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annewithaneofthegreengable · 7 months ago

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Kinktober - Day 4

4th — cockwarming, Max Verstappen

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

Prompt: You are an actress and have been in a relationship with Max for a while. You have been trying to learn all your lines in the upcoming movie, and since this time of the year is off-time, which means no racing for a few weeks for Max, he volunteered to help you remember your lines and practice it with you.

You and Max sat on the couch together in their comfortable living room. Max had a script in his hand, and the other one was in yours. "Okay, ready to start?" Max asked, a slight smile on his face. You nodded, a look of determination on your face. "Ready as I'll ever be," you replied. Max chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll help you remember your lines. You've got this."

Sometimes you would stumble over a word or phrase, but Max was there to help you through it. He would gently correct or repeat the line if you forgot it completely. "Schatz, there’s another fun way to rehearse all these lines, and you can even memorise it faster. Take a break and meet me in the office.”

Max's proposal piqued your interest and curiosity. You couldn't help but wonder what new method he had in mind to help you remember your lines more effectively.

With a nod, you got up from the couch and headed towards the office. You found Max already there, waiting for you.

He waves you over to where he’s sitting on his desk chair, motioning for you to sit on his lap. You look at him, confused for a moment, before doing as he wordlessly asked.

“What are we doing? I thought you would help me with the script.” you half laugh, half ask curiously.

You can feel Max fumble his hands behind you, his cold watch brushing against the warm skin of your tailbone that’s exposed from your dress.

“I’m helping you to study it better with some motivation.” He whispered to your ears.

You hear his zipper come undone, and that’s when you realize what he’s wanting. Max adjusts you on his lap so you’re hovering, and he aligns his length with your clothed entrance, teasing your clit through your underwear. He pushes the fabric to the side with his fingers, allowing his tip to brush against your wetness. You slowly push yourself onto him, and Max guides himself into you at a snail’s pace. You aren’t quite wet enough yet, so he takes his time. Once he’s wholly sheathed inside your warmth, Max grabs your hips so you can’t move.

“I want you to just sit here and be a good girl while learning, alright?”

“That’s kind of hard with you inside me, Maxie .”

“You can do it, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You aren’t sure what you’d do if you had to act normal while Max’s thick, now-throbbing length is being squeezed by your walls.

He grunts softly as you shift a little, and he kisses your neck, nipping and sucking on your skin. Max's trying to distract himself by reading the script. "Act 1, Scene 1... Oh, god, you're getting wetter, aren't you?"

He starts moving his hips slowly, pushing himself in and out of you, his thick length stretching you open with each movement. He keeps his hand on your hip, holding you in place as he sets a slow, steady pace. "Focus, baby... Focus on the script..."

Max thrusts into you, disguising it as a minor shifting in his chair, and you have to clear your throat to stifle a moan, “Uh … Oh, a chapel. Do…Do you think dad will be able to cross the threshold,” you try to read the line outloud.

“You are doing great, Schatzi. Can you go on.”

“Of course,” you nod your head, rubbing your palm along Max’s thigh out of sight.

Max's breath hitches slightly at your touch, but he keeps his face neutral, continuing with the script. "That’s a good question…" He punctuates each phrase with a measured thrust, maintaining the facade of simply coaching you through the scene. His voice grows huskier.

You begin to feel restless on Max’s cock, wishing for nothing more than to fuck him senseless. You want to end your learning session, spin around, and bounce on him for hours. But of course, until he gives the word, you can’t move. Max's intense gaze bores into you as he slowly trails a finger along your jawline.

“Please,” you whimper, “Let me move.” “Then move.”

With his permission, Max's hands move to your backside, gripping firmly as he helps guide your movements. His hips thrust up to meet yours, the two of you finding a rhythm together. The sound of your labored breaths and wet, slapping bodies fills the room, the script is long forgotten on the desk.

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annewithaneofthegreengable · 29 days ago

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Summer Serendipity

Summary: It was the summer break between the races, and Oscar suddenly came across a travel magazine about a quiet town in Northern Ireland on the work desk of someone who had left it open when he was visiting McLaren’s HQ in Woking. Next thing, he was on his way to Belfast, with nothing much on his mind, no worries about the championship standings, the braking mode, the corners or chicanes,... Nothing, just him and his summer getaway in Belfast.

Meanwhile, Edith Ezra, a devoted single mother working at a quaint cafe in Belfast, cherishes her two children, Ivy and Eddie, above all else. Having faced the heartbreak of their father's abandonment, Edith has built a life centred around providing for her family and creating a sense of stability for her children.

When Oscar's path crosses with Edith's in Belfast, their worlds collide in unexpected ways. As Oscar finds himself drawn to the warmth and genuine kindness of Edith and her children, he begins to see a different side of life beyond the fast-paced world of racing.

Author's note: here it is!!! The very first chapter in my first Oscar's fic. Hope you guys will like it, and please send me any message whether you like it or not, and if you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know too! Happy reading.

Oscar couldn’t handle the pressure any more. His stress levels were at their peak, and if he made it to the end of the season without telling Zak, Andrea or Mark what he thought of everything inside his mind, it would be a miracle.

He felt like his life was spinning out of control, and he just didn’t know which way to turn. What was next for Oscar Jack Piastri? He couldn’t even tell or have any clue. He was number two on the championship standings, but what’s next for him? To always be second best to Lando, never number one? He felt like no one could even understand him these days, not even himself. His confidence was knocked. His motivation seemed to be at an all-time low. Despite that, he still did well every weekend. But was it the car or his talent?

So here he was. The Belgian Grand Prix had been yet another victory for the team with a double podiums for McLaren, first place for Lando and third place for him. As the national anthem played, Oscar’s eyes drifted to Lando. His teammate, his friend, his rival. Lando had it all: the charm, the confidence, the adoration of the fans. He was the golden boy of McLaren, and Oscar? He was the talented number two driver, the understudy, the one destined to be "almost." Second in the championship standings, second in the eyes of the team, second in the hearts of the fans. No matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how flawlessly he executed his laps, it was never enough. He was never enough.

Later that evening, the McLaren motorhome was alive with celebration. The team’s double podium was a reason to rejoice, and the energy was infectious. Mechanics clinked glasses, engineers laughed over inside jokes, and Zak Brown, the team principal, made a toast that brought cheers and applause from all corners of the room. But Oscar wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. He nursed a glass of sparkling champagne, avoiding eye contact with his teammates as he lingered on the fringes of the crowd. Every laugh, every pat on the back felt like a reminder of the expectations he carried on his shoulders.

“Oscar, mate, cheer up!�� Lando’s voice cut through the noise as he approached, a mischievous grin on his face. “Third place is still a win in my book.”

Oscar forced a smile. “Yeah, sure. Just tired, that’s all.”

But Lando wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been ‘just tired’ for weeks now. What’s going on?”

Oscar hesitated, the words forming in his throat but refusing to come out. How could he explain the storm raging inside him? The self-doubt, the pressure, the feeling of being trapped in a world that demanded perfection at every turn? Instead, he shrugged, muttering something about needing sleep before slipping away from the party. To be honest, Oscar was glad for the summer break. Four weeks of not having to see anyone. Four weeks to get himself together. He’d originally been supposed to be flying home the day after the race, but Zak decided that they should visit McLaren’s HQ in Woking to celebrate with everyone there. While he appreciated the camaraderie and support of his team, the idea of facing his colleagues and superiors in his current state of mind filled him with anxiety.

As Oscar sat on the plane, his thoughts swirling with doubts and uncertainties, he couldn't help but wonder about the path ahead. Would he always be destined to play second fiddle to Lando, forever chasing the elusive dream of becoming number one? Or was there a deeper truth to be uncovered about his own capabilities and potential? As the plane touched down in England, Oscar braced himself for the upcoming visit to McLaren's HQ. Everyone here in the factory was nothing but nice towards them. It was like a homecoming for the heroes, because McLaren hadn’t been first in both the WCC and WDC in like forever. So he and Lando gave a speech to send out their gratitude to the employees. They even got the chance to go and visit each department in the factory. It was during a tour of the engineering department that Oscar’s eyes landed on a travel magazine sitting on someone’s desk. The cover featured a breathtaking photograph of a quiet coastal town in Northern Ireland, its rugged cliffs and emerald-green fields bathed in golden sunlight. The headline read: “Escape to Tranquillity: Discover the Hidden Gems of Northern Ireland.” For a moment, the noise around him faded, replaced by the gentle pull of the image. He imagined himself standing on those cliffs, the wind in his hair, the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders. The thought was intoxicating, a glimmer of hope in the midst of his turmoil. He didn’t know why, but something about that town called to him, promising a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years.

And so, as the next morning came, the boarding call went out for his flight. This was it. Oscar Jack Piastri was about to disappear. To Belfast off he went.

The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Edith’s small but cozy kitchen, casting dappled light across the table where a half-empty mug of tea sat cooling. Edith Ezra leaned against the counter, her arms folded tightly across her chest, and let out a long breath. The house was finally quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional chirp of birds outside. Ivy and Eddie had been picked up by her neighbour, Mrs. Doyle, who had kindly offered to take the twins to the park for an hour. Edith didn’t take moments like this for granted; five minutes of peace were rare in her world, and she cherished every one of them.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where sunlight poured in, illuminating the worn wooden floor beneath her feet. It was another beautiful day, the kind that made the world seem a little brighter, a little softer. Belfast was unpredictable when it came to weather, but days like today were perfect, not too warm, just enough sun to coax people out of their homes and into her café. Business had been steady lately, which was a blessing. The café wasn’t much, just a small shop tucked into a quiet corner of the city, but it was hers. After years of working two jobs, saving every spare penny, and scraping together the courage to take the leap, Edith had finally made her dream a reality. She glanced at the clock on the wall. One hour until opening. Angie, her part-time employee, would be arriving soon to help set up. Angie was a godsend, not just for her hard work but for her kindness. She always seemed to know when Edith needed an extra hand or a listening ear. And sometimes, on particularly chaotic days, she even helped keep an eye on the twins.

The kids, Ivy and Eddie, were Edith’s four, nearly five-year-old twins. They looked nothing like her. They were blonde, and she was red. They were an exact copy of their father in almost every way, well, except for their eyes, as they were blue, like Edith’s. Everytime Edith looked at them, she was reminded by the twins’ father, or as she always call him the A-class asshole. Because he had decided that his time was too precious to spend being a daddy at such a young age, and had run away after hearing that Edith was pregnant. At first, she had been devastated. Dropping out of university, moving back in with her parents, and learning how to be a mother to not one but two babies had been overwhelming. But the moment she heard their tiny heartbeats on the ultrasound, something shifted in her. She had found a strength she never knew she had, and by the time Ivy and Eddie were born, she was determined to give them the best life she could. It hadn’t been easy. There were sleepless nights, endless shifts at thankless jobs, and moments when she wasn’t sure how she would make ends meet. But there were also moments of pure joy; first steps, first words, laughter that filled the house and made everything worthwhile. Slowly but surely, with the help of her parents and a few close friends, Edith had built a life for herself and her children.

Still, there were days when the past weighed heavily on her. Days when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and barely recognised the woman staring back. Her once-confident smile had faded, replaced by a look of quiet determination. She had put her dreams, her ambitions, even her sense of self on hold to be the mother her children needed. And while she didn’t regret a single moment of it, there were times when she wondered if she would ever feel like herself again.

Dating wasn’t something she even considered anymore. It wasn’t just that she didn’t have the time, though that was certainly part of it; it was that she didn’t see the point. Her ex had shattered her confidence, leaving her with lingering doubts about her worth. And besides, she had Ivy and Eddie. They were all she needed.

The sound of the front door opening pulled her from her thoughts. Angie stepped inside, a bright smile on her face and flowers in her hand.

“Morning, Edith,” she said cheerfully. “I stopped by the flower shop on my way here. Thought we could use these for the display case.”

Edith smiled, grateful as always for Angie’s thoughtfulness. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. I’ll take a vase to go with them.”

As the two women set to work preparing the café for the day, Edith felt a sense of calm settle over her. The familiar routine of brewing coffee, arranging pastries, and wiping down tables was comforting, grounding. Here, in this small space she had created, she felt in control.

But even as she busied herself with the tasks at hand, a nagging thought lingered in the back of her mind. Was this it? Was this all her life would ever be? She loved her children, loved her café, but a tiny part of her longed for something more.

She shook her head, brushing the thought away. There was no time for daydreams. The café was opening soon, and customers would be arriving shortly.

Meanwhile, across the Irish Sea, Oscar Piastri sat on a plane bound for Belfast, his mind racing with doubts and questions about the path he had chosen.

Instagram Post: @/Edithlovesedit

Liked by @/Angiethebougie, @/Luckyluke and 88 people.

@/Edithlovesedit: Hi! It's Edith's account here, and Edith loves to edit everything 🤗

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@/Angiethebougie: girl, come back here we have a coffee shop to open

-> @/Edithlovesedit: aye aye, captain! brb just gotta go and kiss my babies first.

@/Luckyluke: Oh to have the red hair like yours 😭

-> @/Edithlovesedit: yours is prettier than mine 🫶🏻

-> @/Luckyluke: Shut up im running to ur place for that croissant now, better save me one

-> @/Edithlovesedit: tick tick tick the clock is clocking Luke 🤭

Oscar tugged the brim of his cap lower over his eyes as he stepped off the plane and into the crisp, late-morning air of Belfast. He traveled light, just a backpack slung over one shoulder and a small suitcase in tow. No entourage. No cameras. No team members trailing behind him. For once, he was just another traveler, one more face in the blur of arrivals. And that, strangely, felt like a relief.

Outside the airport, the rhythm of the city was slower, quieter. The cobblestone streets weren’t made for wheeled suitcases, and his bumped along awkwardly as he walked, the small wheels catching in every uneven gap. He paused for a moment, scanning the narrow street ahead of him.

It was nothing like the world he had just left behind. There were no roaring engines, no flashing media lights, no towering hospitality suites or sponsor banners. Just brick buildings with ivy-covered walls, flower pots swaying from lampposts, and the distant sound of laughter spilling from a nearby pub. For a brief second, Oscar wondered if this whole trip had been a mistake. The silence felt almost too loud. But then he reminded himself why he was here: to escape, to breathe, and maybe, finally, to figure out who he was beyond the track.

He hadn’t come with much of a plan, just a quiet rental flat above a local bookshop, a small space near the city centre with no luxury, no distractions, and a view of a street lined with cafés and flower stalls. It was, in every sense, the opposite of his usual world.

His first morning in Belfast was slow and meandering. He woke late, then wandered aimlessly through cobbled alleys, past colourful shopfronts and street musicians playing soft melodies on corners. He hadn’t spoken to anyone, and for now, he liked it that way. With his cap pulled low and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, he moved unnoticed, unbothered. For once, he wasn’t Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver. He was just…Oscar.

Then, as he turned a quiet corner, it caught his eye, a small café tucked between two taller buildings. The sign above the door read The Bean & Blossom, painted in elegant cursive with a steaming cup of coffee beside it. It stood out, but not in a flashy way. It was the kind of place that felt like a secret you were lucky to find. Oscar’s stomach gave a quiet protest, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since leaving Woking. He stepped toward the door, hesitating only a second before pulling it open and letting the warmth of The Bean & Blossom pull him in.

The café had an old brick exterior softened by vines climbing up the walls and copper light fixtures that would glow warmly after sunset. The bell over the door chimed a little too enthusiastically every time someone walked in or out, but no one seemed to mind, it was part of the charm.

Inside, the space was cozy and calm. The walls were painted a soft sage green, decorated with mismatched picture frames, some holding vintage travel posters, others filled with candid snapshots of regulars and community events. A bookshelf near the counter offered well-loved novels for customers to borrow or trade, and tiny succulents in colorful pots lined the windowsills.

The place had a subtle vintage feel, like it had existed forever without trying too hard. The wooden floorboards creaked gently underfoot. No two chairs matched, yet the mismatched furniture somehow blended together into something warm and lived-in. In the corner sat a reading nook with two velvet armchairs and a small round table, always topped with a jar of homemade cookies and the latest issues of local magazines.

The aroma inside was enough to make Oscar pause, a comforting mix of fresh espresso, warm bread, and something sweet, like vanilla or cinnamon. Behind the counter, a chalkboard menu displayed the day’s specials, each one accompanied by tiny doodles: stars, mugs, little smiley faces. The display case was a wonder of its own: rows of pastries lined neatly, each one practically glowing under the soft lights. Scones, tarts, and thick slices of lemon drizzle cake sat beside the famous cinnamon swirls, which, as a note scrawled in chalk said, were "always the first to go (sorry not sorry!)".

Oscar stepped further inside, letting the door swing closed behind him with a soft jingle. For a brief moment, he just stood there, taking it all in: the hum of conversation, the soft hiss of the coffee machine, the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic. It felt like stepping into someone else’s life, the kind where things moved slower and mornings could stretch on forever without urgency.

The café wasn’t crowded, just a few people scattered around. A man in a fisherman’s sweater sat by the window with a newspaper folded in half, a mother with a toddler tried to coax bites of muffin between animated chatter, and a girl in a beret sketched something in a notebook near the back. No one looked up. No one noticed him.

Oscar exhaled quietly and approached the counter.

Behind it stood a woman, mid-twenties, maybe younger, with a messy bun perched high on her head and flour dusted lightly across the sleeve of her cardigan. She was scribbling something onto the chalkboard, pausing every few seconds to add a doodle beside one of the specials. Her face was half-hidden behind a curtain of red curls, but her focus was laser-sharp, tongue caught slightly between her teeth in concentration.

Oscar cleared his throat gently. “Hey.”

The woman turned, blinking in surprise before offering a warm, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Morning! Sorry, I was in the zone.” She tossed the chalk aside and wiped her hands on her apron. “What can I get you?”

He scanned the chalkboard for a second, then gave a small shrug. “Honestly? I have no idea. Something good. Something that might make up for a seven a.m. flight and a very questionable airport sandwich.”

She grinned, already reaching for a mug. “Rough morning, huh? You’ve come to the right place. I prescribe coffee and sugar. Trust me, I’m basically a professional.”

Oscar let out a soft laugh. “I’ll take whatever your prescription is.”

She moved with ease behind the counter, every step familiar, like a quiet rhythm she knew by heart. As she worked, she spoke over her shoulder, “I’m Edith, by the way. And you?”

There was a moment’s pause before Oscar answered. “Oscar.”

No surname. No recognition flickered across her face, and he didn’t offer more. Just Oscar.

“Well, Oscar,” she said, setting a latte down in front of him with a swirl of foam shaped into something that looked vaguely like a tulip. “Welcome to The Bean & Blossom. Your cinnamon swirl is warming up now, I figured you’d want the full first-time experience.”

Oscar looked down at the drink, then back at Edith, that same small smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was the first time in days he’d felt like someone was speaking to him, not at him.

He nodded, quiet but grateful. “Thanks. This place... It’s nice.”

Edith leaned slightly on the counter, brushing flour off her fingertips. “It’s a bit of a mess sometimes, but yeah. I like to think it’s got a good heart.”

Oscar took a sip of his drink. The coffee was smooth, rich, a little sweet, exactly what he hadn’t known he needed.

He glanced around again, already sensing that he might be back here tomorrow. Maybe the day after that, too.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, he didn’t feel like he was running from something.He felt like he was running toward something.

Taglist: @teamnovalak

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