Elise

23 | MDNI | MV3

[cherrymaxie]

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♡ Elise/El - 23 - she/her - brit ♡

Max Verstappen enthusiast/smut writer/MDNI

will write for:

most f1 drivers

spencer reid

aaron hotchner

marauders (some golden trio era)

patrick jane

Please make requests i’m new to writing but i’m friendly so request anything ♡

Inbox is open for requests whether they’re sweet or filthy and depraved x

[cherrymaxie]

help me pick my next fic to write!

which trope

hate sex

jealous sex

make-up sex

Voting ended onApr 6

[ver-lane]

collision course | mv3

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader (no y/n, red bull teammates)

warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, smut, coercion, dubcon, hate / rough sex, spanking, spitting, unprotected sex, breeding kink (baby trapping), max is lowk a pos and misogynistic

wc: 4.1k

summary: "this doesn't mean anything," you say.

"obviously." his hands slide to your shirt, pulling it up and off before you could process. your sports bra follows. "didn’t mean anything in barcelona either. or silverstone." "those were—different—" "sure they were." he shrugs his robe off, and he’s already hard, cock thick and flushed and intimidating. "you still ended up in my bed moaning like a whore. but yeah, totally different."

ale's note: ughhh thank you for this request it was right up my alley i LOVED writing this 😫 + i apologise in advance for the cringey porn-cliche dialogue

it’s five hours since the race, and your phone still won’t stop. the crash loops in your brain, on every f1 social media account. everyone’s got their opinion, but none of it matters because you’ve already decided: it was max verstappen’s fault. and also maybe yours, but in the kind of way where he’s so obviously the instigator, you just fell for his bullshit.

you throw your phone onto the hotel bed with enough force that it bounces twice and nearly cracks the headboard. the room they’ve stuck you in smells like cheap freesia, your own dried sweat, and that weird artificial lemon they put in cleaning products. your phone won’t stop blowing up. the press wants a quote. your team wants an apology. the fia probably wants your fucking soul.

fuck them all. you want max.

you’ve put off confronting him until after dinner, hoping your anger might fade, but instead it’s curdled into something different. you should sleep. you should call your sports psychologist, or your friends back home, or just scream into the pillow.

instead, you stand outside his room, knocking on the door. no answer.

the knocking turns to pounding after the first thirty seconds.

"open the fucking door, max."

nothing. you know he’s in there—his trainer mentioned he'd gone straight back after the debrief. after the disaster of a debrief where helmut had torn into both of you while max sat there with his arms crossed, saying nothing, taking none of the blame.

you go again, even louder, until you hear a muffled “jesus fuck, i’m coming!” through the slab of wood. a moment later, the door swings open, and max stands there in a hotel robe, his hair slightly damp. he looks you up and down with that flat expression that makes you want to punch him.

“you,” you say, voice trembling with pure loathing.

"what." not a question. a bored dismissal.

"you know why i'm here." you push past him. the room is enormous—max always gets the suite because max is max, and you've been teammates with him for eight months and it still makes pisses you off every time you see it. "don’t do the thing where you act like you don't know."

he closes the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed. the position makes his shoulders look broader, which you notice and immediately hate yourself for noticing. he has that look. the one where his eyes are too sharp for his expression to be as relaxed as he's making it.

"what thing?"

"the thing." you gesture at his face. "that. that look."

"you broke into my hotel room at eleven thirty to talk about my face."

"i didn't break in, you opened the door. and you know what happened today. you know what you did."

he tilts his head slightly. "i know what you did."

motherfucker.

"oh, that's—ok, so we're doing this." you laugh, but it's the wrong kind of laugh. "you turn into me, i have nowhere to go, we're both in the wall. that’s on you, max. i had the inside."

"you had the inside after you locked up and understeered directly into my line."

"i did not lock up—"

"i could see your front left from my side mirrors."

"that is such bullshit." you’re pacing angrily, because you can't stand still when you're this wound up and you've been wound up since the moment the barriers stopped you both and you had to sit there in the wreckage of a podium while the radio filled with voices. "i’ve reviewed it seven times. seven. i had the apex, i had the line, and you turned in late—you turned in late because you were trying to force me wide and it didn't work."

"hmm." he’s still leaning against the wall. still watching you. the robe has a gap at the collar and you're not looking at it.

"don’t hmm me."

"i’m listening."

"you’re not listening, you're waiting for me to stop talking so you can say something that makes you sound reasonable."

something shifts in his expression, just slightly. he uncrosses his arms and walks further into the room, past you, toward the minibar. he opens it and looks inside.

"you want something to drink?"

"no. i want you to admit that you caused that incident."

"i’m not going to do that."

"then i want you to explain to me how the data supports your version of—"

"you want to know what i think?" he says.

"i don't, actually—"

"i think you're better than today. i think you've been better than today all season and every time you get close to something, you find a way to let it become about us instead of just racing."

"you are unbelievable—"

"i’m the problem, yes. i know. you’ve covered that." he looks at you strangely. "what do you actually want from this?"

you open your mouth.

you don't have an answer. which is the thing you didn't let yourself think about in the elevator, or in the three hours of debrief and paddock noise and helmut’s barely contained fury that preceded it.

"i want you to—" you start.

"apologise," he says. "i know. i’m not going to." he pauses. "you going to?"

"i have nothing to apologise for."

"okay."

you stare at him. he stares back.

the room is very quiet. you’re aware of the air conditioning, the distant sound of a television from somewhere down the corridor, the way the light in here is warm and low. you’re aware that you've been in his hotel room for five minutes and the anger is still there but it's changed slightly, in a way you don't entirely have words for.

max’s voice is lower than before, and his eyes are dark. “you need to learn your place. you’re lucky to even have a seat.”

your palm cracks across his face before you'd made the conscious decision to do it. his head snaps to the side, and for a second there’s just silence except for both of you breathing hard.

when he looks back at you, there’s something predatory in his expression. something that makes your stomach drop and heat pool between your legs in a way you absolutely do not want to acknowledge.

"feel better?" his voice is quiet.

"not even slightly."

"good. because you're going to." he moves fast, backing you up until your shoulders hit the wall. his hand comes up to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, heavy and warm. "you came here to what? yell at me? make me admit i was wrong? that’s not going to happen."

you’re both breathing hard, heat billowing off him, off you. “back off,” you growl. “you’re lucky i don’t report you for—”

“do it.” he’s grinning, eyes sharp. “tell the world you can’t keep up with me. you’re obsessed with me.”

you snort. “i fucking hate you.”

“not how it looks.”

the air snaps. your hands are in his hair, his hands are at your waist, both of you shoving, teeth gnashing. he pins your wrists to the wall with a speed that’s more reflex than intent, and you buck against him.

“you want to hit me again?” he taunts, amused. “go ahead.”

you do. your knee finds his thigh, not quite his balls, but enough to make him grunt. he grinds you harder into the wall, breath hot against your neck.

“fuck off,” you say, but it’s less convincing now, because you can feel your own pulse beating everywhere.

he laughs, slow and mean. “you sure about that?”

"this doesn't mean anything," you say.

"obviously." his hands slide to your shirt, pulling it up and off before you could process. your sports bra follows. "didn’t mean anything in barcelona either. or silverstone."

"those were—different—"

"sure they were." he shrugs his robe off, and he’s already hard, cock thick and flushed and intimidating. "you still ended up in my bed moaning like a whore. but yeah, totally different."

your jaw drops and you feel your face heat at how crude his words are. “fuck you—"

"third time this season." he isn’t even looking at your face, eyes glued to your tits. "and you're still going to pretend you hate it."

his hand comes back to your jaw and turns your face up and he kisses you, and it's not careful. you grab his shoulder to balance yourself, to do something with your hands, and he makes a sound against your mouth that might be satisfaction. you can feel his cock press hard and hot against your thigh, and arousal floods to your cunt. to gain some sort of control over the situation, you bite his lower lip, tugging on it. he pulls back and looks at you.

"do that again," he says, and his voice is different now.

"don’t tell me what to do."

he laughs, a real one, short and surprised. "okay." he pulls you back in.

“you’re disgusting,” you say, but your voice is shaking.

he laughs, pumping himself with one hand, shameless, while the other snakes up your bare thigh.

you try to slap him, but he catches your wrist again. he roughly shoves your shorts to your knees, yanking your panties aside, and rubs two fingers impersonally between your legs. “hm.”

"don’t."

"you’re soaking," he says. "you’ve been like this since—what, the debrief?" he’s looking at your face now, head tilted, like it's genuinely interesting. "during the whole time you were yelling at me?"

"shut up."

"i’m not making fun of you." his voice has dropped to something with no humour in it at all. "i’m just—this is interesting." he strokes your pussy gently, making an obscene wet sound as he parts them with two fingers.

"i swear to god, max—"

"you swear to god what." his voice is not unkind. it’s attentive in the most condescending way imaginable, the way you'd listen to someone tell you something you already knew. "go ahead. tell me i'm a shit driver, tell me i turned in late, tell me whatever you need to say."

"you did turn in late—!"

"mhmm." he’s barely paying attention, eyes glued on your flushed cunt. his thumb moves in circles and your hips lift slightly against your bwtter judgment. "you’re irritating to race against. very irritating."

"good." your voice is uneven. "good, i hope you're—"

"completely miserable, yeah." he sounds almost pleasant about it. "i am."

he pushes his fingers in, curling them just so, and you moan despite yourself, head falling onto his shoulder. he keeps working you with his hand, never taking his eyes off your face, like he wants to catalogue every micro expression. “that’s it,” he says, almost soothing. “take it.”

you want to tell him to go to hell, but it comes out as a whimper. your free hand claws at his back, nails raking down until you make him hiss.

he grins, delighted. “you gonna come just from this?”

“no,” you lie, but you’re already close, and he knows it. he quickly slides his fingers out, and you mewl at the loss. 

he chuckles and holds up his hand. his fingers glistening. "look at that. all that bitching and you've been wet the whole time." he smears his fingers on your cheek and then pats it condescendingly.

but you don’t protest when he manhandles you onto the bed, face-down, ass in the air. 

"what are you—"

his hand cracks across your ass. hard. the sting blooms hot and sharp.

"fuck—!"

he slaps you again. "that’s for the crash."

"i didn't—" another smack, harder. "htat was your fault—"

"keep telling yourself that." again. the sound echoes. you arch your back reflexively. "maybe if you knew how to drive—" again. "—we'd both have points right now."

your ass burns. his hard comes down particularly hard, and you squeal, trying to squirm away but his other hand presses between your shoulder blades, pinning you.

"apologise."

"what? no—"

he spanks you twice in quick succession. "say you're sorry for spinning us out."

"i didn't spin us out—" another sharp slap. your eyes water. "you drove into me!"

"apologise or we're doing this all night."

your pride fights with the burning pain. with the heat spreading. with the fact that you are getting incriminatingly wetter.

"fine… fuck! i'm sorry—"

"for?"

another slap, this time right on your cunt, and you cry out. "i'm sorry for spinning us out—!"

"good. was that so terrible?" he flips you back over, discarding your shorts and panties. he spreads your legs and settles between them. 

“yes,” you mumble, glaring up at him.

max grins, then brings his head down and bites the inside of your thigh, just hard enough to leave a mark.

you jerk, almost yelp. “you fucking—”

he cuts you off by licking a long, slow stripe up your cunt, then blows cold air on it. you shudder, your hips trying to buck away from him. he holds you down and keeps going, licking up your slit, then thrusting inside. everytime you try to say something, his tongue flicks against your clit and you forget what you were about to say.

you clench your fists in the sheets, refusing to moan, but he knows. he hums against your skin, the vibration shooting up your spine.

“say it,” he says. “say you want me.”

you grit your teeth. “i want you to die in a fire.”

max laughs into your cunt, making you jolt. “close enough.” he works you until you’re shaking, until you’re so slick you can’t hide it even if you wanted to. when he finally pulls away, your thighs are trembling and your hair’s a fucking disaster. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then spits directly on your cunt.

you buck against him, furious, but your hips twitch instinctively “stop it,” you gasp.

he slaps your cunt, sharp enough to sting. “you want me to stop?” he says, and waits.

you don’t answer. you can’t. your whole body hums, brain buzzing with want and hate and humiliation.

“didn’t think so,” he says. “you love this. you love getting fucked by the man who ruined your race. you’re so desperate to beat me, you’ll take anything i give you.” another slap, this time harder. “turn around. ass up”

you do it. you want to scream, but you do it.

he spits into his hand and jerks his cock a few times, then lines himself up and pushes in, the stretch burning even though you’re wet enough that he slides in easier than he should.

"fuck," you gasp, hands clawing into the sheets.

"too much?" he doesn’t sound particularly concerned, and doesn’t slow. just keeps pushing until he’s fully seated inside you. "you’ll get used to it. you always do."

“max—slow down—” you pant, reaching your hand behind you to grab his thigh. 

"you can take it." he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, giving you no time to adjust. "becayse this is what you came here for, hmm? to get fucked like you've been needing for weeks."

you try to deny it, but you couldn't form words. could barely breathe with how hard he was going, each thrust hitting deep enough to make you see stars.

"look at you," he says, "so fucking mouthy in the garage, always ready with some comment about my driving. but put a cock in you and suddenly you've got nothing to say."

"fuck—you—"

"already am." he pushes your leg further apart with his knee, spreading you wider. "but if you want to keep running that mouth, i can think of better uses for it later. see how much attitude you have with my cock down your throat."

the image sends a pulse of heat through you that you did not want to acknowledge. you try to talk over the sound of his skin smacking yours. “you’re disgusting,” you say, muffled, but it just makes him fuck you harder.

"and you're a hypocrite. getting this wet for someone you supposedly hate." one of his hands leave your waist to press against your lower stomach, and the extra pressure makes everything more intense. "can you feel that? feel how deep i am? how full you are?"

you can. you can feel every inch of him, the way your body stretches to accommodate his size. it should hurt more than it does, but your body has apparently decided that pain and pleasure are the same thing.

you snarl, “i hope you choke on your own ego,” but your voice cracks halfway through, and he laughs, delighted.

“best in the world,” he says, driving in even deeper. “want to know what’s next, popje? i’m going to fill you up, and you’re going to thank me for it. maybe you’ll even get lucky, and i’ll put a baby in you.”

you twist around, horrified, and he pins you back down, one hand on the back of your throat. 

“no way,” you hiss.

he tightens his grip, not quite cutting off your air, just enough to make your vision spark at the edges. “you’d look so fucking good knocked up,” he growls. “maybe then you’ll finally retire. settle down. stay the fuck out of my way.”

your brain is full of static, but you manage, “you wouldn’t.”

he barks a laugh, slamming in so hard the bedframe groans. your clit is mashed into the mattress with every thrust, and you can feel your orgasm building, wild and humiliatingly fast.

he feels you clench, and his mouth curves into something cruel. "you like that idea. fuck, you're squeezing me so tight. you like the idea of me breeding you. of me ruining your career."

"no—"

"yes." he leans over you, pressing against your back. "you get off on it. on the idea of me taking everything from you. your position, your career, your whole fucking future. all because i want to."

it’s the most fucked up thing anyone has ever said to you, and your body is responding like it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. 

he chuckles knowingly. "god, you’re such a little slut."

"i’m not—"

"you are." he punctuates it with a particularly brutal thrust. "came to my room at night. let me strip you. spread your legs for me. taking my cock bare. not even asking me to put on a condom. that’s pretty slutty behaviour, don't you think?"

the mention of the condom should alarm you. should make you push him off, should make you think about consequences. instead all you can focus on is how good it feels, how close you are, how his cock keeps hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

"look at me," he demands.

you force your eyes open—you haven’t even realised you’ve closed them—and turn your head weakly to meet his gaze.

"should i come inside you?" his voice drops lower, more dangerous. the hand on your throat moved to your jaw, gripping it. "fill you up? make sure everyone knows you're mine?"

"i’m not yours!"

"not yet." he reaches down to rub cruel circles over you clit. "but i’m working on it, yeah? thinking about fucking you before every race. getting you so cockdrunk you can't focus. making sure you never beat me again."

"that’s sabotage—"

he tugs your hair with his other hand, forcing your head up, and pulling your lip. "open."

you have no choice to obey, and he leans over you to spit directly into your open mouth.

if you were in your right mind, it would revolt you. would make you shove him off, slap him, leave. instead you stare up at him, stunned, as he presses your jaw closed.

"swallow."

you do automatically, and the satisfied look on his face makes something twist in your gut. makes you feel dirty and used and somehow more turned on.

he resumes his brutal pace. "you want it," his hand leaving your clit to grip your hip, holding you in place as he fucks you harder. "you want me to breed you, don’t you sweetheart? want me to pump you full of cum until you're carrying my baby. want me to ruin everything for you."

"max—" you’re right on the edge, legs shaking under him. 

"that’s right." his movements getting rougher, sloppier, more desperate. "say my name when you come. let everyone in this hotel know who's fucking you. who owns you."

"i’m not owned—!"

"you will be." he thrusts in deep and grinds against you, his cock hitting your g-spot, and you cry out. “when you're pregnant with my kid, you'll be mine. no way out of it then."

the image sends you over the edge. you come hard, your whole body seizing, cunt clamping down on him tight. his name tears from your throat against your will.

"fuck—that's it—" he groans, his control slipping completely. "come on my cock. show me how much you want it."

you can’t respond, can’t think, can barely breathe through the intensity of it. your orgasm seems to last forever, wave after wave of it crashing over you.

"gonna fill you up," he says, and his voice goes ragged. “that’s all you really want, huh?”

he buries himself deep one final time, his hips flush against yours, and you feel him pulse inside you. feel the warmth of his release, feel him emptying himself into you. his hand tightens on your hip as he cums, bruising.

"fuck," he groaned against your neck. "so good. so fucking good."

for a long moment neither of you move. just breathing hard, his weight on you and his cock still inside you. then he pulls out slowly and you feel it immediately—his cum starting to leak out of you, a tragic emptiness. the sensation is strange, warm and wet and wrong. you can feel it trickling down, can feel how much there is.

he sits back on his heels between your legs, watching his cum drip out of you. when you force yourself to look at him, his eyes are fixed on your cunt, dark and satisfied.

"look at that," he says, almost to himself. he reaches down and drags two fingers through your folds, gathering the mixture of his cum and your arousal, pushing it back inside you. “so pretty. all filled up with my cum."

"max—" your voice is hoarse.

"what?" he looks down at you, his expression unreadable. "having regrets?"

you should say yes. should be horrified by what just happened, by what he'd said, by the fact that he’s come inside you without protection. But looking at him, at the satisfaction on his face, all you could manage was:

"you’re an asshole."

"yeah."

he stands up, completely unbothered by his nudity, and grabs his joggers. starts getting dressed like nothing had happened. like he hasn’t just deliberately tried to get you pregnant. lije he hasn’t just said all those things about ruining your career.

"you need to leave," he says, tossing you your clothes.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me. get dressed and get out." his tone flat and dismissive. "i need to sleep."

you stare at him, trying to process the whiplash. trying to understand how he could go from that, from the intensity of what just happened, to this cold dismissal.

"you just—" you sit up, wincing at the soreness. "you came inside me."

"yeah." he takes a drink of water. "you didn't stop me."

"i wasn't exactly thinking clearly—"

"not my problem." he syas it so casually, like it doesn’t matter. like you don’t matter. "you wanted to come here and argue about the crash. we did that. then we fucked. now it's done."

"done." you repeat the word, trying to make it make sense. "you might have just gotten me pregnant and it's just done?"

"if you're that worried about it, take a pill." he shrugs. "or don't. your choice either way."

the callousness of it makes you want to hit him. but looking at him, at his complete indifference, you know it’s pointless.

"i hate you," you say.

"i know." he doesn’t sound bothered. doesn’t sound like he cares at all. "see you tomorrow"

you get dressed in silence, feeling his cum still dripping out of you, soaking into your underwear. the humiliation of it makes your face burn. when you’re dressed, you head for the door without looking at him.

"close it on your way out," he calls after you.

you don’t respond, letting the door slam behind you.

tag list: @ivywritesfanfiction @jule239 @meglouise00 @lilasthoughtss @downsideup1989 @deaddumblbumble @idontknowwhatimdoinginiife @jeonzll @lauvender-bolter @vminkookgf @dontsupressthejess @abq654 @kaizachas @roshiraz @maxxxiel333 @zukiakiraa @foreverln4 @jsprien213 @giulia-fb @mosaics-idee-fixe @syenarchive @crizzms @brianna28483 @anaylen01 @forevernorris @knight-of-flowerss @probablylostmymind @miss-mastermind @f1petra @smileylando @kissatelier @beabogsims @heichouswife @kenzielynn-27 @br1adna @dutchlionforev @htpssgavi @dinodumbass @filmleclerc @lilly256

[cherrymaxie]

sorry for my 2/3 month absence 😩 i was busy falling in love (true story) please give me ideas!!!

[cherrymaxie]

spencer reid.

[cherrymaxie]

Boyfriend Board | MV3

[cherrymaxie]

hiii, i loved your f1 text post. i’d love to request some op81 writing, anything you want fluff, smut or anything really🩷☺️

Taste of Victory | OP81

Pairing: oscar piastri x girlfriend reader

Summary: after oscar's first win, you celebrate in the best way possible...back in your hotel room

Warnings: smut, soft dom! oscar, praise, oral (f receiving), p in v, no protection, creampie, oscar being cheeky but sweet

Word Count: 2.4k

an: thank you ♡ for this req. I don’t write much for oscar so this was fun, hope you enjoyyy :)

The door to the hotel suite clicks shut behind you, and the world outside. The roaring crowds, the flashing cameras, the endless interviews all fade into a distant hum. It's just you and Oscar now, in your lavish hotel room overlooking the glittering city lights of Monaco. Oscar stands in front of you, still buzzing with adrenaline, his McLaren polo stretched tight over his broad shoulders, a faint sheen of sweat lingering on his skin.

You turn to him, your heart pounding not just from the race but from the way he's looking at you...like you're his prize tonight. "P1, Osc," you say, your voice soft, laced with pride. "You did it. You actually won."

He grins, that boyish, cheeky smile that always makes your knees weak. His eyes sparkle under the low lights of the room, and he steps closer, closing the gap between you. "Couldn't have done it without my good luck charm," he murmurs, his aussie accent teasing. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. You feel the heat radiating off his body.

You laugh lightly, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. "Oh, please. That was all you out there. I was just screaming my lungs out in the garage."

"Mm, but I heard you," he says, his voice dropping an octave as he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Every cheer. Kept me going." His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, slipping just underneath to graze your skin. It's a simple touch, but it sends sparks racing up your spine.

The room smells like victory. Champagne from the podium clinging to his clothes, mixed with the faint citrus of his cologne. There's a nice bottle of the same champagne chilling on the nightstand, courtesy of the team, but neither of you make a move for it yet. Instead, Oscar's mouth finds yours in a kiss that's equal parts sweet and searing. He tastes like triumph, and you melt into it, your hands sliding up to tangle in his damp hair.

When he pulls back, his eyes are darker, pupils blown wide. "You know what this calls for?" he asks, his tone playful but with an undercurrent of something more intense. Need.

"Enlighten me, champ," you reply, matching his flirty tone with a raised eyebrow.

His grin turns wicked. "A proper celebration." He walks you backward toward the bed, his hands never leaving your body.

You feel the edge of the mattress hit the back of your knees, and he eases you down, following gracefully, caging over you, admiring the view.

You're both still clothed, but the air between you crackles with anticipation. Oscar hovers over you, propped on one elbow, his free hand tracing lazy patterns along your collarbone.

"God, you look good like this," he says, his voice husky. "All flushed and ready for me."

You bite your lip, feeling a rush of heat pool in your core. "Only because you make me this way." Your fingers tug at his polo, pulling it up and over his head in one swift motion.

He chuckles, low and throaty. "Eager, are we?" But there's no mockery, just affection and desire. He captures your wrists gently, pinning them above your head with one hand, a move that makes your breath hitch. He's not rough; Oscar's never rough. But he likes control, likes guiding the pace, and you love letting him.

With his other hand, he peels your shirt off slowly, savouring every inch of skin revealed. "Been thinking about this all race," he admits, his lips ghosting over your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses. "Every lap, imagining getting back here with you."

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"Tell me more," you whisper, your voice breathy.

He obliges, his words a cheeky murmur against your skin. "Thought about how you'd taste after cheering for me. How you'd feel wrapped around me." His teeth graze your pulse point, not biting, just yet. "How I'd make you say my name like it's the only word you know."

"Oscar..." It slips out involuntarily, and he rewards you with a deeper kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that leaves you dizzy.

"Good girl," he praises, releasing your wrists to slide his hands down your sides. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down with deliberate slowness. You lift your hips to help, and soon they're discarded on the floor, along with your underwear. He takes a moment to just look at you, sprawled out beneath him.

"Your turn," you say, reaching for his belt. He shakes his head, catching your hand.

"Not yet. I want to take care of you first." His voice is firm but gentle.

He shifts down the bed, settling between your thighs, his hands spreading them wider. "You've been my rock all season. Let me show you how much that means."

Before you can protest (not that you would) his mouth is on you, hot and insistent. Fuck he's good at that.

He starts slow, teasing licks that have you squirming, your fingers gripping the sheets. "Osc—oh god!," you gasp as he circles your clit with his tongue, applying just the right pressure.

He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"Taste so fucking good," he mumbles, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His lips are glistening, and the sight is almost too much. "Like victory."

You laugh weakly, but it turns into a moan as he dives back in, more purposeful now. He alternates between long, languid strokes and focused attention on that bundle of nerves. One hand holds your hip steady, the other slips a finger inside you, curling just right.

The pressure builds quickly, a coil tightening in your core. " Oh fuck I'm close," you warn, your words practically a whimper as you buck against his mouth.

He doesn't let up, adding a second finger and sucking gently. "Cum for me, love," he encourages, his words muffled but clear. "Let go."

And you do, the orgasm crashing over you like a wave, your back arching off the bed as pleasure pulses through every nerve. Oscar works you through it, his touches softening as you come down, until you're boneless and panting.

He kisses his way back up your body, lingering on your chest, your stomach, your neck. When he reaches your lips, you taste yourself on him. "That was..." you trail off, words failing, struggling to breathe.

"Just the start," he says with a smirk, finally shedding his jeans and boxers. He's hard and ready. Holy fuck he looks good. The sight of him makes your mouth water. He takes his time, enjoying the way your eyes rake over him, before settling back over you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Need you," you whisper, and it's all the invitation he needs.

He enters you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. The stretch is exquisite, filling you perfectly. "So big." You gasp.

Once he's fully seated, he pauses, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked. "You feel incredible," he breathes, struggling to get his words out. Then he starts a gentle rhythm.

It's not frantic; Oscar's style is more about savouring, enjoying what he has, how you feel around him.

His hips roll in deep, measured thrusts, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. His hands roam all over, caressing your sides, tweaking a nipple, tangling in your hair.

"Faster?" he asks, always attuned to you, how needy you are.

"Yes, god yes," you beg, and he complies, picking up the pace. The bed creaks softly under you, the room filled with your moans, his quiet gasps, and the sounds of wet you are.

He leans down, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss. "You're mine," he murmurs against your lips, possessive but soft. "All mine."

"Yours," you agree, nails digging into his back as the pleasure builds again.

One hand slips between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Want to feel you cum around me," he says, his voice rough now, edged with his own need.

It's too much, too good. The second orgasm hits harder than the first, your walls clenching around him as you cry out his name. "Oscar! Fuck!"

That pushes him over the edge. His thrusts stutter, and he buries his face in your neck, groaning as he finds his release. Rope after rope shoots deep inside you. You hold him through it, your bodies trembling together in the afterglow.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, just breathing each other in. Finally, he rolls to the side, his cum dripping from your pussy. Unable to do much else, his fingers trace idle patterns on your back, grounding you both.

"Best celebration ever," you mumble, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "Even if it is a little messy." You grin, looking down at the wet patch now on the sheets.

He laughs. "Agreed. I might need to win more often if this is the reward."

You swat his arm playfully. "Don't get cocky, Piastri."

"Too late," he teases, but his eyes are soft as he looks at you. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you too," you reply, your heart full. "Now please go get me a towel." You joke, lightly pushing him off the bed.

[cherrymaxie]

Could you do a Spencer Reid x reader smut?

Concept: Spencer had a really rough day and you guys had plans to go eat out and he just can’t keep his mind or eyes off you. He’s desperate, pleading, and begging at the end of the day. (You can do what you like with this!)

thank you for the req!! i loved writing this and i hope i went with the vibe you wanted ♡

read it here

[cherrymaxie]

Insatiable | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), munch spencer, soft dom spencer, slight bratty reader, whiny needy spencer, light biting, teasing, light praise, light overstimulation

Summary: You and Spencer were supposed to go on a dinner date but when he saw you in your dress he realised he was hungry for something else...

wc: 2.2k

————————————————————————

It started with those tender, gentle kisses that Spencer liked to give when he was needy and just nothing else would do. Sweet kisses ghosted down the side of your neck.

“Spencer baby,” you said lightly, grinning at him as you watched his reflection in the vanity, his hands resting on your hips from behind. “‘m trying to do my lipstick,” you remind him as you apply the last drag of red.

You were, or were trying to be, if not for Spencer, getting ready for a nice dinner date. It had been so long since you and he had had a whole weekend to spend together. You both agreed that you would go on a nice, classy dinner date.

Spencer exhaled sharply. “Sorry,” he whispered, his hot breath ghosting against your pulse. You clear your throat, struggling to think straight.

Spencer might’ve been openly checking you out. Who could blame him? In your long, silk, tight black dress, it hugged all your curves in the right way, a perfect mix of elegant and sexy. He wasn’t the only one, though. Spencer wore a well tailored suit, the crisp white shirt, one button currently undone, and it showed off his torso nicely.

You turn to look at him face to face, wanting to see him up close. At 6’1, his lean frame towered over you.

“You look…” you swallow. You know with Spencer being the expert he is on, well, everything, but especially human behaviour, your words should be chosen carefully. “…nice.”

He huffed a soft laugh at your compliment, that handsome smile upon his face.

“What?” You giggled defensively, smacking his chest in a playfully chastising way. After a quiet pause, your voice comes out gently, a light blush colouring your cheeks. “…it’s the truth. You look… nice.”

You cringe slightly as your vocabulary fails you again. He laughs louder this time and reaches his hand forward, his forefinger hooking under your chin, tilting your head upward, forcing you to look at him properly. He admires your face, your makeup, your beauty.

Spencer licks his lips, his gaze growing darker by the minute.

“I’m hungry,” he says, his voice dropping deeper.

“Well then,” your breath is airy, knowing he’s thinking about what you’re thinking about, “good job we’re going out to eat…”

“I don’t think what I want will be on the menu,” he says pointedly, his voice low and controlled. Big, rough yet gentle hands trace down from your collarbones, over your shoulders, and down the outside of your arms. They leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Spencer.” You drag his name out like a warning, a reminder to him that you had places to be. He didn’t care about that, though. He didn’t care about your previously arranged plans.

With his words, his hands move lower, leaving your arms and stroking languidly at your hips and waist. Spencer stared unapologetically. “Come on, babyyy,” he whined.

That fucking whiny voice of his, the pleading, the neediness, the desperation. He knew just how to get you to crack.

His fingers found the zip of your dress. It was a low cut back, easy to do. He waits for any real protest. You give him your signature, playful glare and your hands move to his chest, smoothing the white fabric taut against his skin.

“We agreed on a date,” you remind him again, like you weren’t folding yourself.

“Had the longest case of my fucking life,” he whines, almost pouting. He leans down so his curly, light brown locks brush your forehead and his whispers tickle your ear.

“Worked so fucking hard, baby. Don’t you think I deserve some relief?”

Aching, almost whimpery Spencer was something you could never deny long. In the rush of standing on your tiptoes, and his head meeting you halfway, your mouth caught on the edge of Spencer’s shirt collar, staining it with a bright red, partial lipstick print.

An excited, almost boyish grin spreads across Spencer’s face as he abandons all attempts at teasing or being subtle.

“Can’t go out now,” he manages, his mouth already on yours. Your dress is easily pushed off your body, crumpling at your feet.

The kiss is hot and heavy, Spencer clearly having been thinking of it since he saw you getting ready. You fight his tongue for dominance, enjoying teasing the poor man when he was clearly so desperate, trying to swallow you whole. He wins, of course, and your hands snake up from his chest, round the back of his neck to give you more purchase.

Spencer doesn’t know where to put his hands. It’s like he can’t decide between holding your waist in a very classic, loving boyfriend move, or if he should cradle your head to kiss you harder, or if his hand should wrap around your throat and hold you still, or grope at your newly exposed tits, grab your ass. It was no secret Spencer enjoyed this option. Or if he should reach into your cotton black panties and feel how wet he knew you had to be.

Instead of choosing, Spencer’s hands decided he needn’t pick only one. His left hand comes up to your neck, wrapping around it so he can hold you still and kiss you harder. You barely have time to breathe, but Spencer couldn’t care less about the burn in his lungs when your tongue is halfway down his throat. His right hand, unable to resist, drags greedily up your side to grope at your chest. For once tonight, Spencer’s hand is not very soft. He grabs and squeezes, swallowing down your groans.

He tweaks your hard nipple before he decides to slide back down to your ass. It’s no secret Spencer was staring at your ass the whole time you’ve been in the dress, so he’s not likely to deny himself access now you’re out of it. His hand grabs greedily and hungrily, causing more squeals and groans to escape your lips.

Spencer has still afforded neither of you any time to breathe as he doesn’t pull apart to push your panties down, just tugs incessantly at the fabric. You kiss him harder, biting at his lip, needing a small respite to swallow down some air.

“Baby,” you pant as you gaze into his eyes lustfully, to see the same flame returned. Spencer is still fully dressed, now with your bright red lipstick smeared across his lips and cheek, proof of your heated session.

Spencer rests his forehead against yours as you both gasp for air. You barely feel Spencer’s hands come down to hook round the back of your thighs, but he hoists you effortlessly, spinning you around so he could place you at the end of the bed. You instantly try to sit up, wanting to be propped on your elbows so you can see your boyfriend. The sight you see goes straight to your already dripping cunt.

Spencer Reid, now on his knees, his chest against the bottom of the bed and his lipstick smeared face right between your thighs.

“Lay flat.” His command was simple and pulled a whine from you.

“Want to watchhhh.”

“I know you do, love.” His hands push your inner thighs apart as his head moves further up your spread legs. “But you cum so much faster when you watch, and this,” he licks his dry lips as he openly stares at your glistening pussy, “is not gonna be a quick night.”

When you don’t obey, intent on watching your needy boyfriend feast on you, Spencer’s voice comes out darker, hungrier. He isn’t an overly dominant man, but when he really fucking needs you, he expects you to listen.

“Lay flat or I’m gonna fucking leave you like this,” he threatens, your arousal evident, now dripping onto his fucking bedsheets.

This provokes a short, almost bratty laugh from you and you shoot him an incredulous look. “Really?” You give a smug grin. “‘Come on, babyyy, I’m hungry,’” you mock Spencer’s whiny begging from earlier. “You couldn’t leave me like this.”

You hope your confidence is well judged. Sure, Spencer was the desperate needy one right now, but it would be difficult for you to claim you weren’t dying for his tongue. He was a god with his mouth and he knew it.

Spencer let out a deep rumble from his chest and spurred himself forward, landing a harsh, hard bite to your upper inner thigh. “FU–!”

Holy fuck, that hurt. He feels satisfied at the pain he’s caused and looks up at you with hungry eyes that say he’ll do it again.

You huff but drop back flat against the bed, now unable to see your boyfriend or his movements. You at least hope your behaviour will be rewarded, and rewarded quickly. Spencer does not disappoint. As his hands keep your legs pushed firmly apart, you can feel his breath inching closer and closer to your dripping heat.

“Thought you were hungry,” you plead impatiently. “Stop being such a fucking tease!”

You expect a smart reply or some form of punishment from your words, but instead, a quick, short burst of hot air is blown directly on your swollen clit. Being unprepared for this, the whimpery moan you let out feels pathetic, needy, and louder than intended. Wanti– Needing more, you shift your hips toward and off the bed.

Spencer, having denied himself long enough, holds your hips down but fulfills your silent request. His tongue drags languidly up your slit, moaning as he savours the flavour of your cunt. “Taste so good.” His words are muffled as they’re whispered against your pussy, Spencer not bothering to stop his ministrations to pay you the compliment.

Fuck, he sounds so fucking gone. Your moans grow louder and more pornographic. Spencer is beyond talented with his mouth. He sucks greedily at your clit, using a perfect combination of spitting, sucking, licking, and grazing with his teeth or his big nose. You can’t resist grabbing a handful of Spencer’s locks. Usually you’d tug lightly, knowing your boyfriend enjoys the sting, but right now it’s to hold him in place lest he pull back. Not that pulling back right now was on Spencer’s mind. He’d die happy lapping at your cunt. Who needs air when he can just drink down your sweet nectar.

Wet, sloppy, slurping noises fill the room as Spencer continues to devour your cunt like it’s his last meal. He always eats like a man drinking from the fountain of eternal life. It’s messy and loud and so fucking good.

“Oh, keep doing that, Spence!” You cry out quickly as his tongue circles and flicks at your clit. You’re so lost in the way he worships your cunt. “Fuck! Fu-ck!” You choke on your cries of pleasure as he tongue fucks your hole, letting his nose nuzzle at your clit. “God, eat pussy so fucking well, Spencer, like a fucking god. Like your mouth was–mmfff– fucking made for it.” Your words come out loud, breathless, and desperate.

Spencer might usually take the time to agree, that he was made just to eat your cunt, but he’s never been so intoxicated by your taste before, never been so fucking greedy, lustful, insatiable. He doesn’t stop for a second, just moans against your slit and keeps enjoying his meal.

It’s not long, of course, until the expert strokes of his tongue bring you to the edge. “Yes, yes, yes, Spence, Spence, Spen…” Your chants break into senseless moans as you cum on Spencer’s tongue. You have to imagine his jaw must hurt, his tongue must ache, but he slurps and sucks and ravishes you while you cum.

Your thighs shake and you know you’re soaking his face, his entire fucking face pressed incessantly against your gushing hole, Spencer’s only mission to drink down everything you give him. He lets out such pornographic sounds of pleasure.

After a few moments, and perhaps a smaller second orgasm, Spencer’s tongue and the voracious suckling of your clit become too much. Your hips try to squirm away and your hand pushes haphazardly at his head. “Mm, sensitive,” you protest weakly, your voice trembling from the pleasure and now almost pain Spencer’s tongue is rewarding you.

For perhaps the first time since he started, Spencer pulls back fully, gulping down air and licking hungrily at his glistening lips and dripping chin.

“I’m not done with my meal,” he explained with alarming calmness, as if he wasn’t just choking on air to suck your juices down. “This is for my fucking pleasure. Not yours. So I will stop when I’m satisfied.”

The words make it hard to think straight. This isn’t the first time Spencer has reminded you that eating you out is for his enjoyment, not yours, and you don’t get to decide when to stop. Besides, you both know that you don’t really want him to stop. He just works your pussy so good it becomes sensitive so fast.

Before he goes back to enjoying his dinner, Spencer gives you a sweet smile, your loving, nerdy boyfriend still himself after all, even when he is possessed with the need to devour you.

“You can give me one more, can’t you, baby?” He coos this time, going for a softer approach, one he knows you’re a sucker for. When you nod, he grins a mischievous grin. “Good girl, my good girl,” he praises before diving back in, a long way from stopping.

[cherrymaxie]

i’ll tell you what’s a problem ovulating and thinking the filthiest thoughts humanly possible about just several men - i’m looking at you Max Verstappen and Spencer Reid 🫦👀

[cherrymaxie]

Jealousy | F1 Texts

Summary: the drivers getting jealous you’re paying somebody else attention

Includes: ln1, op81, cl16, lh44, mv3 and dr3

Warning: Jealousy (duh), suggestive, some are a little explicit, possessiveness, mentions of alcohol, teasing, jokey threats

lando norris

oscar piastri

charles leclerc

lewis hamilton

max verstappen

daniel ricciardo

[cherrymaxie]

Special Interests | s.r

❀ pairing: munch! spencer reid x gf! reader

❀ warnings: 18+, suggestive, dirty talk, needy spencer, munch spencer, oral sex (f receiving), self indulgent (sorry not sorry)

❀ summary: short, horny drabble/thought about nerdy, whipped, MUNCH spencer helping his law school girlfriend study..unconventionally

❀ wc: 600

❀ an: just a short post! let me know if you want me to make this into a fic… happy to take any reqs whether they’re cute or filthy so ♡

spencer reid is a man of simple pleasures. he had lots of things he liked of course, cardigans, chinese takeout, fall… but there were 3 things in this world that spencer truly loved, the pursuit of knowledge, his girlfriend, and eating pussy.

so when 2 of those things come combined in the form of you, curled up in his bed, nose in a textbook, he can’t resist adding the third.

“it’s been forever. i miss it. miss the taste of you. miss the way you cum so hard on my tongue.” he’d beg even after you point out it’s only been 4 days.

“come on babyyy it’ll help you study” he’d whine and try to convince you.

he’d reference studies about orgasms and dopamine vs cortisol levels. he’d talk about improved efficiency and memory retention.

he’d talk about positive reinforcement, how productive it would be if he ate you out when you got something right. he’d talk about negative punishment, that he’d stop if you got something wrong and it would make your brain work harder.

honestly he’d say anything to convince you to just let him eat you out. he didn’t expect to love it so much but he’s become such a munch since he met you.

“you’re so smart” he’d try and reason "I promise it will help you remember your case law better”

he’d kiss softly at your stomach even whilst you try to remind him you need to work hard.

“i’m helping you work hard” he’d respond placing kisses lower and lower ‘til he’s at the waistband of the tiny little pajama shorts you love to wear around the apartment.

you’d crumble because he’s looking at you with his whiny, pleading, doe eyes. like he’s a man who might starve or wither away if you don’t say yes.

he’d take it seriously too, the idea of eating you out whilst he helps you learn gets him so unbelievably hard. but he would have to lick a stripe up your pussy as soon as your panties were off.

“sorry” he’d practically pant, looking like a man who was very much not sorry. he’d stare at your pussy licking his lips practically drooling as his brain thinks about how to help. “maybe it’ll clear my brain fog to just have a little taste” he’d joke.

after he’s had you for a minute or so, and you’ve succeeded in reading no further in your textbook, he’d finally pull back.

“okay”, his chin wet, “what are the requirements for a contract?” he’d quiz, the warmth of his breath palpable on your now hardening clit.

he’d kiss your swollen nub. you wouldn’t answer at first, taking a hand off your book to thread in his hair and play with it. you expect your boyfriend to cave and just eat you out without the studying, he’s usually desperate enough. but for this, his 3 special interests combining, he’d hold out.

“i want to have my tongue inside you right now, so please start talking” he’d speak bluntly. this would always make you blush, your nerdy little socially awkward boyfriend talking so dirty just did it for you.

“the components of a contract..” you’d start, focusing hard but also watching spencer closest, knowing the sight of him feasting on you is mesmerising.

“offer, acce—“ the way he’d start licking and sucking the moment you begin to answer would knock the air from your lungs.

he’d whine as he pulled back, like it’s not his own choice. “keep going” he’d plead like he’s being tortured, not allowed his treat until you answer correctly.

“offer, acceptance, consideration…” you begin again and he’d jump right back into it.

he’d pray this was a very long night for the two of you.

[cherrymaxie]

Missing You | F1 Texts

Summary: the drivers text you when they’re away and missing you

Includes: ln1, op81, cl16, lh44, mv3 and dr3

Warnings: 18+, explicit, teasing, some humour, needy men, horny hours

lando norris

oscar piastri

charles leclerc

lewis hamilton

max verstappen

daniel ricciardo

[cherrymaxie]

Breaking The Rules | MV3

♡ pairing: sub! reader x dom! Max verstappen

♡ wc: 3.7k

♡ warnings: smut, brat! reader, brat tamer! Max, mean! max, humiliation, edging, orgasm denial, begging, degradation, slight praise, slight crying, light slapping, porn no plot

♡ summary: Max finds you touching yourself without permission

You knew you shouldn’t be doing this. Sprawled out across Max’s bed, gets so lonely when he’s not here. You were being dramatic, you knew you were, Max would be home soon…should be home soon. The bratty side of your brain loved to remind you that sometimes they keep him back longer. You couldn’t wait longer. No amount of pressing your thighs together or grinding softly on his sheets did anything for the pulsing between your legs. Fuck it, you thought, finally caving to your desires, as if there was any hope for you anyway.

It started off slow. Touching yourself was of course against the rules, you thought about the things Max enjoyed doing to you when you broke his rules. He won’t find out, how would he know? …but he always knows. You knew what would come if he found out, the edging, denial, the begging. All of that paled in comparison to the feeling of your fingers on your clit.

Fuck. You couldn’t help but let out short, soft, gasps as your fingers collected your wetness, allowing you to move even faster, in quick, firm circles. God it feels good. Nothing like when Max touches you but…fuck it felt better than just laying there, longing for him.

Quickly, as you knew would be the case, your fingers didn’t feel like enough. You lift your hips moving them to the side of the bed as your right arm dangles off, fishing blindly for that white box Max kept under the bed. When your hand finally finds it, you pull it out, the sound of it sliding across the hardwood floor amplified. Everything was amplified. The lid was quickly and carelessly discarded as your hand rifled through the contents of the box. There was a lot inside but you wanted just one, little, thing. Finally, the small black, vibrator (and matching remote) were pulled from the box.

Your mouth literally watered as your hips settled back comfortably on his sheets, you leaned back against the headboard getting the angle just right. The little toy hummed to life as you set it at a medium pace. Yes.

This was what you fucking needed. Small moans escaped your mouth as you rocked down against the vibrations, you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter, the only thing missing from this scenario was Max’s cock, deep inside you. Max…fuck.

The thought of him seeing you right now, breaking his rules, in his fucking bed, pleasuring his pussy, without his permission, it’s almost too much to think about. You love being a brat, sure you loved being a good girl too but it was never quite as fun. If you’d have asked Max for permission to touch yourself right now, he wouldn’t even have seen the message, and then you wouldn’t be feeling this pleasure. No fun.

Your hand snaked up, under your, lacy red tank top. You pinched and rolled your nipple at the thought of Max, at the thought of being bad, breaking the rules. It was as if the universe read your mind, the sound of his apartment door opening, loud and clear. Shit. You had 2 decisions to make, scramble to hide the vibrator and pretend you haven’t made a fucking puddle on his bedsheet…unlikely to be convincing or turn the vibrator up and hope you cum before he’s able to get here and stop you. Definitely option 2.

Whilst, your heart thumped, matching the rhythm of Max’s approaching footsteps, your breath grew laboured and you turned the vibrator all the way up. “Oh fuck,” your moan came out louder and more whiny than intended, your eyes screwed shut, your hips lifting from the bed. You mewled as the vibrations pushed you impossibly closer, “yes...yes” you cried out, definitely too loud this time.

Max flung the door open as he heard your pathetic moans, and his eyes widened at the sight of you. Fuck. He did not expect to be coming home to that. His needy girl, a vibrator shoved against her pussy, making such a mess in his bed. The look in his eyes was feral. Dangerous. Evil. Max knew you were a brat and he might fucking love it, but breaking his rules…good luck.

“Schatje,” the tone in Max’s voice sent a chill down your spine. The, usually sweet, term of endearment, suddenly a threat, a warning.

You whine as you hear the word, your head turning to look at him properly. Fuck. He stands there, wearing his usual redbull shirt but this time his biceps bulge out from under the sleeve - how was your brain expected to handle that? His thighs, fuck his thighs in those fucking jeans – fuck…fuck you were close.

He can see how close you are, the way you keep disobeying him whilst he’s stood right fucking there. His eyes widen at your audacity, almost mockingly, like he’s impressed by how brave you’re daring to be.

“If you want any fucking chance of cumming tonight, that toy better be fucking off, and your hands above your head in the next 5 fucking seconds.”

There’s no confusion in your mind as to whether Max is serious and at the thought of being completely denied you hit the ‘off’ button on the remote, quickly abandon it at your side, and your hands raise above your head. You swallow as you look at him, you know your small act of obedience will be doing very little to curb the anger Max is currently feeling. He stalks closer to where you lay, eyeing you up like a predator might watch his prey.

The bed dips as he kneels at the bottom, rather than crawl up to you, he takes his big hands, and grabs the outsides of your knees, rough, not caring about being gentle or soft, and yanks you down the bed to meet him. In doing so, your thighs are forced to part around his, completely exposing you to him. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, the piercing blue looking into your soul, almost as if challenging you, fucking daring you, to speak, move, fucking breathe without his permission. Max is making his point perfectly fucking clear without touching you, without speaking, he is entirely in control of this situation. Of you. As if to accentuate this, his hands come down to your inner thigh and press hard, forcing your legs to widen even further, almost uncomfortably so. You couldn’t hide yourself from him if you wanted to.

Eventually, his eyes move to stare down at the cotton panties you’re wearing, white, or they were white before you got so fucking wet they’ve gone practically translucent. They cling to your wetness so much that the outline of your hard clit is definitely visible to him. He lets out a condescending, mocking laugh. “Well that’s fucking embarrassing isn’t it?”

Your face glows a deep shade of red at his words but your pussy clenches around nothing. He just keeps looking at the mess you’ve made, like he’s toying with his food. In a mix of embarrassment, need, and frustration you try to close your thighs. It’s not as if you’re going to succeed, Max is easily 10x your strength, but you can’t help the instinctive desire to hide when he mocks you like this.

“Ma–” SMACK. Your words are cut off by the shuddering gasp leaving your mouth, his hand coming down hard on your pussy. You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry out at the sting or beg for more.

“Did I give you permission to talk?” Max asks bluntly, in his infamous tone, the one that you know means he expects a fucking answer and he expects it quickly.

“No, bu–”

“No, I didn’t.” He answered, his voice controlled, low, heavy. “So keep your legs spread and your mouth fucking shut.”

You bite your lip to suppress any noises that want to spill from them. One of Max’s rough hands trail up your inner thigh and ghosts over your panties, right where you fucking need him. He pays you no mind though, acts as if he’s not trying to torture you. The pressure lasts only for a second and his grip on you is so tight you barely get to buck up into it. Next, he gives your panties a small tug, pulling them against you, the friction from that is much more intense.

You let out a breathy moan at the act, your hand coming down from above your head to cover your mouth. Max lets go immediately. You realise your mistake and your hand flies back above your head in the hope he’ll start touching you again. He scoffs at the sight of you. “Really can’t fucking listen tonight can you?”.

He makes a point of maintaining eye contact with you as he continues. “So fucking wet too. I wasn’t even fucking here and you’re making a puddle on my bed.” His eyebrows raise as he mocks and teases. “Needed me bad enough to break one of my rules”, he shakes his head, laughing again, as if calling you weak. “Pathetic.”

He knows his filthy mouth has always been a weakness for you, turned you on more than anything else. Your breath is audible, your heart thumps, and your pussy aches as he just fucking ignores it. You lick your lips and swallow, watching as he kneels above you, like he’s a god and you’re just a plaything. Max loved that feeling more than anything else, the idea he is entirely in charge and entirely in control, breaking his rules is a direct challenge to that feeling, so of course your punishment is all about Max making a point. “Who’s in charge?”

The question comes out simple enough. Max locks eyes with you, offering you no comfort, nowhere to hide. You consider being more of a brat but the way your clit begs for attention…you have no choice. “You are, Max”, your voice breathy and quiet.

“Louder.” Max knew you found it hard to admit these things out loud. To bare your submission entirely to him, and to yourself, so that is exactly what he was going to make you do, just because he fucking could.

You screw your eyes shut, face burning but clear your throat, “you’re in charge Max”, your statement this time is louder and clearer. You silently beg it’s enough to earn just some friction, a hand, a finger, a thigh you could fucking grind against…anything. Max, can see this desire all over your face, your pouty puffed out lip and your squirming hips, he grins slightly, an evil look.

He reaches down, and grabs ahold of the cotton and begins to, very, slowly pull them down your legs, tossing them aside once they’re off. Now there is really nothing to hide you from him, his hands, again, push your inner thighs apart. It’s not enough for him, he wants to see exactly how worked up he has you, so his fingers slide up your inner thigh and push your lips apart, a trickle of witness dripping out of you as he does so.

You whine as he does this, embarrassed at the sight your boyfriend is staring at, the way he looks so fucking hungry. “Who owns this pussy?” He asks, his voice deep, pointed.

“You own it Max.” You answer quickly this time, clearly desperate for some attention. “Please, I need something.” You beg needily, you look at him with big pleading eyes as he looks back, unphased. How is he so unaffected, ‘ts not fair.

“You’re right.” Max responds as if he didn’t even hear your plea for relief. “This”, his finger runs the length of your slit teasingly, “is mine.”

He shifts forward and places one hand either side of your shoulders, leaning over you, caging you in, as his mouth ghosts over your ear. “You don’t touch my property without my permission, do you?”

“No, I'm sorry, I sh–”

“Oh, don’t worry pretty girl,” his voice was soft, laced with intent and desire, “I’m going to make very fucking sure you’re sorry.”

The way in which he says it, hovering over you like this, makes you whimper. You had no doubt he intended to make good on those words. He leans back so he's no longer caging you and grabs the vibrator, and remote, that you had earlier tossed to the side. Max appraised the toy, he knew it was your favourite vibe, knew how well it made you cum. It was also one of his favourites, because of the remote, the control it gave him.

Therefore, it was no surprise when Max pressed the hard toy to your clit. You bit your lip to mask any noise that might slip out and have him change his mind, what did surprise, you was him taking the remote control and placing it into one of your hands. “W-what are you..” you trail off, clearly confused and eager to press the on button, but you don’t. You wait. This is just what Max wants. He grins from ear to ear, smug and cocky, very Max Verstappen.

“Turn it on.” He doesn’t explain his plan, but you don’t care, eager to do as he says. You hit the on button, the toy whirs to life giving you some much needed relief. The toy might only be on a low setting but you let out a forceful exhale and your hips lift at the slight pleasure it does give you. Max leans back, staring at what is happening, getting a good view.

“Turn it up to your favourite setting,” he says quickly, despite his demeanor he clearly wants to get the ball moving himself. The toy’s humming gets louder and your thighs part even more to increase the pressure he’s providing you. “Greedy” he mumbles as he holds the toy just how you like it.

“Fuck Max,” you begin to moan, the setting you stopped at, 7/10, perfect without being overwhelming and it always brings you to the edge quickly. You look at Max as you hold the remote tightly, as if trying to stop him taking it away, like he’s not the one holding the vibrator to your clit. “Oh fuck that feels good,” your head turns and twists against his pillow, your mouth hung open as soft moans fall continuously, some whispers of his name, some just sounds of pure pleasure.

Max can see the way your pretty lips part, the flush on your face, your hardened nipples and the way your breath catches as you moan his name, you’re getting close. He waits to see how close you’ll get before you warn him. God he could do this to you for fucking eternity, watch you write in pleasure.

“F-fuck M..maxie I’m going to cum!” You warn urgently, your voice high pitched trying to convey the sudden intensity of your pleasure. You know you need permission, this is what you’re trying to ask for by telling him you’re close, usually this verbiage ‘going to cum’ would be fine and Max would let it slide. Not tonight. He pulls the toy away with a tilt of his head, as if he’s confused. You whine knowing he’s being mean and the loss of pleasure feels cruel.

“You’re ‘going to’ cum?” he hums contemplatively as you still whine under him, “that’s funny liefde, I don’t recall giving you permission.” He speaks slowly letting the realisation hit, quickly your whines turn to desperate apologies.

“Fuck, come on maxie, I- i meant can I cum?” You pout.

‘Tsk tsk tsk’ Max tuts disapprovingly as he still doesn’t put the toy back. “Who owns your pleasure?” He asks. Jesus, he’s gonna make you say every fucking thing out loud tonight, force you to confront the fact he owns you entirely.

“You”, you try not to sound frustrated at the fact, knowing that will do you no favours right now. Max tries to mask his smile at your response.

“Good girl,” he praises for the first time tonight, “turn the toy down.”

You groan and bite your cheek, you don’t want to and you consider not moving your hand but you know that toy isn’t getting back on your clit any other way. “I fucking hate you sometimes,” you groan softly. Max stares down at you with a predatory grin and just laughs, returning the toy back to your clit. “Still do what I fucking tell you though, don’t you?” he mocks; “like a well trained fucking dog.”

Max notices the low setting isn’t enough for you. Your finger lingers over the increase button, your pussy begging you to press it, your mind, and the look in Max’s eyes, dissuading you.

“Does my needy fucking girl want to turn it up?” He asks with that smug, goading tone.

You nod embarrassingly fast, your need too intense to care, Max snickers, clearly enjoying this. “Why don’t you then?” He tilts his head in mock confusion.

You let out a breathless huff and pout at the way he’s mocking and teasing. “Maxxxx”, you drawl, “stop being mean” you whine, your voice tinged with frustration.

“Why would I? It makes you so fucking wet.” Max speaks bluntly, loving the way his forwardness makes you blush and squirm. His question still needs answering though and he grabs your jaw, tightly, no room for escape.

“Why don't you just turn it up?” He repeats, less playful, more forceful. You swallow, looking in his eyes and let out a small, pathetic, helpless little noise signalling your defeat. “Don’t have permission.” You finally admit.

Max’s grin is wolfish as he revels in your submission. You think this might be where he takes mercy on you, now you’ve finally surrendered. Max smirks, like he can read your thoughts, wanting to stop them dead in their tracks, “turn it down.”

“Max”, you protest with a whine, your finger moves to the ‘decrease’ button but it doesn’t press it yet. “Please,” you beg but his gaze is unwavering, unrelenting, unforgiving.

Click, click, click. You turn it down until it’s almost off. Max actually groans at this, the powerless look on your face going straight to his cock.

“Good. Fucking. Girl. Knew you weren’t too fucking stupid to follow instructions.”

His mocking doesn’t stop this time though, he’s having too much fun. “Imagine being so fucking pathetic, so powerless, you have to ask for permission to fucking touch yourself.”

“Imagine having to ask for permission to fucking cum.” He watches you, makes sure you hear every word. “Having to beg for permission to feel fucking pleasure.”

Your head swims at his words and you can’t help whining pleadingly, writhing under his gaze, giving frustrated little sighs, almost whimpering as you’re reminded how not in control you are. You nod in agreement with his words and he gives you a pitying little sigh.

“Beg to turn it up and I might let you.”

“Please”, fuck, your voice is so pathetic, it’s embarrassing. Max watches your eyes screw shut but doesn’t comment, he wants to hear just how far gone you are.

“I get it. You’re in control, you own me. I..I should never have touched without your permission,” your voice gets whinier as you continue, “please let me turn it up, please my clit fucking aches Max, please have mercy on me, let me feel some fucking pleasure please.”

Max feels like a fucking god, and you’d struggle to disagree with that notion currently as you literally beg for mercy. He nods, silently giving his assent to turn it up and you could cum from that alone. “Thank you” you say, so breathlessly, Max is almost unsure if he heard it at all.

Your finger scrambles as you turn the toy the whole way up to 10, having been teased far too long now. Max doesn’t stop you, he’s not worried about you finishing without his permission, not tonight.

Your hard nipples press against the tight red tank top giving Max a nice view, his big hand reaches up and tweaks your nipple, hard. You moan out, more in pleasure than in pain. Max laughs at this, “masochist”.

The way he gropes and manhandles your tits, with his free hand, helps speed up the process and soon you feel that tight little coil build in your centre.

“Maxie close!” You look up at him, your moans growing louder and more desperate. “Please, please can I cum”

Max hums as if contemplating his answer and you just buck into the toy, crying out now in pleasure. Ohhh. “Fucking need it, please”. Max doesn’t respond again, just watches you closely, then, right as you're about to tip over the edge. The toy pulls back.

For a second you can’t tell if he ruined your orgasm, the pleasure so intense and the loss so painful your brain short circuits, and you just let out a strangled noise.

“NO! Nnngmmph”. You pant, almost shaking your head in disbelief, tears swarm your eyes as you look up at Max.

His cruel laughter rings in your ears as he leans down to place a mockingly soft kiss on your nose. You can feel his breath against your face as the toy gets put back. Immediately, the pleasure builds again, before you can warn Max about your impending orgasm, the toy pulls back.

On, off. On, off. On, off. For the next 10 fucking minutes.

“Max please!” You sob, tears running down your face as he edges you for what feels like the 100th time tonight. Only then, when you’re the face of ruin. Does Max whisper that one word in your ear.

“Cum.”

Your body shakes and erupts at this. Yes! “Fuck, thank you!” You cry out so loud the neighbours might have to make their 3rd noise complaint of the month. You gush and gush around the toy, your release spilling all over Max’s fingers and his bedsheet.

Max lets you ride out your orgasm to its entirety, watching in awe and arousal as you coat his hand. Once your shaking becomes trembles of overstimulation, Max puts the toy aside. He makes sure you’re looking at him as he brings his fingers to his mouth, putting on a show of sucking them clean and moaning.

“Taste so fucking good, I was gonna come home and eat your cunt all night ‘til you misbehaved, but this will do.”

You lay against the sheets struggling to recover, panting, thighs shaking. “Won’t be breaking the rules again anytime fucking soon.” Max says smugly. When you nod he just grins.

“Good girl, let’s get you cleaned up.”

[r4cc00n-r0llb4ck]

Patrick Jane is the duality of man. He's so suave. So conniving. A little shit. A trickster fae. Basically a cat in human form - if he does something accidentally no he fucking didn't that was on purpose. A perfect specimen, the epitome of what it is to be a man. A neredowell. A 7yo's whimsy trapped in the body of a 40yo man with the cunning of a 4000yo trickster deity. I love him

[redkusamochi]

watching every scene where jane interacts with kids is just like:

me: awww jane is so good at handling kids!!

me, a second later screaming crying sobbing: JANE IS SO GOOD AT HANDLING KIDS

[michinaaa]

every time i search up "harry potter x reader" i get some other character instead and then when i search harry james potter x reader there aren't enough results because people who DO post harry x reader don't think they need to tag that specifically

i will cry