s it, hermosa. let them all hear whose fucking your tight pussy…the only man who makes you cum.” “te ves tan perfecta para mí de rodillas llena de mí. mi bella princesa.”

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂 ¹⁶

҉ ORAL !

— charles loved having you on your knees mouth stuffed with his cock. your lips showing his tip some extra love with a few kisses after finishing in your mouth and you’d take him once again pulling him in your mouth again for another round.

— what he loved the most though? spending hours in between your thighs giving you multiple orgasms until you are begging him to stop (very rare to want him to stop)

҉ ROUGH SEX !

— despite seemingly carrying a calm demeanor around friends & family behind closed doors charles loved being rough with you in bed. especially after yet another week where ferrari fucks up his race he feels the best place to let out his stress and anger is on you. which you gladly took.

— rough and sloppy kisses you share entering his hotel room to his rough hands pushing you onto the bed and fucking you with his fingers until you’re squirting all over him and the bedsheets.

— your face pressed down on the mattress while he takes you from behind arching your back and yanking on your hair pulling you close to his chest he’d give you another rough thrush while whispering the most vulgar sentences to come out of his mouth.

— 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 ⁴

҉ COCKWARMING !

— sometimes being weeks apart from each other you wanted to feel as close as possible while catching up on what you’d miss. you’d get settled on his lap moaning at the feeling of him stretching you after being gone for so long. you’d get comfortable and you would both talk about what you had been up to the last few weeks

— streaming with max you’d make sure his camera was off before you climbed on his lap. he would be confused as to what you were doing but the moment you take his cock out of his briefs and sinking down on him he’d hold his moans in and grab your waist pulling you closer.

- turning his mic off he lets out a whine when you rock your hips against him, “fuck, baby, can’t do this right now i’m so close to winning.” you’d agree with him and tell him to finish the game you’ll just wait for him; still sitting on him with his cock deep inside you. safe to say he lost the game just to play again, enjoying the feeling of his cock resting inside you

҉ SHOWER SEX !

— lando loved it when he’d be showering and you’d join him halfway through giving him some extra attention that he desperately wanted. he loved the intimacy about it when you’d help rinse of the shampoo in his hair or how he’d glide the body gel all over your body

— you loved it when it was a post race win or podium and he’d drag you to the small bathroom in his drivers room and shove you against the shower wall giving your pussy some extra love while you pull on his hair before he would have his cock shoved deep in your aching cunt, getting some loud moans out of you which he’d cover up with a kiss

— 𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 ⁴⁴

҉ PHONE SEX !

— being a formula 1 driver was a demanding job which required lewis to travel almost all year long and you couldn’t always go along with him due to your job. you missed him all the time when he was gone but especially on the days when you were extra needy were the worst

— that’s why he’d stay on the phone with you all day despite his busy schedule. he’d have one airpod in while having to be in a meeting not listening to the less important subjects so he’d listen to you and what you were doing for the day

— but then on days where your vibrator wasn’t enough you’d call or facetime your boyfriend begging him to help you through your orgasm, it also helped that he had the most soothing voice that constantly brought you to tears when he’d have your face shoved on the mattress, ass pressed against him as he fucked you

— “oh…’m so close, lew” you’d whimper through the facetime call, your phone propped against your nightstand while you grind your aching cunt against a pillow. desperately needing more release your reach to rub your clit when lewis’ voice fills the phone, “i didn’t say you could do that, did i?” he questions, he was due to be in the media pen in 10 minutes but he wouldn’t let you take the easy way out to cum before he left

— “please, baby, need to cum please,” you beg lewis as your movements speed up. “don’t use your hand. keep fucking youself on my pillow, i’ll be home in a few days and take such good care of you. that’s it baby, be a good girl and cum for me.” his encouragement is more than enough to have you squeezing your breasts and nipples as your release spills all over the pillow

҉ MIRROR SEX !　

— you weren’t sure if it was you or lewis who decided adding a mirror to the ceiling of your bedroom was the best option for your sex life but either way you were two happy people

— you enjoyed watching lewis fucking you his eyes meeting your through the mirror; he loved having you bounce on his cock watching the way you threw your head back moans filling the room. he loved it so much he requested his drivers room to have a mirror on the ceiling as well. after many warnings not to they finally gave in and gave him what he (and you) wanted

— his hand around your throat with two fingers deep inside your pussy he’d whisper dirty thoughts into your ear, “you look so pretty for me like this. wanna see you cum for me, sweet girl. that’s it you’re squeezing my fingers so good,” you’d bite your lip trying to suppress your moans in the small room knowing anyone walking by could easily hear you

— 𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈 ⁸¹

҉ DRY HUMPING !　

— again, being a formula one driver was a demanding sport. a demanding sport that kept your sex life with oscar very low many, many, many times. so when you had the chance to feel a little bit closer to your boyfriend you took the chance.

— whether against the wall of his drivers room with your clothed pussy rubbing against his race suit or in bed on his lap before ha has to catch a flight to the next race; you were both absolutely infatuated with each other and dry humping

— drivers room; oscar would be leaned up against the wall while your hips grind against his thigh, “osc,” you whine as he moves your panties to the side rubbing your clit while you con the to fuck yourself on him, “shh, be a good girl for me and stay quiet. then after the race i’ll stuff you full of my cock all night.” his words have you biting down on his shoulder as you cum all over his thigh

҉ SQUIRTING !　

— he had discovered this one night while you both watched a movie, laying between his thighs your head pressed against his chest his hand trailed down to your shorts pulling them off with nothing else underneath he worked his fingers inside you. soon enough you had squirted all over his hand and bedsheets; a first for both of you

— that just started something inside oscar which was wanting to make you squirt any chance he got. you could be exhausted from work or a long flight but you’d let him have his way with you. at the end you’d be filling the room with sounds of pleasure as his fingers or cock fucked your tight cunt until he reached the exact spot that had you squirting all over him

— "so wet for me, and so fuckin' tight." "i can feel how close you are baby, gonna make a mess all over our sheets, hmm?" he praises you, his fingers curling deep inside you. his groans and your moans fill the room as you squirt all over his hand and sheets making a mess like he had said. pulling away from you he now plays between your thighs and smiles up at you, “time to clean this mess up.”

— 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 ⁴³

҉ DIRTY TALK !　

— you’ve seen franco in interviews he was a talker so it wasn’t a surprised he was a talker behind closed doors as well. he had a filthy mouth on him when it came to you and he never stopped praising you

— “eso es amor, apretándome tan bien. let me hear your pretty moans.” “cum all over my cock, amor. fuck, fuck—look so perfect for me.” “gonna let me fuck you against the door? gonna make sir everyone hears what a filthy whore you are.” you’d think by now you’d get tired of his constant yapping (sometimes you did) but when he fucked you? you loved hearing his voice the entire time

҉ ORAL !　

— the man was good with his tongue what more could you say? he was infatuated with having his tongue on your pussy for hours on end tasting how sweet you were. buried between your thighs as your hand stung on his hair, whines and moans escape your mouth begging him for more

— “franco, ‘m so close, right there,” you gasp feeling his tongue poking in your cunt as he devours you, “es todo princesa, déjalo ir por mí. mierda. sabes tan dulce.” you cum and he doesn’t let a drop escape his tongue as he licks you clean

— 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎 ³ [retired]

҉ THIGH RIDING !　

— the man had a tattooed thigh…how could you not want to ride it? it first started on a night out with friends enjoying the sunset at the beach when daniel placed you on his lap your hand traced circles on the tattoos that littered his thigh; one thing led to another and you snuck off to the car and he let your imaginations come to life

— at a club filled with loud music and dark lights you’d take advantage of the moment and grind yourself on his thigh enjoying the feeling, at home while he works on sending out some emails you’d keep him company with your core pressing against his thigh, anyplace and anywhere you were a menace for his thighs

— he loved it too, so much he’d started adding some more tattoos to his collection on his thighs which made you even more excited to ride him only to wait until he was healed to do so. you could ride his other thigh but something about fucking yourself on his tattooed thigh felt so so much more enthralling

— “you look so pretty like this, ridin' my thigh...makin' yourself cum.” “make yourself cum on my thigh right now, good girl. feels good, doesn't it?” his encouraging words bringing you to your third orgasm of the night just form riding his thigh, “come on, honey, gonna give me one more then i’ll fuck you for however long you want”

҉ FILMING !

— daniel loved having videos or pictures of the activities you got up to in the bedroom with each other. he loved watching the videos while he was away from you weeks on end. however, he loved it more whenever you got the chance to film each other especially for fun not because he’ll be gone for a few weeks and needed someone to fill the void

— daniel comfortably laying down between your thighs lapping at you like there’s no tomorrow, “danny, feel so good…oh,” you whine trying to hold the camera that was pointed at him steadily but you were so close. “that’s it baby, cum all over me you taste so fucking sweet. could never get enough of this,” he says only getting a second to breathe before he’s diving back between your thighs to bring you to your second orgasm of the night

— you loved the risk of having an album on your phones that were filled of videos and pictures of the two of you or sometimes of just one of you. you’d created a small album curated for daniel filled of pictures of you in lingerie or fully nude; the videos were another story. filled with you fucking yourself with your fingers, vibrator, a pillow; you made sure daniel was fulfilled for the weeks he wouldn’t have you

— daniel made a small photo album for you as well more so filled of the two of you, he knew how much you loved rewatching the videos of you two fucking. you loved the way he propped the camera against the nightstand and had you riding his cock until you begged him to let you cum or the time he fucked you in his drivers room facing the mirror on his door his hands on your breasts squeezing them while you rode him back against his chest holding onto the camera shakily and almost dropping it when he’d thrust up into your cunt

[maxtermind]

texting f1 drivers the morning after, thinking it's your bestfriend

★ : feat :: max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lando norris, oscar piastri, lewis hamilton

( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★ : a/n :: feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[ham1lton]

NOT A CHILL GIRL.

pairings: lewis hamilton x chronically online fiancée!yn

faceclaim: jordana brewster

summary: chronically online, funniest on the grid, and the proud owner of a face card that never declines—at least, according to yourself. your fiancé might raise an eyebrow at the first claim, the world might debate the second, but no one’s arguing with the third.

warnings: just jokes. don’t take any of this seriously.

author’s note: hope u enjoy bunny anon! :D

— small smau spinoff !

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram and 187,938 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: celebrity stylist, and fiancée of f1 legend lewis hamilton, yn yln took to instagram stories to share some concerning posts. what do we think about these captions, ham1ltons?

view all 23,837 comments

yourinstagram MAMA I MADE IT

— user1 yn you have dressed some of the top celebrities and this is what you’re excited over??

— user2 forget that. she’s fucking LEWIS HAMILTON!!! and this is what she’s excited over???

user3 this is a v tame post for yn LMFAO

— user4 like she’s posted worse 😭

user5 she’s so unserious i’m obsessed

— user6 my fav wag

user7 i love the fact she’s dressing zendaya, showing up to her hot fiancé’s races and still finds time to shitpost

— user8 she’s so me

user9 she should be embarrassed. she’s grown

— user10 she will never see this btw

user11 i need to know lewis’ thoughts on these posts

user12 she’s the moment. i want to be her so bad.

— user13 successful in her own right AND secured the bag. #needtoBEthat

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

INSTAGRAM LIVE

yn i’m using lewis’ ninja creami to make slushies and sydney isn’t picking up her phone because she’s on set. so entertain me, my little gladiators.

user1 what flavour slushie are you making and why is it pure tequila

yn no. it’s a margarita mix. mostly anyways. all about balance babes.

user2 worst red carpet outfit request you’ve ever gotten?

yn girl some actor asked me to dress him up in head to toe camo… i wanted to be sick.

user3 yn, when’s the wedding? lewis is literally ready to propose again.

yn not until jungkook confirms he’s off the market. i need to know i’m not leaving options on the table.

user4 did you see lando’s post underneath your birthday post to lewis.

yn i did and i’m angry. how dare he be funnier than me on my own shitpost.

user5 who’s better at gift-giving, you or lewis?

yn me. obviously. lewis once got me a pen because “it looked sleek.” it was a nice pen, but still a pen.

user6 yn, if you could style anyone in history, who would it be?

yn harry styles but in 2012. imagine the chaos if he let me near those blazers.

user7 how did you guys meet?

yn via a mutual friend at a party. i thought his choice of shoes was disastrous and he thought i was funny. so obviously i went home with him that night. then i fell in love or whatever.

user8 you are literally the blueprint for chaotic but lovable. never change.

yn never will, little gladiator. never will.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by yourinstagram, thirstystan1 and 1,098,125 others.

lewishamilton: sunday best, thank you theststyle

view all 19,827 comments

yourinstagram why won’t this damn app swipe RIGHT?!?!?

— lewishamilton wrong app sweetheart

— yourinstagram oh shit 😓 can you show me how to download the right one? ever since ashley madison shut down and farmersonly.com banned me for “unsolicited flirting,” it’s been tough out here.

— lewishamilton maybe try clownsonly.com—heard they’re taking new members.

— yourinstagram wow. this from the guy who once googled “how to impress a bad bitch” and got caught.

— lewishamilton a bad bitch was impressed, wasn’t she? checkmate.

— yourinstagram yeah, well, don’t get used to it. also, happy valentine’s, loser. 💖

— lewishamilton happy valentine’s, clown. ❤️

— user1 y’all are some weirdos 😭🩷

user2 YN GIVE HIM TO MEEEEEE

user3 #NEEDTHAT

— yourinstagram #TOOBAD

— user3 YN PLEASE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

user4 need this relationship NOW

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | two string bathing suit

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : your f1!boyfriend reacting to you showing him two strings as a bathing suit (tiktok trend - click for reference)

୨ৎ : genre : romance comedy ୨ৎ : tws : slightly suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 2073

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : a rare wednesday post that isn't a solo story !! also i will be putting a pause on request bc my inbox is flooded, but once i have released a majority of the stories (within the next few weeks everyday there will be a new post in honor of 10k) they will open up again ty guys so much for the support <3

ʚ・max verstappen

“max,” you called from the bathroom, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “don’t freak out.”

he barely looked up from his phone. “that’s the worst way to start a sentence.”

you stepped out, deadpan. wearing… if you could even call it that… a “swimsuit” made of two threads, three knots, and maybe half a square inch of material. total. it looked like it was crocheted by a sleep-deprived spider. you posed with a straight face.

max blinked. then blinked again, slower.

“no,” he said, setting his phone down with almost religious care. “absolutely not.”

“what do you mean?” you said, fighting to keep a straight face. “it’s trendy. minimalist.”

“that’s not minimalist. that’s missing.”

you twirled, the strings shifting dangerously. “it’s high fashion.”

max stood up like he was about to perform an exorcism. “that’s not fashion. that’s barely science. you could sneeze and the whole thing would combust.”

“i think it’s cute.”

“i think it’s… illegal.”

you walked over slowly. he didn’t move, just looked absolutely offended by the garment clinging to your body with the hope and optimism of dental floss. “so… i can’t wear it on the yacht?”

he stared at you, stunned. “if you wear that on the yacht, i’m jumping into the ocean and letting nature take me.”

you burst out laughing, and he immediately buried his face in his hands. “who sold you that? who allowed this to exist?”

“i made it myself.”

his head snapped up in horror. “what.”

“yarn. patience. emotional damage.”

max grabbed the nearest towel and threw it around your shoulders like he was shielding your soul. “you need help. professional help.”

you leaned in, still grinning. “so that’s a no?”

he groaned. “i love you. but you’re grounded.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you stepped out slowly. wearing… well, calling it a swimsuit would be legally questionable. two strings of yarn tied together with the optimism of a third-grader’s friendship bracelet. honestly, it looked like you raided a kindergarten art bin and called it couture.

lewis lowered his sunglasses.

paused.

stared.

“be honest,” he said, slowly standing up. “did you lose a bet? or is this, like, a charity stunt i don’t know about?”

you fought to keep a straight face. “it’s my new swimsuit. do you like it?”

“do i like it?” he walked in a slow circle around you, studying it like a museum exhibit. “you look like someone gave a hamster a crochet hook and no supervision.”

“be serious.”

“oh, i am.” he waved a hand at the barely-there strings. “you’re out here dressed like a cursed macramé project.”

you pouted. “it’s artistic.”

“it’s traumatic.”

you posed dramatically. “but imagine this on the beach… champagne… sun setting…”

“yeah, and a full-blown scandal.” he crossed his arms. “you’re gonna flash everyone.”

you smirked. “so you’re saying it’s a little much?”

“i’m saying it’s one wardrobe malfunction away from me throwing my entire body over yours like a security guard.”

you grinned, stepping closer. “but you’d still let me wear it?”

he paused.

then? “yes. but only indoors. with the curtains closed. and a blanket.”

you laughed as he wrapped you up in the nearest hoodie and muttered, “i need a drink. and therapy. and maybe a glue gun.”

ʚ・george russell

you walked into the living room with the fakest innocent smile on your face and the largest box you could find on amazon. george was sitting on the couch, laptop open, looking like a ceo of something important.

“i got something for the trip,” you said sweetly.

he looked up. “that box is huge. did you order a tent?”

you beamed. “bikini.”

he blinked. “that’s not a bikini-sized box. that’s an appliance-sized box.”

you set it down and started dramatically peeling off the layers — tissue paper, unnecessary foam, even a fake ribbon — while george just watched in mild horror.

“is this an unboxing video?” he asked, deadpan. “should i film this for content? are we reviewing the manufacturer’s efficiency?”

you reached the final layer.

and pulled out the swimsuit.

or… the two lonely strings of yarn and a prayer that you were calling a swimsuit.

george stared.

and stared.

“…where’s the rest of it?” he finally asked, voice cracking ever so slightly.

“that’s it!”

he shut his laptop slowly. “that’s not it. that’s… that’s not a garment. that’s yarn.”

“it’s cute!”

“it’s nonexistent.”

you turned it around, holding it by the strings like it was a spider you weren’t sure was dead. “you don’t think it’s cute?”

he stood up like he needed to physically confront the reality of the situation. “how did you even find this? who sold it to you? did you blackmail someone? did it come with a warning label?”

“i packaged it myself.”

he blinked. “you what.”

“it’s a prank, babe.”

silence.

then, he slowly sank back onto the couch, covered his face, and mumbled, “you’re the reason i have stress dreams.”

you dropped the string bikini on his chest and smiled. “but you love me anyway.”

“i do,” he sighed. “i just… wish you loved fabric.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos was lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, scrolling his phone while you rifled through your suitcase.

“i got a new swimsuit for the trip,” you said casually, pulling out a folded towel to fake wrap the "swimsuit" in.

he hummed. “another one?”

you smirked. “this one’s special.”

he turned his head just in time to see you dramatically unwrap what could only be described as two strings of yarn connected by stubbornness and delusion.

carlos sat up.

paused.

blinked.

“…dios mío.”

you fought to keep a straight face. “it’s cute, right?”

he stood up slowly, like his body was moving while his brain was buffering. “that’s not a swimsuit. that’s—that’s a trap. you wear that, and i’m fighting everyone.”

you held it up by the strings. “it’s kind of artistic.”

“it’s kind of criminal.”

you twirled it once. “it’s technically wearable.”

“it’s technically two pieces of string and a death wish.”

you laughed, tossing it onto the bed. “so you’re saying you don’t want me wearing it at the hotel pool?”

“hotel pool?” he gave you an incredulous look. “you can’t even wear that in our apartment without risking emotional damage.”

“too much?”

“i’ve seen paper towels with more coverage.”

you walked over and looped your arms around his neck, grinning. “jealous?”

he rested his forehead against yours, sighing dramatically. “no. i’m concerned. for your safety. and my blood pressure.”

you leaned in close. “you’re just mad because you know i’d steal the show.”

he kissed your cheek. “i’m mad because i know i’d get arrested for public indecency by association.”

you laughed into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you like a man who had just stared into the abyss.

“i’m hiding that,” he muttered. “i don’t even trust you to prank me with it again.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

“charles?” you called sweetly, stepping into the hotel room with a mischievous grin and a suspicious little shopping bag.

he glanced up from the bed, where he was sitting with his ipad and airpods, one brow raised. “yes, amour?”

“i got a swimsuit for this weekend. want to see it?”

he smiled, setting the ipad aside. “of course.”

you pulled it from the bag slowly, two strings. only strings. it might have once been a swimsuit, but now? it was a scandal waiting to happen.

charles stared.

then blinked once.

then smiled. slowly.

“mon dieu…” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “is that legal?”

“technically,” you shrugged, holding it up. “there’s a front. and a back. i kind of wish it was thinner.”

he tilted his head, eyes trailing the string in your hands with the fascination of a man watching his entire moral compass short-circuit. “and you plan to wear this in public…it's already thin enough?”

“maybe. why?”

he stood, crossing the room in three slow, measured steps. “because, chérie… if you wear that outside, i will never survive it.”

you smirked. “you hate it?”

he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “no,” he whispered. “i want you to wear it. but only where i can see you.”

you blinked.

“put it on,” he said, voice low, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. “let me see everything.”

you burst out laughing, hitting his chest lightly. “charles!”

he laughed too, pulling you in by the waist. “you’re evil,” he said against your neck, voice playful. “you come in here with two strings and expect me to be normal?”

“you seemed pretty into it.”

“i am,” he said shamelessly. “but mon amour… if you wear that out, i’ll have to start swinging. and i don’t want to go to jail in monaco.”

ʚ・lando norris

you stood in front of the mirror, struggling to keep a straight face as you unwrapped the tiny bag you’d stuffed the “swimsuit” into. two strings. one knot. less coverage than a shoelace.

“baaaabe,” you called sweetly. “i got a new swimsuit. wanna see?”

“yeah, sure!” lando shouted from the other room. “wait—should i come in there or—?”

you opened the door slowly, string bikini dangling from one finger like it was a precious artifact. “no need. just look.”

he turned.

froze.

squinted.

then: “what is that?!”

you fought a grin. “it’s my new bikini.”

“that’s not a bikini,” he said, already walking toward you like he needed to inspect it up close for safety reasons. “that’s—that’s a joke, right?”

you turned it around like a qvc host. “front and back. simple.”

he gaped at you. “it’s a crime scene.”

“very fashion-forward.”

“it’s barely forward! it’s not even forward-adjacent!”

you were shaking with laughter now as he waved his arms in genuine disbelief. “where did you even buy that? why did you buy that? how did they ship it? in a matchbox?!”

“i thought it’d be cute on the beach.”

he took the swimsuit carefully, like it might bite him, and held it up with two fingers. “there is more fabric in a tea bag.”

“i think you’re being dramatic.”

“i think you’re being dangerous.”

you stepped in close, resting your hands on his chest. “so you don’t want me to wear it?”

lando looked at you. then at the strings. then back at you.

“i want you to burn it.”

you grinned. “too late. i packed it.”

“i’m not letting you leave the hotel room.”

“promise?”

his jaw dropped. “you’re the worst.”

you winked. “and yet.”

he groaned into your shoulder, muttering, “i need therapy. and a one-piece. for you.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you didn’t warn him.

you just walked into the hotel room, holding what looked like a piece of yarn with a dream. no dramatic intro, no buildup — just straight chaos.

“new swimsuit,” you said casually, tossing it onto the bed like it wasn’t about to destroy him.

oscar turned from his laptop, expression as flat and unreadable as always… until he saw it.

he stared.

blink.

longer stare.

“…that’s it?”

“that’s it.”

he sat back in the chair slowly, arms crossed. “that’s not a swimsuit.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you don’t like it?”

he took a very long pause. processing. buffering. internally screaming.

“i… don’t disapprove,” he said finally, choosing his words like they were part of a hostage negotiation. “but… i’m trying to understand where the rest of it went.”

you held it up by a single string. “it’s trendy. daring. very… cute.”

“it’s barely thread.”

you grinned. “so you do disapprove.”

he didn’t answer right away, just tilted his head, looking you up and down like he was trying to calculate structural integrity. “…if it makes you happy to wear that, then it’s fine.”

you squinted. “but you’re dying inside.”

he blinked. “a little.”

you walked closer, draping the swimsuit over his shoulder like a sash. “you don’t think i’d look hot?”

“that’s not the issue,” he said immediately, not even blinking. “the issue is physics.”

you burst out laughing, and that finally cracked a smile from him — soft, a little resigned, but full of affection.

“i trust you,” he added, voice quiet but firm. “i just… don’t trust gravity. or wind. or humanity.”

you kissed his cheek. “so private pool only?”

he nodded. “preferably with no windows.”

you leaned back, watching him eye the bikini like it was a cursed relic. “you’re kind of obsessed with me.”

he smiled again, this time without hesitation. “obviously.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[verstappensrealwife]

“She’s busy.” - F1 TEXT AU

[f1 masterlist / f1 text au masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... the reader 'is busy'... prank!

ʚɞ containing: ln4, fa14, cl16, ls18, mv33, fc43, lh44, cs55, op81

ʚɞ warnings: none.

[maxivstappen]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝟏 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

featuring ; max verstappen , lando norris , oscar piastri , charles leclerc , carlos sainz , lewis hamilton , george russel , daniel ricciardo , franco colapinto

🎙️:: i know i said i want to write more angst but after dylhitm i felt like finishing this. this might be nastier than the fwb one so beware and have fun! (ALL of these are rushed and i know that carlos didn’t exactly steal them but who cares)

SUGGESTIVE !! [can’t link my mlists so pls look at my navi!]

🎙️:: reblogs are heavily appreciated as always, thanks for reading !

taglist :: @norrisdriver @simonsrileyhusband <3

[5sospenguinqueen]

Tantrums | Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: After 10 years together, Lewis keeps pushing back the date on when “forever” can start. Realising that forever applies to her job and not their relationship, she makes it clear that she’s had enough. 

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 32. angst, heavy on the angst. 

Requested: @madelynn-sienna (sorry it took so long. i didn’t think i was gonna do it ngl to you because i don’t really write for lewis)

F1 Masterlist

next.

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yn_ln just posted

liked by carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yn_ln when he feels bad that he’s on the other side of the world for your birthday 

4,444 comments

lewishamilton happy birthday, love. i’m so sorry i’m in australia and not with you but i promise i will make it up to you when i’m home. roscoe promised me he’d spend the day spoiling you 

→ roscoelovescoco yes i’s did’s 

user1 oh to be loved the way y/n is loved by lewis 

user2 no one makes me feel as single as lewis and y/n do 

carmenmmundt @/georgerussell63 take notes

→ yn_ln you tell him, hun

→ georgerussell63 i buy you flowers all the time! 

f1 we’re sorry that a race fell on your birthday. we’ll ask the fia to fix the calendar next year so this doesn’t happen again

mercedesamgf1 we’d give him back if we could. happy birthday, yn

georgerussell63 hang on a second. you’ve not left us yet. that’s not the right car

→ charles_leclerc that’s the perfect car 

→ yn_ln i didn’t buy the car. i just jumped behind the wheel

user3 not me hoping she’d be getting a ring for her birthday 

→ user4 we’ve been waiting for this for the past 8 birthdays

→ user5 it’s been 10 years. we were expecting two rings and a few kids by now

→ user6 i mean, he just bought her a sports car. not very kid friendly 

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lewishamilton just posted

liked by francolapinto, sebastianvettel and others 

lewishamilton happy 10 years to the love of my life. every moment with you is an adventure i never want to end

9,448 comments

yn_ln forever with you ❤️ mainly because i can’t be bothered to train some new guy to photos that good of me

mercedesamgf1 can’t believe it’s been 10 years already. it feels like only yesterday yn was making her paddock debut. here’s to another 10 

→ user7 not mercedes commenting like they’re a part of this relationship 

→ user8 well he’s been with yn almost as long as he’s been with mercedes so they practically are at this point 

user9 my favourite f1 couple

user10 i love their rich money vibes

roscoelovescoco happy’s anniversary’s mum and’s dad 

→ yn_ln my precious boy 

→ user11 now she needs a real baby 

danielriccairdo i can’t believe she’s managed to put up with you for ten years 😂 huge love to you both

→ yn_ln ngl, it’s been tough

→ lewishamilton i’m taking the ferrari back 

user12 wedding and baby when? 

georgerussell63 happy 10 year anniversary. yn is my favourite part of you being my teammate 

→ carmenmmundt can we keep her when you go to ferrari?

→ charles_leclerc no. it’s my turn now 

→ lewishamilton i think you’re all forgetting that she’s mine 

mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and others 

mercedesamgf1 GET IN THERE, LEWIS 🏆🥇 LEWIS HAMILTON IS YOUR BRITISH GRAND PRIX WINNER 

23,441 comments

yn_ln my love. i honestly have not stopped crying since you crossed that line. i’m so proud of you. you deserved this and proved to everyone why you’re a motorsport legend

→ lewishamilton couldn't do it without your support 🩷

→ mercedesamgf1 it’s true. the mechanics were uncomfortable when they realised they couldn't just keep giving her tissues

georgerussell63 you deserve it, mate

valterribottas well done champ

user1 can’t believe he won silverstone the same weekend he celebrated 10 years with yn 

→ user2 she’s always been his good luck charm. he performs so well when she’s watching

→ user3 they’re the dream team together 

user4 the fact that yn is the only one he responded to

user5 she’s getting it good tonight

skysportsf1 posted a new interview

user6 oh no, lewis…

user7 lewis, she was asking what was next for you and yn, relationship wise

user8 oh, that’s not quite

user9 i hope yn doesn’t see this otherwise i fear lewis might be in the doghouse tonight 

→ user10 i hope she does see it so that she knows he’s not thinking of her future in the same way 

user11 i always thought lewis loved yn as much as yn loved lewis but now i’m not sure

user12 it’s the fact that the poor interviewer looked upset at his answer as well. like she hoped for better

→ user13 we all hoped for better 

user14 it’s the fact that she’s always talked about wanting kids and getting married but has always said they’re waiting until lewis is ready

→ user15 the fact that every year passes and he never indicates that he’s ready for any of it though 

replies to @/F1Wags

user1 lewis still follows yn

→ user2 and still has all of his photos up, including their anniversary post 

→ user1 i’m hoping this means he’s in denial and is still trying to win her back

user3 i can’t believe this is real. she went all the way back and deleted everything related to him in 10 years. even edited posts to delete slides he was in

→ user4 dedicated queen

user5 just fell to my knees in walmart

user6 i’m devastated but i also hope this means she finds a man who will be prepared to give her the life she wants 

→ user7 well, more fool her for staying this long

→ user6 not really. ever think she wanted those things because she wanted them with lewis

→ user8 don’t break my heart like this please  

replies to @/WeDon'tThink

user9 okay but your pen was on fire when you wrote that 

user10 he literally had the best weekend of his life with a 10yr anniversary, winning silverstone and then clearly messed it all up somehow in the end 

user11 if sir lewis hamilton can’t even do right, what hope do the rest of us have in finding a decent man

→ user12 no because they looked just as in love as they did 10 years ago and he still fumbled

user13 i saw rumours it was because he gave her an ultimatum and she didn’t take the path he wanted 

→ user14 what do you mean?

→ user13 apparently “close sources” said that he told her if she wanted kids, she couldn't have him and so she left 

→ user14 wtf!!! good on her for dumping his ass

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calvinklein and yn_ln just posted

liked by nicorosberg, fernandoalo_official and others 

calvinklein @/yn_ln is stunning in calvin klein underwear. shop the collection now 

5,533 comments

yn_ln oh okay. i look goooood 

→ alexandrasaintmleux i would let you take me home

→ carmenmmundt me too

→ georgerussell63 excuse me, i don’t agree with this

user1 aha, nico we see you 

→ user2 and fernando

landonorris oh so he fumbled bad 

→ oscarpiastri they’re going to take your social media off you again

user3 is this her version of a revenge dress?

→ user4 more like undress

user5 not sure why you wouldn’t want to marry and give a baby to a woman like that 

→ user6 okay, ew

user7 can we appreciate how she’s handled this with class. instead of speaking out against lewis, she’s been booked and busy and flitting about europe on modelling jobs 

→ user8 just further proof that he managed to lose the best woman ever 

roscoelovescoco you’s look’s nice, mum

→ user9 i know lewis hires someone to run this account but what are the odds that he’s actually behind it now so he can stalk yn 

yn_ln please can we all focus on the clothes and support how hot i look by buying some! 

→ danielricciardo don’t even have tits but you convinced me to buy a bra

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lewishamilton just posted

liked by valterribottas, scuderiaferrari and others 

lewishamilton mixed feelings about today. obviously happy for a win but very disappointing for george and the team missing out on a 1-2

7,744 comments

georgerussell63 we put up a good fight today

user1 not really a deserved win though, is it

user2 you fumbled yn and now you’re fumbling wins. you only got this because merc screwed over george 

roscoelovescoco well’s done’s dad

user3 see what happens when you play a good woman, you get a dirty win

user4 man needs to act his age. can’t believe at the grand age of 39, he strung along a girl who loved him more than anything for 10 years

→ user5 destroyed my faith in men for real 

user6 robbed a win from george like you robbed 10 years from yn 

(comments on this post have been limited)

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I wrote this out and was really proud of it and then when I was adding the other driver’s versions on, I realised it was the same principal as Daniel’s so I’m so sorry for the repeated plot

Baby Fever Angst Masterlist

requests are open

[uluvjay]

F1 Drivers reacting to you flashing them..

Based off this Tik tok!!, thank you @turcott3 for always helping with these

| Lando Norris | He goes right in for a grab, his sweet giggle is filling the air as he’s got your breasts cupped in his hands..takes you to the bedroom and shows you how much he appreciates his girls ;)

| Charles Leclerc | He’s confused at first honestly and even after he catches on he’s still confused. His tan cheeks are bright red and you end up having to explain it was just for fun!

| Lewis Hamilton | He’s not with it tbh, he’ll have a little laugh but you’re quickly being carried to the bedroom. He’s to mature for any jokes and if you’re showing him one of his favorite things he’s gonna make you feel good!

| Oscar Piastri | Poor boy panics, he’s not sure what’s going on but suddenly your breasts are out and despite seeing them many times he’s flustered. Pulls your shirt back down and asks if you’re okay.

| Lance Stroll | He’s confused at first but once he catches on he giggles before pulling you into him and quickly gets things started! Makes sure to pay extra attention to his girls

| Daniel Ricciardo | Laughs honestly, he finds it amusing. Pulls your shirt down and kisses you and tells you he really enjoyed that. It becomes a common thing in your house!

| Carlos Sainz | Smirks and doesn’t waste time, he’s diving in and what wasn’t supposed to be sexual quickly turns into his mouth wrapped around your breasts. He really really enjoyed it :)

| Logan Sargeant | Goes into a trance, sitting there mouth open, eyes wide, blush forming on his cheeks. You have to pull him out of his little world and he immediately gets embarrassed but makes sure you know he really liked that.

| Max Verstappen | This man is so confused, looks at you with question marks floating around his head. Asks what you did that for and makes you laugh but he’s still severely confused and slightly concerned.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hiii how are you ?

can I request a dad Charles where his daughter tells everyone that she French instead of Monegasque (just like Arthur) and Charles is just losing it every time she says it

She's Monegasque, not French

It started innocently, as most things with toddlers do.

Charles was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, his three-year-old daughter Yn nestled comfortably in his lap, her tiny hands clutching a crayon-streaked drawing of what she insisted was “Papa’s race car.” The sun was bright, the paddock buzzing with media and mechanics and laughter as the summer European leg of the season carried on in full swing.

And then it happened.

“Papa,” she said sweetly, tilting her head up at him, eyes wide and so heartbreakingly sincere, “I’m French.”

Charles blinked.

“Quoi?” he said, pulling back slightly, eyebrows lifting in gentle confusion. “Ma chérie, no, you’re not French. You’re Monegasque, like Papa.”

Yn looked at him, lips pursed, deep in thought. And then she gave a little shrug. “Non. I’m French, like Uncle Thur.”

Charles groaned softly and let his head fall back against the couch. “Not this again.”

From across the room, Arthur—lounging lazily in a chair, eating grapes like he was Caesar in a past life—choked on his laughter.

“I didn’t teach her that,” Arthur said through wheezes. “She came up with it on her own. Genius, really.”

“You encourage it!” Charles accused, pointing an indignant finger at his younger brother. “You always say you’re French!”

“Well, I am French,” Arthur said with a grin. “Monegasque passport and everything. And clearly, Yn has excellent taste.”

“Excellent taste in traitors. And Monaco is not France,” Charles muttered, pulling Yn closer as if cuddling her tightly would somehow absorb her back into Monegasque pride.

But it didn’t stop there.

No, Yn had decided. French it was.

She told the Ferrari PR team she was French when they asked where she was from. She announced it proudly to the camera when someone tried to film a cute moment with her and her dad. She whispered it solemnly to Carlos while sitting in his lap eating strawberries.

“Papa’s sad ‘cause I’m French,” she told Carlos.

Carlos, eyes sparkling with mischief, leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s okay, Princesa. I’m Spanish, and he still talks to me.”

“Does he love you?” Yn asked, dead serious.

Carlos blinked. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Then maybe he’ll still love me even if I’m French.”

Behind them, Charles face-palmed.

The drivers got wind of it quickly—because of course they did.

By the next day, the jokes were relentless.

“So,” Lando said at breakfast in the hotel, stirring sugar into his coffee like he was preparing to deliver a monologue. “Do I address her as ‘Mademoiselle Yn’ now or...?”

“She’s not French,” Charles groaned.

“She told my engineer she wants her birthday cake in the shape of the Eiffel Tower,” Max deadpanned, walking by and tossing Charles a sympathetic look. “Good luck with that.”

Even Seb, who was visiting that weekend with his kids, gave Charles a comforting pat on the back. “At least she’s not saying she’s German. Yet.”

And then there was Esteban.

“Oh, this is fantastique,” Esteban beamed, scooping Yn up in the paddock one afternoon. “You’re French, just like me!”

Yn squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Oui!”

Charles practically melted into the tarmac. “Mon dieu…”

But it was Arthur who reveled in it most.

He started wearing a beret. A beret, for god’s sake.

One afternoon in the hospitality tent, he presented Yn with a baguette and a small fake mustache. “For my fellow French citizen,” he declared proudly.

“Merci, Uncle Thur!” Yn beamed, sticking the mustache crookedly on her nose.

“I am living in a cartoon,” Charles mumbled into his hands.

No amount of explaining helped.

“But Monaco is in France,” she argued one night while Charles tucked her into bed in the team’s motorhome. “It’s right there.”

“No, chérie,” Charles said gently, brushing her curls back. “It’s close, but it’s its own country. Like Papa said before, remember?”

“I like France better.”

He sighed and tried the next best tactic: bribery.

“If you say you’re Monegasque again,” he whispered conspiratorially, “Papa will buy you ten ice creams tomorrow.”

Yn narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What kind?”

“Any kind. Strawberry. Chocolate. All of them.”

“Hmm…” she tapped her chin with exaggerated thought. “I still wanna be French.”

He clutched his chest. “Traitor.”

The situation hit a new peak during the Saturday driver briefing. Yn, accompanied by Carlos and Charles, had been allowed to come along briefly before things got official. She toddled in wearing sunglasses way too big for her face and a little Ferrari cap.

Yuki crouched down to her level with a big smile. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Yn.”

“I’m French!” she declared proudly, striking a pose.

Yuki laughed. “That’s so cool! Then you must know that Uncle Pierre is also French!”

Yn froze.

All the drivers went still.

Charles raised his head slowly, eyes narrowing.

Yn’s nose scrunched up.

“…Uncle Pierre?”

“Yes,” Yuki chirped, unaware he was about to break the world’s most stubborn three-year-old. “He’s very French. Like super French.”

The silence that followed could have swallowed a pit lane.

Charles watched her face shift—concentration, confusion… and then determination.

She took off her sunglasses, turned to her father, and declared solemnly, “Papa. I’m not French anymore.”

Charles blinked. “You’re not?”

“I’m Monegasque now.”

“...Why?”

She folded her arms. “I don’t wanna be the same as Uncle Pierre.”

“WHAT?!” Pierre shouted from across the room, utterly betrayed.

Arthur was on the floor, laughing so hard he nearly cried. “Nooo! The French alliance has fallen!”

Carlos, barely holding it together, whispered, “Monaco wins.”

Charles scooped Yn up with the biggest grin he’d worn in days. “You have made Papa so proud.”

Yn patted his cheek. “Do I still get ice cream?”

He laughed, hugging her tight. “You can have all the ice cream you want, mon amour.”

Behind him, Pierre was muttering in disbelief, “What did I do? What did I do?”

And from that day on, Yn was proudly, defiantly, loyally Monegasque.

Until next week, when she decided she wanted to be Italian because “Papa’s car is red like Italy.”

And Charles just sighed into his espresso.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[loafysainz]

🎥 HANDING MY BOYFRIEND MY PANTIES AT DINNER AND GET HIS REACTION

carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, george russell × reader! warn: 18+, smut, minor dni insp by this trend

Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz was a patient man.

But not when it came to you.

He had spent the entire evening watching you, his dark brown eyes tracking your every move. The way your lips wrapped around the rim of your wine glass, the way you crossed and uncrossed your legs under the table, the way you leaned forward just enough to tease him with the barest hint of cleavage.

Carlos had been holding himself back. Barely.

And you? You were about to push him past his limit.

The restaurant was elegant—low lights, soft music, the hum of quiet conversations surrounding you. Carlos sat across from you, dressed in a perfectly tailored black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, veins prominent as he lazily toyed with his glass. He looked so effortlessly sexy, so unfairly attractive, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far you could push him.

You shifted in your seat, heart pounding, as you subtly reached under the table. You hooked your fingers into your panties, slowly, discreetly, slipping them down your legs, the cool air against your bare skin making you shiver.

Carlos was oblivious, swirling his wine, licking his lips as he studied the menu.

And then—casually, with a small smirk—you reached across the table and placed your panties in his hand.

Carlos froze.

His fingers curled around the fabric instinctively before he even realized what he was holding. He blinked, looking down at his palm.

A beat of silence.

Then another.

And then—oh, fuck.

His entire body tensed. His jaw clenched so hard you thought it might crack. His nostrils flared as he exhaled a sharp breath, his grip tightening around the delicate lace like he was resisting the urge to crush it in his fist.

Slowly—so slowly—Carlos lifted his eyes to meet yours.

Dark. Heavy. Predatory.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.

And then—his voice, deep, low, almost a growl—

“Dime que no hiciste lo que creo que hiciste.” (Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.)

You tilted your head, pretending to be innocent. “What do you think I did, cariño?”

Carlos inhaled sharply, his fingers flexing around the lace before he shoved it into the pocket of his trousers. His knee bounced under the table, his entire body buzzing with tension. He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head with a dark chuckle.

“You’re testing me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sipped your drink, biting back a smirk. “Maybe.”

Carlos exhaled a slow, measured breath. His fingers tapped against the table, his eyes flickering down to your lap, realization sinking in.

“No panties,” he murmured. His voice was rough, thick with something dangerously close to desperation. He swallowed hard, shifting in his seat like he was physically struggling to stay put.

You crossed your legs slowly, watching the way his jaw ticked. “Mmm.”

Carlos let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Eres un problema, ¿lo sabes?” (You’re a fucking problem, you know that?)

He adjusted in his seat, exhaling harshly. “Now I have to sit here. In this restaurant. Acting normal. While I know you’re sitting there…” His voice dropped, dark, his accent thickening. “All wet. All needy.” He licked his lips, eyes burning with heat. “For me.”

Your breath hitched.

Carlos saw. And smirked.

His knee suddenly pressed against your thigh under the table, firm and possessive, making your pulse skyrocket.

“I should drag you to the bathroom right now,” he muttered, voice thick with frustration. “Make you sit on my lap. Make you ride me slow. Until you can’t stay quiet anymore.”

Your stomach dropped.

Your entire body burned.

Carlos chuckled darkly at your reaction. “Oh, you like that idea?” He tilted his head, his fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to reach for you. “Would you like it, hmm? Biting your lip, trying not to moan? Knowing that if you make one sound, everyone in this restaurant will know what I’m doing to you?”

You clenched your thighs together instinctively, and Carlos noticed.

His smirk widened, his knee pressing even firmer against you.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“You started this game, amor.” His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

Your stomach flipped.

Carlos sat back, stretching his arms over the back of his chair, looking like the picture of relaxation—except for the way

his hands curled into fists, like he was using every ounce of self-control to stop himself from grabbing you.

“You better eat fast,” he muttered, his leg still pressed against yours, his eyes still devouring you.

“Because the second we leave this restaurant?” His voice was gravelly, dripping with hunger.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

—

Lewis Hamilton

Dinner with Lewis was always an experience. He had impeccable taste—whether it was in fashion, cars, or five-star restaurants with private dining rooms that catered to the elite. Tonight was no different. The restaurant was dimly lit, with an intimate atmosphere and a view of the Monaco harbor glistening under the night sky.

Lewis sat across from you, wearing a tailored suit with no tie, the top few buttons of his crisp shirt undone to reveal just a hint of his tattoos. He looked like a damn dream—effortlessly cool, his jewelry catching the soft candlelight, his full lips curving into a smirk as he listened to you talk.

And you? You were about to make things very, very interesting.

The idea had been teasing you all night. The way Lewis had kept his hand on your thigh during the car ride here, the way his deep, smooth voice sent shivers down your spine, the way he knew he was irresistible and used it against you. It was time to turn the tables.

You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your dress while slipping your panties down your thighs, letting the lace pool at your ankles before discreetly stepping out of them. You balled them in your hand, heart racing with anticipation.

Lewis was mid-sentence, swirling his wine glass lazily, when you reached across the table and placed the delicate fabric in his palm.

His fingers closed around it instinctively before realization set in.

He blinked, lifting his hand slightly under the table, his expression unreadable at first. And then—oh, then—that signature smirk spread across his lips, slow and devastatingly sexy. His tongue flicked out to wet them, eyes dragging from the panties to your face, amusement flickering behind the heat in his gaze.

“You’re bold tonight, love.” His voice was low, almost a purr.

You took a sip of your champagne, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Lewis exhaled a slow breath, shaking his head. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean.”

His fingers tightened around the lace before slipping them discreetly into the pocket of his blazer.

He leaned forward, his gaze dark and smoldering. “So, what’s the plan, then? You expect me to just sit here, act normal, knowing you’re sitting across from me with nothing underneath that little dress?”

Your lips curled. “That was the idea.”

Lewis chuckled, the deep sound sending a shiver down your spine. He adjusted in his seat, exhaling sharply. “You’re playin’ dangerous, babe.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” You batted your lashes at him, knowing full well you were poking the bear.

Lewis’s jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to your lips before flicking back up. He lifted his glass, taking a slow sip of wine, his demeanor calm—too calm. That was the most dangerous sign of all.

The waiter arrived, placing your entrées in front of you, completely unaware of the silent war happening at this table.

Lewis picked up his fork, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off whatever thoughts were running through his mind.

But then—oh, fuck.

You felt the softest brush against your thigh.

Your breath hitched.

Lewis smirked, casually cutting into his steak like he wasn’t dragging his fingers up the inside of your leg beneath the table, like he wasn’t making his way higher and higher with every passing second.

You shot him a glare, shifting in your seat, but that only made him chuckle. “Something wrong?” he asked, voice innocent.

Bastard.

His fingers brushed the apex of your thighs, barely teasing the sensitive skin, and you had to fight the urge to clamp your legs shut.

You inhaled sharply, gripping your fork a little tighter. “You’re really gonna do this here?”

Lewis tilted his head, lips curving. “You started it.”

His touch disappeared just as quickly as it came, leaving you throbbing, your skin hot, your body desperate for more.

And that’s when you knew you were in trouble.

Lewis sat back, stretching out his legs, the picture of relaxed confidence. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then leaned in slightly.

“When we get back to the hotel…” His voice was a dark promise, smooth as silk. “You better be ready for me, baby.”

Your stomach flipped, heat coiling low in your belly.

Oh, you were so screwed.

Dinner suddenly felt like a countdown to something far more delicious. And by the way Lewis kept stealing glances at you—like he was barely holding himself back—you had a feeling he wouldn’t be ordering dessert.

At least, not at the restaurant.

—

Lando Norris

Dinner with Lando was never boring.

He had a way of making everything fun—whether it was cracking jokes, teasing you, or finding little ways to touch you every chance he got. Tonight was no different. You were at a high-end restaurant in Monaco, overlooking the water, Lando sipping on his cocktail as he playfully nudged your foot under the table.

He looked good—hair slightly tousled, wearing a fitted black suit with no tie, the crisp white of his shirt accentuating his tan skin. The top two buttons were undone, just enough to tease you with a glimpse of his collarbone.

And right now? He had no idea what was coming.

So, you decided it was time to turn the tables.

The restaurant was buzzing with quiet conversations, the candlelight casting a soft glow over the table, and Lando? He was completely oblivious, sipping his drink, scrolling through the menu, looking criminally good in his tailored black suit.

You took a slow breath, pretending to shift in your seat, your hands disappearing beneath the table. Your pulse thrummed as you hooked your fingers into your panties, dragging them down your legs, over your heels, and slipping them into your palm.

And then—casually, innocently—you reached across the table and pressed them into his hand.

Lando took them instinctively, still half-distracted, his thumb brushing over the fabric—soft, lacy, unmistakably not something that belonged in a restaurant.

He froze.

His blue eyes flicked down at his hand, then up at you.

His breath hitched. “No.” His voice was a strangled whisper. He blinked, like his brain couldn’t quite process what just happened. He looked back down at the lace, gripping it between his fingers, and then back at you—eyes wide, pupils blown.

“No fucking way.”

You just took a sip of your drink, acting

completely unfazed. “Something wrong?”

Lando let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his curls. “Are you—” He exhaled sharply. “You didn’t just—” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “Tell me you’re fucking with me right now.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head.

Lando’s jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. His grip on the panties tightened before he hastily shoved them into the pocket of his blazer, his fingers twitching like he was fighting every single urge running through his body.

His leg bounced under the table. He dragged his hands down his face. “You—” He let out a low, breathy laugh, but it was strained, like he was hanging on by a thread.

“You little—” His voice cut off, his head tilting back slightly as he inhaled through his nose.

You could see it. The shift. The way his entire demeanor darkened. The way his hands clenched into fists like he didn’t trust himself to keep them to himself.

And then, he leaned forward, eyes locked onto you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re gonna fucking regret that.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

The waiter arrived at that exact moment, asking if you needed more wine, completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown Lando was having in real-time.

Lando barely glanced at him, his jaw clenched so tight his words were almost clipped. “No. We’re good.”

The moment the waiter left, Lando shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “I hope you realize,” he muttered, “that I now have to sit through this entire dinner with a fucking hard-on.”

You smirked. “Poor baby.”

His eye twitched.

His knee suddenly pressed against the inside of your thigh under the table, firm, possessive, making you inhale sharply.

Lando smirked at your reaction, his fingers twitching as if debating whether or not to reach for you. “No panties. Just sitting there. All pretty. Knowing what you just did to me.” His voice was dark. Husky. “You’re playing a dangerous fucking game.”

You swallowed, shifting slightly, pressing your thighs together, and Lando noticed. His smirk widened.

“Ohhh,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You think you’re in control here?”

He leaned in, voice dropping even lower, lips barely an inch from your ear.

“Just wait till we get back to the hotel, baby,” he whispered. “I’m gonna make sure you feel what you just did to me.”

Heat coiled in your stomach.

Lando sat back, stretching his legs out, exhaling slowly. His fingers drummed against the table, his eyes flickering over your body, taking his time, like he was memorizing you.

“Eat your dinner, baby.” he muttered, shifting in his seat again, adjusting himself. “After we done this. You’re mine.”

Your entire body burned.

And suddenly, dinner felt like the longest fucking event of your life.

—

Charles Leclerc

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Charles Leclerc was the perfect mix of sweet and sinful—soft when he loved you, but intense when he wanted you. He could melt you with just a smile, but when he needed you? When you pushed him too far? That was when he became dangerous.

Tonight, you were playing with fire.

The restaurant was romantic—low lights, soft music, a flickering candle between you. Charles looked breathtaking across the table, his white button-down slightly unbuttoned, his hair tousled in that effortless way that made your fingers itch to run through it. His green eyes sparkled in the dim light, his lips curling in a small, amused smile as he sipped his wine.

You wanted to see how far you could push him.

So, while Charles was distracted, you reached under the table. Your fingers brushed the hem of your dress, heart racing as you slowly—so slowly—slid your panties down your legs. The soft lace glided over your thighs, your knees, pooling at your ankles before you kicked them off.

Charles was still flipping through the menu, completely oblivious.

You swallowed a smirk, reached across the table, and—without a word—placed the fabric in his open palm.

Charles didn’t react at first.

Then—

His fingers froze.

His eyes flickered down, scanning the lace in his palm, his lips parting slightly.

Then—very slowly—he lifted his gaze to yours.

His breath hitched.

His jaw tensed.

His entire body went rigid.

“Mon amour…” His voice was a whisper, but there was something different about it. Something deep, something dark.

You tilted your head innocently. “Yes, baby?”

Charles exhaled sharply, his hand disappearing under the table as he shoved the panties into his pocket. His fingers twitched against the fabric, his entire body suddenly filled with nervous energy.

“No.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, you—” His voice broke slightly, and he cleared his throat, leaning forward.

“You are telling me…” His accent was thicker now, deeper, as he swallowed hard. “That you are sitting here. With nothing under your dress.”

You nodded, biting back a smirk.

Charles groaned. His head fell back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he muttered something very fast in French under his breath.

Then he looked back at you—his pupils blown, his breath uneven.

“Baby,” he whispered. His voice was soft, but there was a raw edge to it. His hand found your knee under the table, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. The touch was gentle, but his grip was firm.

Possessive.

His fingers inched higher.

You gasped softly.

Charles inhaled sharply, his hand freezing before it could go any higher. His jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white.

“No,” he muttered. “No, I can’t—” He cut himself off, exhaling harshly.

His eyes were burning.

“You’re making this very difficult for me, mon amour.”

You smirked. “That’s the idea.”

Charles let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Incroyable.” (Unbelievable.)

Then—so suddenly—he grabbed his napkin and dropped it on the floor.

“Oh,” he muttered, completely unconvincing. “How clumsy of me.”

Your eyes widened. “Charles, don’t—”

Too late.

He dipped under the table.

Your heart stopped.

“Charles—” Your breath hitched as you felt the ghost of his lips brush against the inside of your knee.

Then higher.

And higher.

Your entire body tensed.

His hands rested on your thighs, warm and steady, his breath hot against your bare skin.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

“Charles,” you whispered, barely breathing.

His voice came from under the table, low and teasing. “What is it, chérie?”

Your hands gripped the tablecloth, panic and desire swirling together in your chest. “You need to come up.”

He hummed. “Do I?”

His lips skimmed the inside of your thigh.

Your breathing stuttered. “Charles—”

Then—

A loud noise from the kitchen made him jolt.

His head smacked against the underside of the table.

“Merde!” (Fuck!)

He shot up so fast he nearly knocked over his wine glass, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy, his lips red.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Charles groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “I hate you.”

You giggled. “You love me.”

His eyes darkened.

“Oh, mon amour,” he murmured, leaning forward, his voice dripping with promise.

“You will regret this when we get home.”

Your stomach flipped.

Charles smirked.

Then he picked up his menu, casually flipping through it like he hadn’t just been under the table.

Like he wasn’t still rock hard.

Like he wasn’t about to absolutely destroy you the second you were alone.

You swallowed hard.

You were so screwed.

—

Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen was competitive in everything.

On the track, he was ruthless. In life, he always wanted to win. But in the bedroom?

He didn’t just compete—he owned.

And tonight, you were playing with fire.

The restaurant was high-end, filled with soft chatter and the occasional clink of wine glasses. Max sat across from you, looking effortlessly sexy in a black dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, his strong forearms resting on the table. His blue eyes flickered up from his menu, locking onto yours with that signature intensity.

“Why are you smirking?” he asked, voice laced with suspicion.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached under the table, heart pounding as you hooked your fingers into the sides of your panties. Slowly—so slowly—you slid them down, feeling the lace brush against your bare skin.

Max had no idea what was coming.

Once the fabric was off, you balled it up in your hand and reached across the table. “Here,” you said casually, dropping the delicate lace into his palm.

Max’s brows furrowed. His fingers curled around the fabric, and then—

His entire body went still.

His grip tightened.

His jaw locked.

You saw the exact moment realization hit. His ocean-blue eyes darkened, flickering between the panties in his hand and you, sitting there, completely bare under your dress.

Max inhaled sharply. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice was low—dangerously low.

You leaned forward, eyes playful. “Something wrong, baby?”

Max’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers disappearing under the table. He shoved the panties into his pocket so fast you almost laughed. His

other hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

“Tell me,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Are you sitting here, at this table, with nothing under that dress?”

You nodded.

His nostrils flared.

“Jesus Christ.”

You smirked. “Cat got your tongue, Max?”

His gaze snapped to yours, and suddenly, the air between you changed.

The playful energy shifted into something heavier.

Something dangerous.

Max leaned forward, his voice low and sharp. “You think this is funny?”

You shrugged, enjoying the way his grip tightened on the table, his breath growing uneven. “A little.”

He exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching so tight it looked painful.

Then—so suddenly—he sat back, a slow, wicked smirk curling his lips.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Game on, liefje.” (Sweetheart.)

Your stomach flipped.

Max shifted in his seat, stretching his legs

out under the table—until his knee pressed firmly between your thighs. Your breath hitched, your body going rigid as he applied the lightest pressure.

Your eyes widened. “Max—”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “What? Something wrong?”

His knee pressed harder.

You swallowed hard, your breath stuttering as heat flooded your body. “You’re evil.”

He grinned, completely unbothered. “And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you get away with this.”

His fingers drummed casually against the table as he continued, voice slow and taunting. “You know, I was going to take my time with you tonight.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But now?”

His voice dropped even lower.

“Now, I have no choice but to ruin you.”

Your entire body shivered.

Max smirked. He knew exactly what he was doing.

His knee pressed higher, his strong thigh now between your legs, keeping you right where he wanted you. “Look at you,” he mused, his accent thick, teasing. “So quiet all of a sudden. Where’s that bratty attitude now, huh?”

You glared at him, but the effect was lost

when your breath hitched at the way he was touching you.

Max chuckled darkly. “Oh, baby,” he murmured. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

Your mouth went dry.

Max picked up his menu, pretending to study it, but his knee stayed right where it was.

The worst part?

He acted like nothing was happening.

Like he wasn’t pressing you against the chair.

Like he wasn’t completely hard under the table.

Like he wasn’t planning a thousand ways to make you pay for this

the second you were alone.

You shifted in your seat, desperate for some relief.

Max caught it immediately. His grip on the table tightened, his breathing sharp.

Then—so quietly only you could hear—he whispered, “Do that again, and I swear to God, I’ll drag you into the bathroom right now.”

You froze.

Max’s smirk was lazy, but his eyes?

His eyes were pure fire.

—

Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri was a problem.

No, Oscar was a problem because he was impossible to read.

When he was mad, he didn’t explode—he got quiet. When he was turned on, he didn’t stumble over his words or blush—he became dangerous.

And tonight?

You had just challenged him.

The restaurant was sleek and modern, the

kind of place that matched Oscar’s cool, composed energy. He sat across from you, dressed simply in a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms. His fingers tapped against the table absentmindedly as he scrolled through the wine menu, completely unaware of what was coming.

You shifted in your seat, heart pounding as you reached beneath the table. With slow, deliberate movements, you slid your panties down, feeling the soft lace brush over your thighs, your knees—until they were off completely.

Then, with a calm smile, you reached across the table.

“Here,” you murmured, dropping the delicate fabric into his open palm.

Oscar didn’t react immediately.

His fingers curled around the lace, his grip firm but unreadable. His eyes flickered down, scanning the fabric like it was nothing more than a business card someone had handed him.

Then, finally, he looked at you.

And fuck.

His brown eyes were steady, calculating—sharp.

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t smirk, didn’t blush, didn’t flinch.

He just… stared.

Long enough that you shifted in your seat, suddenly less sure about what you’d just done.

Then—slowly—he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

His voice was quiet. Calm.

“You’re not wearing anything under that dress.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “No.”

He hummed, nodding slightly as he tucked the panties into his pocket like they were nothing. Then he picked up his menu, flipping through it as if this was just another casual dinner.

Your stomach flipped.

That was it? No teasing? No reaction?

Oscar glanced up, catching your slight frown. His lips curled into the smallest smirk.

“You expected me to crack, didn’t you?”

You hesitated. “Maybe.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

You blinked. “I—”

Oscar shut his menu, setting it aside. Then—so suddenly—he reached across the

table, gripping your wrist. Not rough. Not forceful.

But firm.

His thumb brushed against your pulse.

You knew he could feel how fast it was racing.

His voice dropped, calm and cold.

“You think you can just hand me your panties and expect me to lose control?”

You swallowed.

His grip tightened.

“No, baby.” His voice was deadly soft. “That’s not how this works.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Oscar exhaled through his nose, sitting back like he wasn’t currently ruining your entire life with just his voice.

Then—just to be cruel—he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice so only you could hear.

“I’m going to finish my drink.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Then we’re going to leave.”

Your thighs clenched together.

Oscar smirked. He noticed.

“And when we get home,” he murmured, “you’re going to get on your knees and apologize.”

Your breath hitched.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered, picking up his glass and taking a slow sip.

Then, just for fun, he tilted his head and smirked.

“Still think this was a good idea?”

You were so screwed.

—

George Russell

George Russell was a gentleman.

Polite. Well-mannered. The kind of man who held doors open, pulled out your chair, and kissed the back of your hand just to see you blush.

But there was a danger in that charm.

Because underneath all that posh, British elegance?

George was ruthless.

And tonight?

You were about to learn just how much.

The restaurant was candlelit, expensive, and filled with the quiet hum of conversation. George sat across from you, impossibly handsome in a tailored navy

suit, the top two buttons of his shirt undone just enough to tease. His Rolex gleamed under the soft light as he picked up his wine glass, fingers wrapping around the stem with effortless grace.

You watched him, heart pounding, as you slowly—deliberately—slid your hands under the table.

George didn’t notice at first. He was reading the menu, his brows slightly furrowed, completely unaware that you were currently slipping off your panties in the middle of a five-star restaurant.

Your breath hitched as you finally pulled them free, the delicate lace pooling in your hand.

“George.”

Then, with a coy smile, you reached across the table.

He looked up, eyes warm. “Yes, darling?”

You placed your panties in his open palm.

George blinked.

His fingers curled around the lace, and for a moment, he just stared at you, completely unreadable.

Then—so slowly—his lips parted, his tongue briefly darting out to wet them.

His jaw ticked.

You smirked. “Something wrong?”

You saw the exact second realization hit—the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his grip tightening just slightly around the fabric.

George exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You are unbelievable.”

You leaned in, tilting your head. “Why? Is Mr. Russell flustered?”

His eyes darkened.

“No,” he murmured, voice low. “I’m just debating whether I should take you home right now or make you suffer first.”

Your stomach dropped.

You watched him, heart pounding.

George sighed dramatically, slipping the lace into his suit pocket like it was just another accessory. Then, as if nothing happened, he picked up his wine glass and took a slow, deliberate sip.

The way his jaw clenched as he swallowed. The way his fingers tapped against the table—controlled, measured. The way he refused to break eye contact.

Then—so suddenly you almost gasped—he leaned forward, his voice silky smooth.

“Tell me something, darling,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Are you currently sitting there, at this table, with nothing under that pretty little dress?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

George grinned.

Not his usual, charming smile.

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

“Good girl.”

Your breath hitched.

George hummed, pleased with your reaction. He reached for his drink again, bringing it to his lips before pausing—his smirk deepening.

Then—so casually it ruined you—he whispered, “Spread your legs.”

Your eyes widened. “George—”

“Shh.” He took a slow sip of wine, eyes twinkling with pure amusement. “You wanted to play, love. Now be a good girl and listen.”

Heat flooded your body.

You hesitated for half a second too long.

George raised a brow. “I’m waiting.”

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts as you obeyed, shifting slightly in your seat, thighs parting under the table.

George’s smirk turned positively wicked.

“Such a good girl.”

Your entire body shuddered.

He leaned back, completely unbothered, pretending to scan the menu.

Meanwhile, you were a mess. Your skin burned. Your pulse raced. Your thighs trembled because holy shit—he wasn’t even touching you, and yet, you were completely at his mercy.

Then—just to ruin you—George tilted his head, voice smooth as silk.

“You know,” he mused, “I was planning on taking my time with you tonight.”

You clenched your fists in your lap.

He grinned. “But now?”

He placed his menu down.

“Now, I think I’ll take you home and remind you exactly who’s in charge.”

Your breath hitched.

George chuckled, reaching for his drink once more.

Then, with a wink, he murmured,

“Finish your wine, darling. You’re going to need it.”

END

hshshshsh idk why but my drafts keep posting themselves?? Like, I’m literally just editing them then it suddenly posted?!? And if not that, sometimes my drafts just disappear :( like wtf?? hshshshs its soooo annoying.

[l4ndoflove]

triple head

feat. lando norris , oscar piastri , carlos sainz , charles leclerc , lewis hamilton , max verstappen

lyrics triple header means three consecutive race weekends, a.k.a. 21 days without seeing your boyfriend

maddie no i didn't misspell the title 🙃 (if you have ANY requests in mind pls do share bc i'm lacking of inspiration. and don't forget to comment, like, and reblog <3)

© 2025 l4ndoflove. all rights reserved.

[csainzoperator]

boyfriend duties ☆

summary: random boyfriend texts

(f1 drivers x fem!reader)

trigger warnings: nicknames, suggestive, extremely flirty, curse words (lots of them..sorry i cant last long without using one), thats it i guess (?)

an: enjoy babies, just a lil something for now. i'm working on your requests! luv you my lil freaks

charles, carlos, lewis, george, max

lando, oscar,

end.

part 2 wil come up soon! until then, have fun reading! let me know what you wanna see next :))

[lazysoulwriter]

let them talk - lewis hamilton.

---

The headlines never stopped.

“Too Young?”“Why Lewis Hamilton’s Wife Is Raising Eyebrows in the Paddock”“Age Gap or Power Gap?”“The Mystery of Mrs. Hamilton”

They called you mysterious because you didn’t feed the tabloids. They called you too young because they couldn’t believe someone your age could hold their own next to him. They said a lot of things.

And honestly? You couldn’t care less.

You were Mrs. Hamilton. You loved him. He loved you. You had the ring, the house, the matching toothbrushes, and enough laughter between you to drown out every whisper from every headline.

So when you walked into the paddock hand in hand with him, dressed in your chic little outfit, skin glowing, smile lazy, eyes locked on him like he was the only man on Earth—yeah, people stared. Cameras clicked. Journalists held their breath.

Let them.

He was in his race suit already, sunglasses pushed into his curls, the fabric hugging every inch of muscle you’d kissed that morning. He looked cool, focused, but the second he glanced at you— God.

That smile. That smile that always melted into something softer when it was just for you.

“You’re staring,” you teased, stepping into his space.

“You’re stunning,” he said, without missing a beat. His hand rested on your waist, fingers brushing against the bare skin just under your top. “You always make it hard to focus on the car.”

“I thought you were good at multitasking,” you smirked.

He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear. “I am. But right now, I just want to kiss my wife.”

So you let him.

Right there. In front of everyone. Reporters, cameras, fans—didn’t matter.

What started as a sweet kiss turned molten in seconds. His hand cupped the back of your head, your fingers curled in the collar of his suit. You felt him exhale against your lips, tasted every ounce of affection and pride and desire rolled into one kiss. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission. Didn’t care who was watching.

It was a statement.

When he pulled back, just a little breathless, his smile turned into something cocky—possessive in the way that made your stomach flip.

“I hope they caught that,” he murmured.

“They definitely did,” you laughed, smoothing your lipstick with your finger. “That was kind of… a lot.”

He grinned. “Good. Let them talk.”

And they would. You knew the headlines were already being written. “Too Hot for the Paddock: Lewis and His Wife Share Fiery Kiss Before Race”“Age Gap, What Age Gap?”

But none of it mattered. Because as he walked away toward the garage, he glanced over his shoulder and winked at you—and that was the only headline you needed.

---

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

now part of a trilogy!

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

──────────────────────

u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

──────────────────────

‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

──────────────────────

view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘trailblazer’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[jungwnies]

TIKTOK TREND WITH YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND | "we listen and we don't judge"

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : "we listen and we don't judge" trend

୨ৎ : genre : humor, angsty only if you squint ୨ৎ : tws : light teasing, SLIGHTLY suggestive for lewis and charles ୨ৎ : word count : 3255

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : race weekend !! can't believe lewis is finally breaking up with mercedes :'(

ʚ・max verstappen

you and max were sprawled on the couch after dinner, scrolling through your phone, you came across the "we listen and we don’t judge" trend and turned to max with a mischievous grin.

“max, we’re doing something,” you announced, setting your phone down.

he raised an eyebrow. “what now?”

“it’s this trend. i’ll say ‘we listen and we don’t judge,’ and you have to confess something funny or random you’ve kept from me. then it’s my turn. we go back and forth, no getting mad. deal?”

he smirked, clearly intrigued. “sounds dangerous. but alright, i’m in.”

you grinned. “okay. we listen, and we don’t judge.”

max leaned back, rubbing his chin like he was deep in thought. “alright... sometimes, when you’re not around, i watch rom-coms. and yes, i cry a little.”

your jaw dropped, and you smacked his arm lightly. “you cry? you don’t even tear up during sad movies with me!”

“no judging!” he reminded you, laughing. “your turn.”

you sighed, biting back a smile. “okay. we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes when i say i’m folding laundry, i’m actually just lying on the bed scrolling on my phone.”

max blinked, a laugh bubbling out of him. “seriously? i knew it took you way too long to fold a few shirts!”

“no judging!” you shot back, grinning. “your turn.”

he grinned, leaning in a little. “we listen, and we don’t judge… i told you i’d stop eating stroopwafels late at night, but i have a secret stash in the garage.”

you gasped dramatically. “the garage? max!”

“you said no judging,” he said smugly. “your turn.”

you rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh. “okay. we listen, and we don’t judge… remember when your favorite hoodie ‘got lost’? i actually stole it, and it’s hidden in my closet.”

his eyes narrowed, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “so that’s where it went! i’ve been looking for it for months!”

“it’s comfy!” you defended. “last one, your turn.”

max smirked. “we listen, and we don’t judge… when i say i’m working late at the simulator, half the time i’m just watching motorsport documentaries.”

you stared at him, stunned. “max!”

he laughed, throwing an arm around you. “hey, at least i’m consistent. no judging, remember?”

“fine,” you muttered, shaking your head but smiling. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

it was a rare, lazy afternoon at home with lewis, the two of you stretched out on the couch with no obligations for the day. you were scrolling through your phone when a trending couples game caught your attention. immediately, you knew lewis would make this hilarious.

“lewis,” you said, nudging his arm.

he turned to you, smirking. “what is it now?”

“we’re playing a game. it’s called ‘we listen and we don’t judge.’ i’ll say that, and you have to confess something funny or random you’ve been hiding. then it’s my turn. but no getting mad.”

his smirk deepened, clearly intrigued. “no getting mad? sounds like this might end in trouble.”

“just go with it,” you said, grinning. “you’re up first. we listen, and we don’t judge.”

he leaned back, tapping his chin like he was debating the perfect confession. “alright… we listen, and we don’t judge. i once borrowed your face cream, and now i’m low-key addicted to your skincare routine.”

you blinked at him, your jaw dropping. “you’re the reason i keep running out so fast?”

he grinned sheepishly. “your stuff’s top tier. what can i say?”

“unbelievable.” you shook your head, but you couldn’t stop laughing. “fine, my turn. we listen, and we don’t judge... i sometimes hide the remote under the couch cushion when you won’t stop flipping channels.”

his mouth fell open in mock shock. “that’s why i can never find it?!”

“no judging!” you reminded him, biting back a laugh.

“alright, alright,” he said, sitting up straighter. “we listen, and we don’t judge... when i say i’m texting toto, sometimes i’m actually looking at old pictures of roscoe.”

you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “roscoe’s been getting all the attention while i’ve been sitting here, huh?”

“he’s my boy,” lewis said with a shrug, a proud grin on his face. “your turn.”

you smirked, thinking for a moment. “we listen, and we don’t judge... i may or may not have eaten the last slice of cake and blamed it on you forgetting it in the fridge.”

he pointed at you, his eyes wide. “you did that? i thought i was losing my mind!”

“no judging!” you said, giggling.

“fine,” he said, shaking his head but laughing. “last one. we listen, and we don’t judge... i keep your voice notes on my phone and listen to them when—”

before he could finish, you grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “lewis!”

he was already cracking up, raising his hands in surrender. “you said no judging!”

“and you’re breaking the rules of decency!” you shot back, hitting him again as he laughed harder.

he eventually grabbed the pillow from you, pulling you into his lap. “you’re lucky i love you. even if you ate my cake.”

“you’re lucky i love you,” you teased back, resting your forehead against his. “even if roscoe gets all your attention.”

ʚ・george russell

it was one of those chill evenings at home, where neither of you had any pressing plans. george was scrolling through his phone, half paying attention to whatever was on tv, when you suddenly sat up with a mischievous grin.

“george,” you started, already giggling.

he glanced over, instantly suspicious. “what have i done now?”

“nothing… yet. but we’re playing a game,” you said. “it’s called ‘we listen and we don’t judge.’ we take turns confessing random, stupid things, and the other person can’t get mad or judge.”

he narrowed his eyes, clearly trying not to laugh. “this sounds like a trap.”

“it’s not a trap!” you promised. “come on, i’ll start. we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes, when you’re out, i play f1 23 just so i can crash your car and watch it fly into the barriers.”

his jaw dropped. “my car?! my poor car! how could you?”

“no judging!” you reminded him, grinning. “your turn.”

he sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “alright, fine. we listen, and we don’t judge… once, when you were in the shower, i tried on your slippers, and honestly? i get why you love them so much. they’re so soft.”

you stared at him, stunned, before bursting into laughter. “you mean to tell me you’ve been walking around in my fluffy bunny slippers?”

“not walking,” he said defensively. “just… trying them on.”

“sure,” you said, still laughing. “okay, my turn. we listen, and we don’t judge… one time, i accidentally shrunk your favorite sweater in the wash and blamed it on the dryer.”

george’s eyes went wide. “that was you?! i thought i’d bulked up!”

“no judging!” you said quickly, holding back another laugh. “your turn.”

he leaned back, a mischievous grin on his face. “we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes, when you’re asleep, i watch those weird, satisfying carpet-cleaning videos on youtube.”

you blinked at him, trying not to laugh. “you’re telling me you’re out here binge-watching carpet scrubbing at 2 a.m.?”

“they’re oddly relaxing!” he said with mock indignation. “your turn.”

you smirked. “we listen, and we don’t judge… i stole one of your racing socks once because i couldn’t find mine, and i still have it.”

“oh, so that’s why i’ve been missing one sock this whole time!” he said, pointing at you dramatically.

“you weren’t supposed to notice!”

george laughed, pulling you into his arms. “this game is wild, but now i’m going to look at my socks, slippers, and sweaters very differently. also, we’re getting you your own racing socks.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

it was one of those laid-back evenings, the two of you lounging on the couch, tiktok videos filling the quiet air between laughs. carlos had his phone propped up on the armrest, both of you scrolling through videos. when you came across one of those “we listen and we don’t judge” videos, your eyes lit up.

“we should do that,” you said, grinning at him.

carlos raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “tú y yo? (you and me?) i don’t know… are you sure you’re ready for my confessions?”

you crossed your arms and smirked. “oh, please. i bet you have nothing on me.”

“alright then,” he said, locking his phone and turning fully toward you. “we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes, when you ask me to fix something around the house, i pretend i don’t know how so you’ll do it.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “carlos! you’ve been faking it?”

“no judging!” he said, smirking back at you, completely unfazed. “your turn.”

you shook your head in disbelief but couldn’t help but laugh. “fine. we listen, and we don’t judge… i once took a picture of your car keys just so i could send it to you and pretend i had your keys when i’d lost mine.”

his eyes widened. “wait, so you’ve been using my keys to trick me into thinking you didn’t lose yours?!”

“yeah, well… no judging!” you said, grinning.

carlos leaned back, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “okay, we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes, when you get me to help you clean, i do half the work and then take a break to watch racing highlights on my phone.”

you stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. “you’re literally cleaning with one hand and watching f1 with the other?”

“isn’t that multitasking?” he said, shrugging with a teasing grin. “your turn.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips couldn’t stop smiling. “we listen, and we don’t judge… i’ve been secretly eating your chocolate stash. and no, i don’t plan to stop.”

carlos leaned toward you, pretending to be shocked. “¿qué? (what?) you’ve been stealing my chocolate? that’s it, i’m hiding it next time!”

you giggled, shrugging innocently. “no judging!”

carlos pulled you closer, laughing softly. “alright, alright. you’ve won this round, but next time, i’m keeping my keys—and my chocolate—locked up.”

you smirked, resting your head on his shoulder. “no judgment, remember?”

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles was sitting at the piano, playing casually, while you were scrolling through tiktok. you stumbled across the "we listen and we don’t judge" trend and couldn't resist showing him.

“amour, look at this. we should try it.”

he looked up from the keys, a playful grin on his face. “what is it? another tiktok trend i’ll regret?”

you showed him the video. “it’s a confession game. we take turns sharing things we’ve kept secret, and the other person can’t judge. we listen and we don’t judge.”

he raised an eyebrow. “you know i’m already regretting this, right mon amour?”

you laughed. “don’t be dramatic. we listen and we don’t judge.”

“alright, alright,” he said, stretching. “i'll go first…we listen, and we don’t judge… i used all your shampoo in the shower once, and when i realized it was nearly empty, i just told you it was already like that, so i threw it out while i was cleaning.”

you blinked, looking surprised. “charles! and you didn't even buy more!”

charles laughed. “at least i put it in the recycling, right?”

“no judgment…i guess." you chuckled, shaking your head. "alright, your my. but i’m keeping track of this, and i'm checking how much shampoo is left every time i get in the shower!”

you take a deep breath before giving him a cheeky grin, “okay, we listen, and we don’t judge… when i told you i knew how to cook that fancy dinner, i was actually watching youtube tutorials the whole time. i burnt it twice, so i just pretended i forgot and ordered something instead.”

charles burst out laughing. “i knew it! it tasted too good to be true. so, you’ve been secretly lying to me this whole time?”

you shrugged innocently. “we listen, we don’t judge.”

he raised his hands in surrender. “fine, no judgment.”

then, he leaned in a little closer, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “okay, last one, but don’t judge, alright amour? i… sometimes fantasize about you in that dress you wore the other night… and how it’d look when you—”

“shut up, charles!” you cut him off, quickly throwing a pillow at him. “don’t say that out loud!”

charles just laughed harder, hands up in defense. “what? you said we listen and we don’t judge!”

“i didn’t say you could be that honest!” you shot back, laughing as you tried to grab the pillow back.

he grabbed it first, pulling you closer and holding you in his arms. “you’re lucky i love you, even when you’re stealing my shampoo.”

you grinned, leaning your forehead against his. “you’re lucky i love you, even when you make me blush with your terrible flirting.”

charles winked. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

ʚ・lando norris

you and lando were sprawled on the couch, both scrolling through tiktok when you came across the “we listen and we don’t judge” trend. you smirked, nudging him.

“hey, this looks fun. we should do it,” you said.

lando glanced at the screen, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “oh, i’m so in. i’ve got a few things i’ve been meaning to get off my chest.”

you laughed, knowing this could get interesting. “alright, we listen, and we don’t judge.”

lando immediately sat up straighter, ready to spill. “okay, okay. i’ve got one. we listen, and we don’t judge… i’ve been telling you i’m really good at making spaghetti, but the truth is, i just pour sauce over it and hope for the best. i don’t actually know how to cook it properly.”

you stared at him. “wait, you’ve been lying about being a chef this whole time?”

lando shrugs, looking way too proud of himself. “hey, it works. you still like it, don’t you?”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “i don’t even know what to say to that. you’re like a pasta fraud.”

he leaned back, looking smug. “i’ve never been caught, so it’s all good.”

“alright, my turn,” you said, smirking. “we listen, and we don’t judge… i once accidentally ate all your leftover pizza and just left the box in the fridge like nothing happened. i thought you wouldn’t notice.”

lando’s eyes widened. “noooooo, you didn’t! you ate the pizza and didn’t even say anything?”

you nodded, trying not to laugh. “yep. i was hungry.”

he rubbed his temples. “this is worse than the spaghetti. at least i knew what i was doing with that!”

“hey, we don’t judge,” you shot back.

lando paused, looking like he was trying to think of something equally embarrassing to share. “alright, alright. this one’s a good one. we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes when i’m on facetime with you, i don’t really pay attention. i just let you talk while i’m scrolling through instagram or playing games. but i’m good at pretending like i’m listening.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “what? no way. so all those times i thought you were listening to me, you were just—what? ignoring me?”

he winced, shrugging. “i mean, yeah. but i still love you, i promise! i’m just multitasking.”

“lando!” you threw a pillow at him. “i can’t believe you! that’s a whole new level of rude.”

he ducked, still laughing. “we listen, and we don’t judge!”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, well, i’m judging. big time.”

then you paused, smirking. “fine. one more. we listen, and we don’t judge… i once tried to sneakily eat all your chocolate bars, but i was so obvious about it that you caught me before i even finished.”

lando couldn’t help but laugh. “what?! you didn’t even hide it well?”

you shrugged. “i panicked, okay? i thought i could get away with it.”

“i can’t with you,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “you’re lucky i love you, even though you’re a snack thief and a liar.”

you grinned. “i’m lucky you love me, even though you can’t even cook spaghetti properly.”

he smirked. “you’re lucky i still cook for you, pizza thief.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you and oscar were curled up on the sofa in your shared apartment, mindlessly scrolling through tiktok. a video popped up showcasing the "we listen and we don't judge" trend, and you nudged oscar with your elbow.

"hey, this looks fun," you said, grinning. "we should do it."

oscar, his eyes still glued to his phone, shrugged. "sure, why not?" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "though i can't imagine having any confessions that are that scandalous."

"oh, you'd be surprised," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "everyone has secrets, oscar."

he chuckled, finally tearing his gaze away from the screen. "alright, let's do it. we listen, and we don't judge."

you took a deep breath, a mischievous glint in your eye. "okay, here goes. we listen, and we don't judge… i may have 'accidentally' shrunk your favorite mclaren hoodie in the wash. like, significantly."

oscar's eyes widened in horror. "you what?!" he exclaimed, leaping off the couch to inspect the damage. "not the hoodie with the papaya stripe! that was vintage!"

you winced, trying to hide your amusement. "it was an accident! i swear! i must have mixed up the settings on the washing machine."

he held up the shrunken garment, now more suitable for a toddler than a formula 1 driver. "y/n, this looks like something a chihuahua would wear!"

you burst out laughing. "okay, okay, i messed up. but hey, maybe it'll make a comeback as a crop top?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

oscar sighed, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "alright, alright. my turn. we listen, and we don't judge… i may have accidentally reversed your car into the mailbox last week."

your jaw dropped. "what?! the mailbox that's now leaning at a 45-degree angle? that was you?!"

he cringed. "yeah, about that… i was in a bit of a rush, and i may have misjudged the distance."

"misjudged the distance?" you repeated incredulously. "oscar, you're a formula 1 driver! you judge distances for a living!"

he shrugged sheepishly. "everyone makes mistakes, okay? besides, it's not like i crashed an actual race car."

you shook your head, still in disbelief. "this is unbelievable. what's next, are you going to admit you can't actually cook?"

oscar's eyes widened, and he quickly changed the subject. "okay, your turn! let's hear another confession."

you smirked, knowing you had him on the ropes. "alright, fine. we listen, and we don't judge… i may have pretended to like your favorite band just to impress you when we first started dating."

he gasped dramatically. "you mean you don't actually enjoy listening to that obscure australian rock band?"

you cringed. "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is a strong word. but i've grown to appreciate them… sort of."

oscar burst out laughing. "this is too good! i can't believe you've been faking it this whole time!"

you playfully punched his arm. "hey, at least i tried! besides, it's not like you haven't exaggerated your cooking skills."

he grinned, pulling you closer. "touché. well, i guess we're both full of surprises."

you snuggled into his side, still chuckling. "yeah, i guess we are. but hey, at least we can be honest with each other, right?"

"absolutely," he agreed, kissing your forehead. "we listen, and we don't judge… mostly."

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