formula fic recs

[formulaficrecs]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/90132606

Max verstappen/charles leclerc

Charles is an omega and he gets arranged to marry max the crown prince of the Netherlands. He decides that the only way forward is to kill his husband.

[monacobby]

do you have recs besides norstappen by chance?

♡ fic recs from yours truly ♡ a note: i chose fics i think deserve more love or i don't see recced often. sometimes, recs feel like a bit of an echochamber to me. some of these are already in my #fic rec tag, some are from going back through my history on my old ao3 account, and some simply live rent-free in my head and i sought them out to include. also, i know a lot of my followers lean heavily towards preferring to read landoscar— while there are lots of great landoscar recs here, i'd encourage everyone to try at least one new pairing if you don't usually branch out. there is so much incredible art in this fandom! i wanted to tell you what i love about each fic but this got unwieldy, so forgive the succinct descriptions. in publishing order (oldest to newest)

recreate the sun by @glasscushion lando norris/oscar piastri, oscar piastri/mark webber, explicit, 3k Lando and Oscar get high, talk about Mark, and fuck about Mark fucking Oscar.

plus one by @likepilotlights lando norris/oscar piastri, lando norris/max fewtrell, explicit, 7.7k Lando needs someone to watch him get off, Max taps in Oscar. i say you'll live without it by @freeuselandonorris (two-part series) lando norris/oscar piastri, oscar piastri/lily zneimer (background), explicit, 7.6k Oscar's cheating on Lily with Lando. Lando doesn't care. Except he really does.

shut your mouth (give me your head) by @bumblewyn & @scuderiacanucks lando norris/charles leclerc, explicit, 6.7k Omega Lando helps Charles with his heat. It doesn't go particularly well.

(sharpen your teeth) sink into me by @antspaul charles leclerc/carlos sainz, explicit, 10.2k Charles and Carlos have great sex, then stumble through figuring out how to do it again.

sticky by clarenmac lando norris/oscar piastri, explicit, 4.8k Post-Abu Dhabi 24, Lando and Oscar celebrate the WCC and hookup for the first time.

holy sick divine nights by @bright-and-burning lando norris/oscar piastri, explicit, 3.6k Post-Hungary 24, Lando's having weird dreams. Turns out Oscar is too— sharing Lando's, in fact.

nobody else will be there by @landonorissian lando norris/max fewtrell, lando norris/max verstappen, explicit, 8.9k Max Fewtrell is visiting Monaco and finds out that Lando hooked up with Max Verstappen. He has no feelings about this whatsoever.

fifteen minutes by @magnificentbirb max verstappen/carlos sainz, explicit, 2.2k Fan-voted Winner's Room. Carlos was meant for Lando— Max wins instead.

posterboys by @disarmd lando norris/alex albon, explicit, 5.5k Lando's on a mission to fuck Alex— because he wants to, but also to prove to George that he can.

what bunnies do by @testarossa oscar piastri/lando norris/carlos sainz, explicit, 11.9k Oscar wakes up with bunny ears and a tail. Lando enlists Carlos to fuck them away, then gets jealous and wants to help.

terrain of incomplete hunger by @foggieststars charles leclerc/carlos sainz/max verstappen, explicit, 7.8k Charles goes into pre-heat at a party; Max and Carlos decide to help him out.

trace the outlines of your dreams by @gremlinlando lando norris/max fewtrell, explicit, 3.1k Lando gets off in Max's bed. Max catches him and stays.

so bright it's burning by @team-orders (wip) lando norris/max fewtrell, explicit, 9.1k Max and Lando fuck every time Max gets his pussy. This time, he tries to keep it all week— for Lando, and maybe for himself.

untouched by @passengerprincipessa lando norris/jenson button, lando norris/max fewtrell, explicit, 3.4k Lando and Jenson film a sex tape. Max shouldn't watch it. He does.

ugly, only chance by @otherparties oscar piastri/lando norris/jenson button, explicit, 6.8k Post-Abu Dhabi 24, Lando and Jenson invite Oscar to fuck Lando's race-winning pussy.

light up the sky of tomorrow by @unpublishableprivateliterature lando norris/oscar piastri, not rated, 8.5k Oscar gives it all up for a second chance at the 2025 season. Even Lando.

time alone with you by @ogygian lando norris/oscar piastri, explicit, 3.3k Friends with benefits, blowjobs, watching porn together, mutual pining— tied together with beautiful prose.

sunk cost phallacy by @devantesmithpelly lando norris/max fewtrell, mature, 2.9k Lando teaches Max how to take dick pics and dickmatizes him in the process. calamity by @cosmicscuderia lando norris/max fewtrell, lando norris/pietra pilao, pietra pilao/max fewtrell explicit, 31k Max is with Pietra. Lando's fucking P because it's the closest he can get to having Max. Calamity ensues.

[lislemons]

What's Got You Fired Up? by lislemons

pialbon | e | brat taming | dom!alex/sub!oscar | 1/1 | 6.4k

so basically @ultravioletdisguise found a video i was looking for so i promised to write 2k words of oscar smut of her chosing as a reward. anyways, here's 6k words of pialbon smut. fic below the cut, or on AO3 through the link.

Everyone thinks Alex Albon is a very chill guy. He’s funny, easygoing, just a great dude to hang with no matter the circumstances. If people had to choose the most laidback driver on the grid, they’d probably choose Alex. The guy doesn’t do anything bad, doesn’t have issues with other drivers on the grid, doesn’t cause problems. 

Oscar knows better.

His race went to shit because of a jackass ignoring blue flags, and Alex knows damn well that Oscar doesn’t want to see or hear any mention of Carlos fucking Sainz or Williams. An agreement they usually follow after a race weekend, no racing stuff is allowed to be discussed on the Monday after.

But here comes Alex in a goddamn navy blue Williams hoodie. The white logo stretched across his chest is taunting Oscar. It’s on purpose, he knows it.

They were supposed to spend a casual night in. Maybe watch a movie. Have food that’s not included in their meal plans but it’s summer break and their trainers can turn a blind eye for one cheat meal. All things Oscar loves to do with his boyfriend. 

He’s not able to control the rising annoyance about Alex’s hoodie.

The other man is scrolling on his phone, looking for a good restaurant to order food from. He’s got this focused expression that usually Oscar finds adorable, but right now he’s just finding things to be mad about. They lay on the couch, separated by the physical distance Oscar put between them just to avoid being contaminated by the hoodie. 

“What about pasta?” Alex asks without looking up, “We can get that one place you like.”

Oscar huffs, “Whatever. I don’t care.”

It gets Alex to glance up at him, one eyebrow raised in question, “You always care. Something up?”

He shakes his head. Then shrugs. His boyfriend squints at him, suspicious. Then he looks back at his phone. 

“Got your favorite, it’ll be here in forty minutes,” Alex announces.

There should be a warm fuzzy feeling at his boyfriend ordering him his favorite food, and being all nice. Unfortunately, Oscar’s still so annoyed about that stupid fucking hoodie. 

It reflects on his behavior for the rest of the evening. He’s short and impolite as they eat, ignoring Alex showing him stupid memes or telling him corny jokes. When they are selecting a movie, Oscar just tells Alex to pick “Something that doesn’t suck,” and goes back to scrolling mindlessly on his phone. The tension is slowly building, and Oscar cannot help himself but lean into it.

The movie Alex chose was long. It was about space and rocks and was probably pretty good. Oscar was still so angry, pissed off that every time he looks over at Alex he has to see that. 

Very ridiculous of him, he knows. Alex was not responsible for his teammate’s actions or his team or anyone that’s not him. Despite this, he’s still upset.

So, he goes on his phone. Petty. It’s poor movie watching etiquette. His boyfriend glances over, and Oscar sees the annoyance flash on his face.

From where Oscar sits on the couch, Alex has to lean over to poke him in the ribs, “C’mon, mate, phone off.”

And it’s just too much. Partly because as he opened up Instagram the first post was Alex’s with him and fucking Carlos doing a ‘100’ for Alex’s hundreth race. It makes the building frustration and annoyance spill over.

“No actually,” Oscar snaps, glaring at his boyfriend, “I’m trying to see what’s the big deal with you and your teammate last weekend.”

“Oh my god,” Alex says, rolling his dark brown eyes. His mouth is curved into a scowl, clearly unimpressed with Oscar’s behavior.

He tries to ignore him, looking back at his phone, when he hears the movie stop. Before he can register it, Alex is standing up, moving in front of him, and plucking his phone out of his hands. Oscar lets out a noise of protest and reaches out to take his phone back.

Alex’s hand whips out and grabs his wrist at lighting speed. His grip is tight, unyielding, but not painful. Something flutters in Oscar’s stomach. 

A stormy expression on Alex’s face spells trouble for Oscar. They had a certain… dynamic they didn’t take all that seriously between them. Just something they played with on occasion. There’s something in the angry glint in Alex’s eyes that tells Oscar tonight is a night where they were taking it seriously.

And he looks at the way Alex’s tanned and calloused hand holds his wrist. How delicate and fragile Oscar’s hands look next to Alex’s. The casual roughness, the dominant nature that Alex tries to hide just barely below the surface. 

“Why have you been such a fucking brat all night?” Alex asks, his voice just dipping into a growl.

He decides to dig his heels in. Oscar, for all intents and purposes, is a great partner. Open and honest, never argumentative or disruptive. When they play like that, and Alex gives him an order, Oscar will do anything to follow his command immediately. 

Tonight, he doesn’t want to be an obedient dog. 

His mouth twists into a snarl, “Why have you been wearing that stupid fucking hoodie all night?”

Alex looks down, registering his outfit, then glares at Oscar, his grip on his wrist tightening, “Are you being serious? I don’t complain when you wear McLaren stuff after a race.”

“Well, it’s not exactly the same is it?” Oscar asks, and it’s like something evil has taken over him because his mouth is moving without his mind catching up to stop himself, “Wearing the team of winners versus a team of fucking backmarkers that can’t help but fuck up someone’s race.”

Silence follows. In his chest, his heart hammers against his ribcage. Alex’s expression turns down right murderous. 

Slowly, Alex places Oscar’s phone on the side table. His hold on Oscar’s wrist is firm. When he straightens back up, he’s clearly thinking about what he’s going to do.

In a stern voice Oscar’s not sure he’s ever heard from him, Alex speaks, “Alright. You’ve got one chance to apologize for that smart mouth of yours. If you do, we’ll talk about this, and you can maybe have a nice night in with your very nice and caring boyfriend.”

“And if I don’t?” Oscar asks, because he’s riding the high of disobedience and he doesn’t feel sorry at all.

“You get to have a long night learning your lesson,” Alex says, leaning down enough to make proper eye contact with him, but still towering over him enough that Oscar’s forced to look up at him, “I will not accept you behaving like a brat because you didn’t get the race result you wanted.”

Oscar scoffs, “You can’t decide that I’m not allowed to be upset about a race result. That’s bullshit.”

The whiny tone of his voice must set off something inside of Alex, because the Thai man’s other hand shoots out and grabs Oscar’s free wrist. He is quick to force Oscar’s wrists together, his hold on them tight, making Oscar unable to fight back.

“Seriously, Oscar, one chance to say sorry or else you’re starting summer break with a bruised ass,” Alex says, voice low and serious.

Now, Oscar’s not exactly proud of how his boyfriend’s angry face is making his dick harden in his shorts, but he’s not ashamed of it. Everything between them is usually so sweet and easy. They weren’t the duo people thought would get together, but when they did it just made sense. It was like they knew what the other wanted, when they wanted it, without having to be told.

Maybe they needed to spice things up. At this moment, the last thing Oscar wants is sweet and easy. He wants that rough, nasty sex they have when they’ve spent too much time online watching fan edits of each other or reading through the weird subreddits Lando sends them. The type of sex where Alex is not Alex, his loving boyfriend, he’s just ‘Sir’. 

Also, he’s straight up not sorry at all. He meant what he said.

Making his choice, Oscar looks up at Alex, purposely widening his eyes, letting his mouth curl into a smirk, “Really? I’m going to be punished for pointing out that you’re wearing a hoodie for a backmarker team? Could’ve won the whole fucking race if your teammate hadn’t decided to ram his shitbox of a car into mine.”

He doesn’t expect Alex’s reaction. Instead of murderous rage, red-faced anger, Alex’s face smooths out into an expression of cold indifference. He leans back up, standing straight and looks down at Oscar with a disapproving tsk.

“Baby, what’s your safeword?” he asks, in a no-nonsense tone. He’s still staring down at Oscar like he’s nothing more than a piece of gum on his shoe.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate, “Oh? Really? You think you’re going to make me safeword? Wow, you must mean big business.”

Of course, Oscar’s grin falls when Alex shifts both of his wrists into one hand and tugs his hair painfully with the other. He doesn’t flinch when Oscar lets out a whimper of pain, at the way his eyes water as he tries to look up at him as Alex pulls at the hair by his temple.

It’s all cold indifference when he orders Oscar, “Safeword. Now.”

“Red Bull,” Oscar says, rolling his eyes at the theatrics. He purposely leaves off the part he knows his boyfriend is expecting him to say. The word that cues to Alex that he’s consenting to the scene, to what happens next.

“No, try again,” Alex orders, tugging at Oscar’s hair, “You know what to call me, do it right. What’s the safeword?”

Oscar scowls, waiting a beat or two before answering through gritted teeth, “Red Bull. Sir.”

Alex nods, face still unmoving, “Anything else to say to defend yourself before we start?”

“It’s not a crime to say the truth,” Oscar snaps snarkily, huffing as he tacks on after a small pause, “Sir.”

The hands on his wrist and in his hair tighten. His eyes water from the sting of his hair being pulled and his wrists being squeezed. Alex tugs him up, his grip firm and his arms strong as he makes Oscar scramble to get off the couch without tripping.

Oscar is led to the bedroom without any comment from the other man. He sneaks glances out of the corner of his eye, trailing over that cold expression, the way his boyfriend looks so domineering, how suddenly the stupid hoodie looks intimidating in the light. Their height difference wasn’t something he thought about a lot, but right now it felt like Alex towered over him. 

Once they make it to the bedroom, Alex lets go of his wrists and hair. Oscar has all of one second to process his newfound freedom before his clothes are being taken off him.

His shorts and boxers are yanked down to pool around his ankles, his shirt is bunched around his armpits, Alex moving with a swiftness as Oscar protests, “Wha– Stop, what are you doing?!”

“Brats deserve to be punished, can’t exactly spank you with all these clothes on can I?” Alex says, a forced casualness to his words. He’s not even stopping his actions, tugging off Oscar’s shirt and tossing it aside.

Oscar finds himself too slow to react, his mind already floating away with each rough touch of Alex’s hands on his skin. He’s not even certain he’s fully capable of realizing the consequences of his actions. They indulged on the kinkier side of things, but Alex always had a surprise for him, some new toy or tool he’d try out on Oscar during those times. Oscar had no idea what was coming his way.

There was no way for Alex to have planned this out, no time to prepare. This did not stop him from acting like he knew exactly what he was going to do.

He picks up Oscar, his strength always catches Oscar off guard, and practically throws him on the bed. Then he’s off, rummaging through a dresser drawer.   

“I’m not a brat,” Oscar says, a bit pathetically as he sits on the unmade bed, “I don’t know why I’m being punished.”

Alex doesn’t even turn around when he replies, “If you say anything else that’s not Yes, sir, or No, sir, or I’m sorry, sir, I’ll gag you for the rest of the night.”

Oscar, for the first time all evening, shuts his mouth. Even if he was seriously thinking about a million ways to argue and fight back. 

“Good boy,” Alex says as he returns to the bedside, his hands filled with black leather, “Wrists out.”

He hesitates until Alex gives him a stern look. Oscar holds up his wrists, hands outward like he’s asking for a blessing from the other man.

Alex smiles, and gets to work without a word. He moves to hold a leather paddle between his white teeth, grinning as he wraps the black leather cuffs around Oscar’s wrists. The silver chain dangles from his wrists, connecting the cuffs, the buckle is secured in a way that Oscar would struggle to remove them himself. 

Then, Alex taps his thigh, expectantly looking up at Oscar. His face heats when he glances down and sees how his dick is already fully hard. The sight of the larger cuffs meant to restrain Oscar’s thighs in Alex’s hands makes his cock jump.

He lifts one leg, letting Alex carefully place the cuff. Then the other when Alex taps it to signal that he’s ready to pull the cuff onto that leg. These restraints match the ones on his wrists, the chain between them meant to make his strides shorter, taking away his ability to walk properly. 

Alex is grinning when he finally finishes, taking the paddle from his mouth to trail it on Oscar’s exposed skin. Unlike Oscar, he’s fully clothed. His soft shorts and abominable hoodie intact. At least he’s visibly hard in his shorts. 

With the cool air on his skin, the sensation of the restraints around his wrists and thighs, feeling how the paddle touches his softest areas, Oscar’s realizing he’s fucked. 

He whimpers. Alex chuckles, “Already regretting it, huh? No matter. I’m going to spank you, first with my hand, then the paddle. I want you to thank me for the ones with my hand, then apologize when I spank you with the paddle. Understood?”

His voice is barely audible when he responds, “Yes, sir.”

Alex nods, pleased. He sits and manhandles Oscar into place, pausing only briefly to nab the bottle of lube from the night stand. 

Finding himself bent over his boyfriend’s thigh, naked, restrained, and preparing himself for his ass to be black and blue was not what Oscar thought would happen. The brush of Alex’s shorts on his bare skin is overwhelming, the inherent power imbalance of Alex still being fully clothed and Oscar being fully exposed making his dick twitch from where it’s pressed against Alex’s thigh. His boyfriend’s other leg comes to trap him, squeezing Oscar’s thighs in place. His wrists dangle in front of him useless, the chain jingling with any movement. The cuffs on his thighs are snug, the leather and chain pressing into his skin. His head hangs down, not in shame, but because Oscar’s trying to be smart and conserve his strength. 

A calloused hand rubs his ass, groping his cheeks, spreading them just enough to expose his hole to the cool air. Oscar gasps, small, unintentional.

Alex doesn’t wait for him.

Without preamble, a loud crack of a hand slapping his ass echoes in the room. Oscar lets out a pained shout, his body instinctively squirming away from the sting.

“T-Thank you, sir,” he chokes out, just barely remembering what he’s supposed to say.

Then, another smack, on the other cheek. His eyes water at the sting. It’s only two hits and he’s not sure he’s going to make it through this without crying.

Alex hums, lightly scratching the hot skin with his nails, reminding Oscar that he’s got a job to do. The broken whine is embarrassing, “Thank you, sir.”

It continues in this manner.

A smack. The wave of pain. Choked out gratitudes. Repeat.

Oscar loses count after the sixth one. Alex keeps alternating the sides, the spots he targets. Once or twice, he nails Oscar’s upper thighs, the sting particularly strong there.

He’s not sure how many it’s been when Alex speaks, “If you say sorry right now, and mean it, I won’t use the paddle on you. No half-ass apologies either, I need to hear you say you are a brat who’s a sore loser.”

His dick may be leaking and staining Alex’s shorts, his ass hot and stinging, but Oscar’s still got his pride. And the reminder of why he was upset doesn’t exactly inspire guilty feelings.

From where his head hangs, Oscar growls, “Oh, fuck off. I’m not afraid of a fucking stupid paddle.”

“Wow,” Alex breaths out, “You’re tearing up from little slaps with my hand, and you aren’t afraid of the paddle? What a brave, bratty boy you are tonight.”

“Maybe you just don’t hit very hard,” he scoffs, not really sure why he’s decided to make things worse for himself. 

Alex hums, thoughtful, not lashing out at Oscar’s provocation. He grabs one of Oscar’s cheeks, and spreads him open. With his hole on display, Oscar tenses, vulnerable.

“A couple more with my hand won’t hurt, might even make you feel a bit sorry,” he says, like it’s almost an afterthought.

Heart pounding in his chest, Oscar is trembling in anticipation of what his boyfriend is planning to do to him. He tries to hold onto the side of the bed, to Alex’s leg, anything, but his bound wrists and weak hands can’t seem to find the strength to grip anything. 

Without moving his hand that’s holding Oscar open, Alex brings down his palm, air wooshing as he spanks Oscar. He hits his target exactly. 

“Fuck!” Oscar lets out a shout, a guttural mix of pain and pleasure. 

His hole burns. Alex spanked him in his most vulnerable area. There’s something so fucked up about it, something so hot about it.

He’s got tears in his eyes threatening to spill over when Alex spits onto his burning rim. A finger nudges the sensitive skin, poking and prodding at his tight hole.

“Oscar, what do you say?” Alex asks, his cruel voice cutting through the fog of Oscar’s mind. 

“Thank you, sir,” he chokes out, pathetically as he attempts to hold back his tears.

It’s no use. Alex spanks his hole again. Oscar starts to cry, his eyes leaking just as his dick has been leaking for the last thirty or so minutes. 

Between the spanks, as Oscar attempts to make himself speak in a coherent manner to thank his boyfriend, Alex teases at his rim. He spits directly onto Oscar’s hole a couple times, lets his fingers dip in and out with only spit to ease the way. Everything makes the pain so much worse, makes the pleasure all the greater. 

Oscar feels the fight leaving his body with every slap. He hiccups through another thank you, when Alex’s hand is replaced by cool leather.

They’d used the paddle before. Once, when they wanted to try out impact play. Alex had been going easy on him then.

The first crack of leather on his battered ass makes Oscar shriek. Wordless exclamation of pain. From where his dick is trapped against Alex’s thigh, he feels himself release another glob of precome. 

Alex tsks at him when he doesn’t immediately speak, “C’mon, say sorry. You know the rules.”

He’s not certain he does. Oscar is floating on a wave of pain and pleasure, and he’s not got many thoughts to string together at the moment. It takes him a moment to recall what the fuck he was supposed to say.

Briefly, Oscar thinks about not speaking when he remembers what he’s meant to say.

Then he feels one of Alex’s fingers dip inside his hole, tugging at the aching rim. He’s crying, with tears and snort running down his face as his dick leaks into Alex’s shorts, and there’s not even pride left in him to keep up the fight.

“I’m sorry, sir!” he cries out, “I’m sorry, sir, please, no more.”

“Oh, baby,” Alex coos, his finger tugging at his rim one final time before he pulls his hand away, “We’re just starting.”

Leather slaps his bare skin, leaving behind a stinging pain that’s got Oscar’s eyes rolling back and his dick leaking. 

Between each hit, Alex lets himself open up Oscar. It takes a couple spanks for him to switch from spit to lube, to have his fingers inserted fully, fucking open Oscar’s hole. The pleasure from Alex fingering him makes it harder to focus and say sorry. Sometimes Alex will do it on purpose, curling his fingers to nail Oscar’s prostate in the middle of Oscar's apology to make him have to start over. 

That’s when the paddle is especially painful, the sting all the more intense when he’s feeling such pleasure before and after the hit. No matter how pitiful he sounds, how much he whines and cries, Alex doesn’t stop.

Oscar lays limp across Alex’s thigh, barely able to stand on his shaking lips, mouth agape after it fell open one too many times to moan or shout. His ass hurts. He doesn’t need to reach back and touch it to know the skin is hot, reddened from the punishment, and likely to bruise badly. 

He’s just given a pathetic apology for the fifth, fifthteenth, or twenty fifth time, he’s not sure. There’s drool drying on his chin. The tip of his dick is being rubbed raw against Alex’s shorts. His hole is being stretched around three fingers fucking in and out of him, the rim smarting from its earlier abuse.

Alex coos at him, setting the paddle down and petting his hair with a gentleness he’s not given Oscar since he started bratting. He can’t help but push his head up, desperate for more affection. 

“Oh, my stupid baby,” Alex says, voice patronizing but soft, “We aren’t done yet.”

“Please, sir, I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” Oscar cries, desperate to save his ass from more bruises.

Alex leans down and presses a couple of kisses on Oscar’s back. His hand pumps his fingers in and out of his hole at a leisurely pace, the wet noises of the lube filling the room. It’s insane, Oscar is going insane, because even the sting of his battered ass is making him feel good. 

“Ready to do the last part of your punishment?” Alex asks, not stopping his hands from their movements. In and out, his fingers brush against Oscar’s prostate just as his fingers brush through his hair.

Oscar feels hot, skin tacky as he sweats, his face is a mess. He’s not really sure he can survive any more punishment. With trembling legs, and a wobbly lip, he nods, accepting his fate, “Yes, sir.”

“What a good boy,” Alex murmurs, slowly pulling his fingers out of Oscar’s hole, “On the floor, on all fours.”

Shamefully, with a hot face and hotter ass, Oscar clambers off Alex’s leg and onto the floor. He positions himself, feeling the way the carpet scratches at his palms and knees. His legs can barely spread far enough to support himself, his wrists in a similar predicament. The silver chains shine in the low light from the lamp Alex turned on. With his head hanging between his shoulders, Oscar can catch a glimpse of his aching cock, leaking precome onto the carpet. He hopes they can get the stains out. A pair of warm hands settle around his waist, long fingers spreading to grasp his torso securely. 

There’s a whine that escapes him when he feels the press of Alex’s cock against his stretched out rim. Alex is clearly pleased by his desperation, “Alright, baby, here’s the plan. I’m going to fuck you as you crawl to the closet. The only way you get to come is if you make it to the closet and let me fuck you in there, understood?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Oscar pants, nothing left inside of him but the desire to make Alex proud, to get to come, to be a good boy for his boyfriend. 

It must work, because Alex sheathes himself inside of Oscar in one thrust. A choked moan rips from Oscar’s throat, the feeling of Alex’s cock inside of him is overwhelming. The brush of the shorts Alex still has on against his stinging ass sends a jolt of pleasure through him, the mix of pain and pleasure.

Alex pulls out, and thrusts back in hard enough that Oscar’s seeing stars. He’s rocked forward, barely able to move his hands out in time to catch himself and not fall face first into the floor.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, trembeling as he attempts to regain his bearings.

His hard work is thwarted by Alex thrusting again, deep and hard, “C’mon, baby, start crawling.”

Oscar refuses to give up, even if the sensation of being split open by Alex’s thick cock is making his mind struggle to form a coherent thought. He shuffles, shaking limbs, and manages to crawl forward a couple inches.

He’s rewarded by Alex thrusting in and out, fucking him hard enough his ass cheeks jiggle, the sting from the brusied skin making him hiss. It’s both so painful and so good.

“Where’s all that top-team cockiness now?” Alex taunts, “You’re so slow, we won’t make it before I come.”

Oscar whimpers, and forces his body to move. The task feels herculean when he looks up to see how far the closet is from his current spot. Everything is stacked against him, the way Alex’s cock is rubbing his prostate, the snug fit of the leather restraints around his thighs and wrists, the feeling of Alex’s big hands on his skin.

He makes it about a foot or so, Alex having mercy on him by fucking him with swallow thrusts, when Alex speaks again, “Honestly, you should be grateful that you aren’t wasting away at a bottom team. I mean, look at you. Pathetic thing, crying on my dick, moving so slowly. You’d be the perfect fit for a backmarker.”

“N-No,” his voice trembles, his arms shaking as he attempts to keep crawling, “’m good, ‘m a good driver, ‘m fast.”

“Nuh uh, just look at you,” Alex teases, “Letting your tiny cock leak all over the floor as you go, so slow I could probably lap you twice before you make it to the closet.”

Now, Oscar expected the teasing. He was not prepared for how much it turned him on to hear Alex call his dick tiny. They didn’t really talk about it in-depth, but Oscar’s got a small penis. It’s obvious. Once, Alex asked if he was insecure about it, and he’d said no. He truly wasn’t. His previous partners had been satisfied by his performance in other areas, that his little cock really wasn’t a big deal. 

Then, Alex asked if he’d care if Alex brought it up when he was doing some degrading of Oscar in the bedroom. Oscar’d given the green light. 

This was the first time Alex brought it up. 

Oscar bites the inside of his cheek, blood flooding his mouth, in an attempt to not come on the spot.

Suddenly, he’s got more strength and energy to push forward. He starts crawling, mindlessly, desperately. The closet door is slightly ajar and Oscar wants nothing more than to push it open and go inside. His knees are being rubbed raw from the carpet, his palms sensitive from the burn of rough fibers. 

Alex fucks him, hard and deep. It’s unfair, he thinks, that Alex gets to have a big dick to torture him with. It’s only because he’s biting the inside of his cheeks, his lips, anything he can to keep himself from coming immediately, that he’s not moaning at the feeling of Alex fucking him.

The older man is shuffling behind him, not faltering to keep up with Oscar’s pace as he crawls. They fall into a rhythm, Oscar shifts forwards, Alex thrusts in. It’s a balancing act, Oscar keeping himself focused on his task.

When they reach the closet door, Oscar almost pulls the door hard enough it slams into the wall. Alex doesn’t comment on it, just thrusts in hard as Oscar crawls inside. 

Alex uses his height to flick on the lights. He’d not questioned why the other man wanted him to crawl to the closet, but he’s realizing why now.

By the far wall, because Alex had insisted, is a full length mirror. Their closest wasn’t big, so Oscar could already see himself in the reflection of the glass.

“In front of the mirror, baby,” Alex orders, voice tight. 

Oscar makes himself move forward on shaking hands. His eyes flicking between the reflection of Alex’s face and his own fucked-out expression.

By the time he reaches the mirror, he’s on the verge of coming. Alex gives a good shove, forcing his cock to be buried deep inside of Oscar. He lets go of his waist, then reaches up to tilt the mirror down. 

The change in angle means the mirror captures the full picture. Black leather on his pale skin, the trembles of his limbs, dried tears and snot on his face, Oscar looks like he’s been through the ringer. Alex, on the other hand, looks surprisingly composed. Only the flush on his cheeks, the redness of his ears lets Oscar know he’s just as affected by the sight. 

One thing is ruining it. The goddamn Williams hoodie. Alex sees the moment Oscar scowls at the reminder. He leans over, pulling something off a nearby hanger, the movement shifting his cock inside of Oscar. He whimpers, eyes falling shut from the way it makes Alex rub against his prostate.

Something is pulled over his head. Oscar is forced up, his hands trapped in the article of clothing that’s been forced on him. His bound wrists poke out of the bottom of the fabric, and he tries to not moan at the new position. 

“Eyes open, watch yourself get fucked by a backmarker,” Alex orders, breath warm on Oscar’s ear, “See how pretty you look in blue.”

Oscar opens his eyes to see that Alex has shoved another Williams team hoodie over his upper half. The blue fabric is tight around him, his arms tucked inside. Alex has the sleeves pulled behind Oscar, holding them like a handle to keep Oscar upright. His other hand moves to lift up the hoodie to show off Oscar’s leaking cock better. With their height difference, Alex’s head is visible over top of his own, and he sees the mean grin on his face. 

He barely gets a word out before Alex is fucking him hard and fast, “I can’t believ– Oh fuck!”

The slap of his bruised ass against Alex’s hips makes his eyes water, the slide of his thick cock inside of Oscar’s hole makes him go speechless. He’s unable to do anything but take it.

And Alex makes him take it. 

Immediately, the man sets a brutal pace, punishing in its intensity. Hard, deep thrusts, rearranging Oscar’s internal organs to make room for his big dick. He reshapes Oscar’s hole to be the perfect place for his cock.

Oscar’s drooling. A fresh wave of tears starts to go down his face, the pleasure is mindnumbing. Each rough thrust is sending sparks of pleasure and pain up his spine. His stomach muscles are coiled with tension, his orgasm so close. Everything is on display, he can see how pathetic he looks, how Alex is fucking him with a cruel focus, how the stupid fucking hoodies are matching, marking Oscar as distinctly as Alex’s. 

Then Alex starts speaking, “Look at that tiny cock. Leaking all over, it’s not even big enough to be a cock, is it?”

Oscar whimpers, choking on his own spit and dignity. Luckily Alex accepts this as a response, his hips snapping against Oscar’s ass without faltering.

“Honestly, it’s more like a clit. My baby’s little clit, don’t even need two fingers to wrap around to jerk you off,” Alex spews filth into his ear, not stopping his thrusts even as Oscar’s writhing on his dick and crying, “So bratty, I must’ve not been fucking you enough. Clearly you need to get the attitude fucked out of you, it’s not like you’re going to be fucking anyone with that thing.”

He cries out, something spilling over inside of him. The humiliation feels good. It’s like he’s finally able to find a place to put all the shame he’s felt over his shitty race results, like he’s able to let go of his pride and ego. 

Each thrust has Oscar whining and choking on his tears, his thighs trembling as he watches his dick leak all over them. The pearly white precome drips down his thighs, creating a mess of the restraints, the chain jingling as he’s roughly fucked. 

“I’m coming! Please, sir,” he begs, tears and snot running down his face. In the mirror he looks a mess, desperate and pathetic, nothing more than a toy for Alex to use.

Alex thrusts in harder, growling, “Come for me, come on yourself like the whiny little brat you are.” 

Oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, and the tension inside of him snaps. 

He feels his dick jerk as he comes, pure pleasure and release coursing through his body. Alex fucks him through it, makes his desperate moans and whines and whimpers become louder. His brain has leaked out of his ears, fried by how good it feels to be put in his place.

Time is lost to him, as he’s fucked by Alex. The sound of his own noises, of the chain between his thighs jingling with each thrust, the panting from the man fucking into him, all washes over him. He opens his eyes to see he’s gotten come on the hoodie he’s wearing, and feels a pervasive sense of pleasure that he’s dirtied the offensive piece of clothing.

In the brief pause between the snap of his hips, Alex reaches up with the hand that was on his hip to grab Oscar’s chin. He ducks down, and kisses Oscar in the sloppiest manner they’ve ever done, at least while not drunk at a club their friends dragged them too. They make out for a minute or two, Oscar moaning into Alex’s mouth each time his cock drills deep inside of him. 

When they pull apart, Alex returns his hand to hold Oscar’s hip, using it to pull Oscar back onto his cock. He’s moaning and crying out at the sensations, his upper body held up by Alex tugging back the sleeves of the hoodie he’s wearing. Oscar looks at himself in the mirror, at his pink lips wet with spit, at his teary eyes, and whines at the picture of depravity he makes. His boyfriend takes his attention away from himself, letting out a groan. 

Alex’s face scrunches up, his thrusts growing sloppy. His makeshift handle is useful for him as he tugs Oscar’s upper half straight to be pressed against his own. Inside of him, Alex’s cock throbs, and Oscar can’t help but clench down on the thick member.

“Ah, fuck,” Alex chokes out, “C’mon, baby, take my load. Say thank you for this gift, for fixing your bratty attitude.”

Oscar’s sniffling and not going to fight any commands at this point, “Thank you for coming inside of me, sir. Thank you for fixing my bratty attitude, sir.”

Hot liquid fills his insides. Oscar feels his soft dick twitch, and he moans like he’s the one that’s orgasming. Alex grunts, gripping him tightly.

A few shallow thrusts later, and Alex releases him. Oscar falls face first into the carpet, arms trapped by the hoodie and restraints. He accepts his fate, laying with his cheek against the floor, thoroughly fucked out.

Alex slips out, his come following. Oscar whines at the emptiness, but Alex shushes him. 

Hands start to undo the restraints around his thighs, and Oscar lets himself close his eyes. Just lays there as Alex takes care of him, putting him back together after taking him apart.

It’s only when he’s freed of the hoodie, wiped down, and carried into bed that he manages to speak again. Laying on top of Alex as the older man strokes his hair, their heartbeats in sync in the afterglow.

Oscar mumbles into Alex’s bare chest, as the man finally took off the stupid hoodie, “Seriously though, fuck your team, and fuck your teammate.”

“Well, preferrably you only fuck one person apart of the Williams F1 team,” Alex laughs quietly, none of the heat from earlier in his voice.

A moment passes, just the sound of their breathing and heartbeats filling the gap.

“Does Logan count?” he asks, suddenly curious on his boyfriend’s opinion on him fucking former Williams drivers.

“I will strap a vibrator to your little clit, tie your hands behind your back, and make you sit on a dildo of my dick while you wear a Williams shirt with my number on it in front of the mirror for an entire day if you suggest fucking another man again,” Alex says, voice light but his words were incredibly serious.

Oscar shivers at the visual. His dick twitches with arousal. Unintentionally, he lets out a whimper as his hips jerk just enough to press his dick into Alex’s stomach.

The hand in his hair tightens to give a small tug, “Do not start. I’m not afraid to beat your bruised ass until you can’t sit for the rest of summer break.”

He wills his dick to remain soft. Alex ducks his head down to kiss his forehead. 

Oscar files away that particular punishment for later. Who knows, he might have to be a brat more often if it gets him this kind of treatment.

[24heuresdumax]

I just re read this https://www.tumblr.com/24heuresdumax/816374371686940672/saw-a-post-in-overhearddating-ig-and-it-kinda?source=share

and Nina! They’re insane 😂 Charles and max, but especially Charles 😂 they’re both insanely in love and and Charles is super oblivious! Please be kind to Pierre and save him from their ridiculousness lol and max! He’s just trying to move on but alas, Charles is always there 😂

I also loved Pierre’s description of his bff ! dramatic little prince and teary-eyed devil and ugly crier - that’s Charlie 😍

Hi Anon 🤭

Cosmic Love Cosmic Insanity AU: Part 1

Pierre is legit sitting on a lawn chair with a bottle of limoncello and a plate of prosciutto-wrapped melon while Max and Charles are climbing all over each other and aggressively vowing their eternal devotion because oh my god, you two fucking losers 🙄🙄🙄

He truly is the strongest solider because others would have just thrown their hands together and given up.

But not Pierre, not Pierre-fucking-Gasly, the best friend of Charles Leclerc and the ex-teammate of Max Verstappen. Oh no. He's been too closely involved in this madness since Day 1, when these two psychos would yell at each other during karting tournaments but then:

Max punching another karter in the face after they called Charles "weak" and "soft." He receives a 10 place grid drop and a black mark on his record. Max's response? "Worth it."

Charles burying another karter's helmet in icy cold mud after they called Max "an aggressive asshole who doesn't deserve to kart." He gets a stern talking to from the Young Karters' Association but once that's over, Charles simply goes to bicker with Max some more.

Pierre has literally been on the ground, in the trenches, suffering for decades and the second he thinks some progress might be made (e.g., Max getting a girlfriend), we take 5,000 steps back (e.g., Charles throwing the biggest tantrum known to man and Max deciding no one is more important than his childhood rival turned coworker turned friend) 🙃

I guarantee you there's been periods where Pierre and Kika are scheming to get Max and Charles together because the absolute lunacy they cause separately is somehow worse than when they're together 😭😭

Pierre definitely gets a call from Charles a few days after the Girlfriend™️ debacle and when he picks up his phone, Charles is all bubbly and happy and telling his bestie that:

"Max surprised me with a holiday at the Maldives and we spent every day sunbathing and swimming and cycling around the resort." A dreamy sigh. "He bought me so many pretty bikinis and I got to wear every single one of them, even the sheer sparkly one because Max chartered a yacht that we took out to sea late at night." Charles giggles. "Maxie still gets so worried other people might see me naked, isn't that the sweetest? And then we got massages and hot stone therapy. I haven't felt that relaxed in years, Pierre." A shuffling sound fills the line. "And on our last night there, Max took me for a beachside picnic at sunset. He told me I was the most beautiful, amazing, wondrous person he's ever met and that if he lived a thousand lifetimes, there still wouldn't be anyone as perfect as me."

Pierre chokes on his espresso. "Um...Calamar...I don't know if that statement from Max can be taken...platonically." He tries to say this in the most diplomatic fashion he can.

But Charles bulldozes over Pierre's very carefully worded concern. "He kissed my hand, Pierre. Like a prince from a fairytale."

"...What?"

"The Maldives are our place now. So his stupid girlfriend can shove it." A gleeful, mean-spirited edge takes over Charles's voice. "Maxie was supposed to take his girlfriend there but she got...sick. So he took me instead."

"Your boyfriend was okay with this?"

"Who cares? I broke up with him." Charles says this so casually Pierre almost drops his phone.

"Wait, when did you two break up—?"

"Before Max took me to the Maldives, keep up Pierre." He snaps while another rustling sound catches Pierre's attention.

The rustling...sounds like bedsheets.

"Charles, if your boyfriend broke up with you then who are with right now?"

"Hm? Oh, Max." The Ferrari driver moves away from the phone and murmurs something that Pierre can't quite make out. Laughter fills the air before Charles drops the phone, more rustling, and then he's back on the line.

Pierre finishes the rest of his espresso. "Just for the sake of my own...peace of mind. Why is Max with you in bed?"

"Huh?"

"Why is Max with you in bed?"

"Oh. Because he was very tired after we flew in from the Maldives last night. So I let him sleep in bed with me."

"Best night of sleep I've ever had." Max declares, loud enough for Pierre to hear.

Charles giggles. "Oh mon cœur, you're so silly. I draped myself all over you...was I too heavy?"

"Heavy? Oh schatje you're the perfect weight. Perfect for my arms to hold."

Pierre almost gags at how saccharine Max sounds.

But Charles feels otherwise.

A loud oh Maxie! nearly ruptures Pierre's eardrum before the line goes dead.

Calmly, Pierre begins to spread some butter on his baguette. He's not touching this drama with a twenty meter pole, no thank you.

Charles will just have to figure this out for himself and—

Pierre's text notification goes off.

He glances down, wondering if Kika's arrived at the farmer's market but instead, he only sees a message from Charles.

Calamar 🦑: Dinner at my apartment tomorrow night? 7 pm?

Calamar 🦑: Need to give this apartment a proper farewell before I move in with Max ☺️

Pierre: ??? What?? Why??

Calamar 🦑: It's really very simple.

Pierre: Then explain??

Calamar 🦑: We already spend so much time at each other's homes. So why not move in together?

Pierre: What about Max's gf?

Calamar 🦑: Her opinion is irrelevant.

Pierre: ...You've already started moving in, haven't you?

Calamar 🦑: 🤭♥️

Calamar 🦑: Max bought me a Steinway Grand Piano 🥺 isn't he the best?

Pierre throws his butter knife across the hallway.

[usedtobetam]

Snippet about Max being horny in Spa. I have no excuse. Its not part of any fic, just... needed to get it out of my brain

It has not happened in so long that Max almost forgotten what it is like. Sharing the podium with Charles. The visceral need to get the ceremonies over as soon as possible while trying to prolong every moment, let the anticipation build. Tonight, Charles is going to be his again, finally.

For the last few turns he has been fantasising about having the opportunity to drench Charles inside and out. Touching his body for everyone to see, digging his fingers into his side, pulling him close. Showing everyone who Charles's belong to first and then later showing Charles who he belongs to, who he always belonged to. Sinking into him, Charles's soft insides yielding to him, hugging him and Charles delirious to the point of being soft and open and perfect.

They get out of the cars and he's so lost in his fantasy Charles escapes him for 2 minutes, but soon they are side by side. Talking and listening and ignoring the world around them just as it should be.

Max can think of nothing else, while in the driver's room, some old men are gawking at them and Kimi is trying to interrupt the riveting conversation sparkling between Max and his beautiful menace trying to look innocent, even though Max knows how full of sin he is. It's incomprehensible to Max how everyone can look at those lips and not immediately think of creatures seducing men to debauchery, but that's probably just him.

And then finally and all too soon they are on the podium. Charles always looks so fuckable soaked in the champagne or maybe it's just the conditioning Max has around their shared podiums, what it means for him and how they will spend the night.

The only thing ruining this is the teenager between them, preventing Max from pulling the small waist into his side, mingling their body heats, breathing in Charles's scent. But then the photos are done and they get back into the paddock and it's just the meetings remaining.

"Tonight?" he asks, trying to hide the hunger inside him.

"Yes," Charles breaths out, trembling a little. They both want it so bad.

It has been so long, too long and Charles only let's Max fuck him if they are together on the podium. Max is going to ruin him tonight over and over again and do everything in his power to convince Charles, to let go of this stupid rule. Maybe not let him come until he promises Max can do this to him every race, every week, every night and sometimes in the morning.

[formulaficrecs]

I need 100 thousand words of this

[the-in-between-honey]

top 5 carlando fics GO

Okay, this was not easy, but these are some of the most important fics to me, in chronological order of when I read them:

Gold Light Falling Backward Through the Glass by @landinrris This was the first Carlando fic I ever read (I think also the first F1 fic?), and not only is it SUCH a good read, but it showed me exactly how good RPF can be with how actual events are woven in and we see the story behind them all. It was very fun to go through Lando's instagram to see the different pictures referenced as I read. Watching Carlos and Lando finally give in to the pull between them and be so careful with each other and how they navigate things makes me feel so tender, and it really solidified my already growing love for the ship.

through the sleepless nights by nacho3 This fic really helped me start to create the lens I see Carlos and Lando through for my own writing as far as their potential communication problems and their own internal issues. It's a great example of how what so many see as a sweet, wholesome ship can have a lot of potential for turbulence under the surface when they don't address their personal struggles.

What if we said goodbye to safe and sound? by tiredtiredsharl This series starts with some incredible Maxiel fics that made me ugly cry at times, and also includes Piarles and Galex fics, and I recommend the entire thing. I love this fic for so many reasons, not only because we finally see some payoff from little background moments from the previous fics, but it's very much different from a lot of Carlando fics of the time where Lando fell first and put Carlos through a sexuality crisis. Instead, we get to watch Lando go through a few crises of his own over several months. Again, there's so much tenderness between the two of them as they try to figure things out very, very carefully.

why do we have chemistry (and a need for speed) by palepurpleconeflower Where do I even start. This is a temporary amnesia fic where Carlos loses several years of memory and reverts to a much more openly gay version of himself who assumes he and Lando are already involved. Carlos's voice is so great here, and it's so funny, but there are also tragic little moments as Carlos puts things together and Lando gets to know a completely different version of Carlos that he never knew before. Carlos is SO into Lando, his family are endeared but exasperated, and Lando is floundering (but also surprises himself by being into it).

Still Your Boy by @cosmicscuderia I think the first comment I left on this fic was that it made my stomach hurt. So many incredible descriptions of anxiety and poor coping skills as Lando spirals during the 2024 season and pushes Carlos away (but not all the way, which makes things even more complicated and painful). The angst is made even more devastating by the thread of very real love that still exists underneath it all, and I will genuinely cry if I think about this fic too hard. I've re-read the last chapter more than anything else in this fic because it is so cathartic for both Lando and Carlos after probably the hardest year of each of their careers.

[lsunstreakerl]

2.4k of fmf!! this is post-magical potion and pre-twins, although not by much. max takes rico to the mountains!

rico POV, mentions of mpreg (the magical potion kind), sappy domestic fluff, some kissing but nothing more

Rico grunts as he hauls himself over the ledge, sweating underneath his leathers, fur tickling his nose from the neck of his cloak. Max is waiting for him at the top, eyes curved into a smile, nose tucked under his own scarf, and any irritation that had been building as the icy rocks had dug into his palms immediately dissipates.

Max blinks, one of his odd lizard blinks that he does whenever it rains back home, or in this case— snows on the side of the mountain he's dragged Rico up to. A thin clear eyelid slides across his eyes, gaze never leaving Rico's as he spreads a hand out to gesture at the view.

"Look."

Rico gets to his feet, stepping closer to wrap an arm around Max and tuck him into his side. Max runs warmer than he does anyways, but he's wrapped up especially tight now, winreem scales across his chest and abdomen underneath his leathers, extra furs around his feet and fingers, and the scarf around his neck is a gift from Mick, soft and silvery to match his brother's own leathers.

From here, the setting sun casts a warm glow across the sky, interrupted only by the harsh jut of the mountains, dark blue and icy white sharp against the softer orange and purple of the horizon. Max has led him to an old settlement, crumbling stone foundations laying out where buildings used to stand.

When Rico looks down the mountain, he can see Max's home, stone spires rising out of the craggy rocks, amber lights flickering in the valley. It's beautiful, nestled safely in the shadows of the mountain range, and he feels Max lean into him.

He watches his breath puff into the air on front of him, visible even in the dying light.

"Why didn't anyone stay up here?"

Max lets out a soft laugh, nose still tucked into his scarf.

"The winreems come here to brood. They've been here much longer than us, it was only right that they have the first claim."

Rico nervously glances behind him, half expecting to see a piercing orange eye staring at him through the stones, or perhaps for one of the snowdrifts to rise and reveal a hulking creature intent on eating them both. Max catches his shift and laughs, nudging his elbow lightly into his side.

"Relax, Rico. They are obviously not here now."

Rico shakes off the unease and turns to stare back at the valley, questions dancing on his tongue.

"Why did you bring me here, Max?"

Max gives a soft hum, accompanied by a small shrug. He has one arm folded over his stomach, palm curling over his old wound from Saddik.

"It is tradition, from my mother's side."

He steps away from the ledge and further into the ruins of the settlement, the edge of his fur cloak brushing against the snow. Rico has known him long enough to register his tone as pensive— he's withholding something from him, tiptoeing the line of revealing it or keeping it to himself.

Back in the beginning, Rico might've pressed, uneasy at having secrets kept from him, but he's learned by now that Max doesn't withhold information for no reason. He follows behind him, pausing a few steps away when Max pauses.

"I could kill you here."

His voice is soft, puffing a soft cloud in front of him as he speaks, turning his head only slightly, barely meeting Rico's gaze with slitted pupils.

If it were anyone else, Rico's had would be on his sword by now, but it's Max, his Prince Consort, his wife. His hands stay firmly where they are, even as he feels his heart beat faster.

"Does your tradition demand that of you?"

He keeps his own voice soft in response, watching Max carefully. Max sighs, cloak brushing the snow as his shoulders sag.

"Did I ever tell you how the winreems choose a mate?"

Rico knows hardly anything about the terrifying creatures, save for the fact that they're part of Max's crest— maybe more, when he lays awake at night thinking about it.

"You've never said."

Surely if Max were taking him up here to kill him, someone would have said something. Then again, they're in Max's territory, surrounded by his own people. Any loyalty they have to Rico is held only through Max.

Max tilts his head, eyeing the ruins.

"When it comes nesting season, a winreem will choose a mate to help with eggs. That mate then provides for the season, be that food or protection."

So far, matching Rico's assumptions.

"When it comes time for the eggs to hatch, the brooding winreem judges the mate. If the mating was unacceptable, the brooding winreem kills and eats the mate for sustenance."

Rico's eyes widen, glancing again around the ruins, wondering how many snowbanks contain winreem bones around them. Max huffs a small laugh, turning fully towards him, pupils still slitted.

"Obviously, eating people is barbaric. No one does that anymore."

He steps closer, gaze locked with Rico's, unblinking.

"I love you, Rico. But if I suspect you cannot provide..."

He reaches up, adjusting the clasp of Rico's cloak, gloved fingers brushing against his throat.

"I will bring you here. And I will kill you."

It takes a moment for the implications to settle, but he feels his heart stop when they do, mouth parting soundlessly.

The arm across his stomach, the casual avoidance of too much drink at dinner, bringing Rico to an ancestral brooding site—

Rico had suspected, maybe even hoped, but he hadn't been willing to bring it up until Max was ready. His hands find Max's waist, pulling him closer so he can press a tender kiss to his forehead.

"If I ever fail you or our— our family,"

One of his palms slides to rest across his abdomen, hardly daring to believe.

"I will lead the way here myself."

Max leans forward, resting his warmth against Rico, and he pulls him into a hug, arms snaking around his back. The disbelief is turning to a wondrous joy, because they hadn't even been sure if it was possible.

"How long have you known?"

He runs a hand along Max's back, speaking the words into his hair before pressing another featherlight kiss to his temple. Max leans further into him, more than content to absorb some of his warmth now that his threat has been delivered.

"A few months. I wanted—"

He pauses, breaking his gaze for a moment. Rico understands even without the finished sentence, bringing his other hand to cradle Max's face.

"You wanted to be sure. I understand."

He looks across the ruins again, a small frown forming on his face, but his voice betrays him, a teasing lilt finding its way into his words.

"So this is my grave if I find myself unable to fulfill yours and the babes whims?"

Max's mouth twitches upwards as he steps back, lifting his chin slightly. His eyes are sparkling as he uses his mocking voice for nobles— only ever used behind closed doors with Rico, usually after a terribly long day in court.

"Twenty roast ducks at the table, Your Highness, or I shall feed you to the lizards."

Rico raises his eyebrows, unable to help a smile of his own.

"Twenty? For a Prince Consort as lovely as yourself, surely even thirty would be insulting. What if you were to sacrifice the offending noble lord?"

Max takes a dancing step back across the snow, a playful taunt, an invitation for Rico to take another step forward.

"Now Verhoeven, that almost sounds like you're plotting to dispose of Lord Horner,"

His words are chiding, but only play. Rico lifts his hands in mock surrender, innocently casting his gaze at the sky.

"Far be it from me to assign a Lord most likely to be responsible for such a blunder, my love."

Max sidesteps, and he and Rico begin a casual circle, boot prints crossing over the others in the snow.

"And how many roast ducks would His Royal Highness procure? I hear he has quite the appetite— one can only imagine the babe will be the same."

Rico laughs brightly, daring to take a quick step forward. Max is grinning, hands laced behind his back as he leans forward slightly.

"The King has an appetite? Do the court rumors make no mention of his wife? If the babe gets it from anyone, it would surely be His Grace."

He's seen Max tear through food with his own eyes, he knows he's just as bad as Rico himself.

Max's mouth drops open at the accusation, and he lunges at Rico a moment later, bowling him over into the snow. Rico is careful to grab him so that he lands flat on his back, Max on top of him— he has to be even more careful now with Max, and try and do it in ways Max won't get irritated with him for.

Max's thighs straddle the side of his waist as he pokes a finger into Rico's chest.

"Rest assured, King Verhoeven, if the court is discussing my appetite, there will be plenty of offerings to feed the winreems."

Rico feels his gaze soften as he stares at Max above him. He can't see anything different yet, but now that he knows— Max has always been beautiful, but here in his mountains, secluded and private in the ruins, he's radiant.

"You're beautiful."

Max's cheeks flush even as he tucks his chin into his scarf, narrowing his eyes.

"Flattery gets you nowhere."

Rico bites back a smirk.

"It seems to have gotten you on top of me; I would hesitate to call that nowhere."

Max tries to hide an embarrassed cough under his scarf, the red spreading across his face, one hand reaching down into the snow to stabilize himself.

"Me on top of you is how we got in this situation in the first place."

Rico's hands squeeze lightly at his thighs.

"Do you see me complaining, Your Grace? In fact, I— AH—!"

He breaks off with a shrill noise as Max shoves snow down his shirt, jerking upright as he tries to shake it out to the sound of Max breaking out into loud laughter, folded in half with his hands over his face. By the time Rico has stood and disposed of the snow to the best of his abilities, Max is still sitting in the snow giggling at him.

"That is quite enough out of you,"

He lifts Max by the arms and pulls him into a kiss, one hand at the small of his back to keep him in place, drawing it out until Max is making soft pants into his mouth. Only then does he pulls back, staring at his flushed cheeks and lips. Max blinks at him for a second, getting his thoughts back in order.

"That's playing dirty."

Rico raises a brow. He's half tempted to kiss Max again, maybe see if he can really drag it out this time.

"And shoving snow down my shirt isn't?"

Max lifts his chin.

"No, no it is not."

What a beautiful, stubborn, clever, and absolutely bullheaded man. Rico couldn't imagine having married anyone else.

"Right,"

He kisses him again, walks them back carefully until Max's back is hitting stone, pulling all the moves that earn him soft noises muffled into his mouth and gloved fingers pawing at his waist. When he can feel Max start to get demanding he pulls back slightly, pressing a soft peck to his lips and noticing with no small amount of smugness how his pupils are blown.

"Now that you've threatened me successfully, can we go back down where there are fires? And warmth? Maybe even a real bed?"

It's beginning to darken, and Rico doesn't want either of them climbing down the mountain without light, especially not when Max is—

He corrects himself. Max can navigate these mountains better than Rico in any situation, but it doesn't mean he can't be nervous for him.

Max frowns at him, bewildered.

"That's it?"

Rico keeps his smugness internal.

"We're outside, in a sacred space for your ancestors. Yes, that is it."

Max's eyes narrow. He gets spectacularly irritated whenever they start something they can't finish, and Rico only messes with him like this when he knows they have the time for it.

That, and he enjoys how long Max attempts to be spiteful about it before sleeping in bed with him all the same at night.

"I never said it was sacred. Just traditional."

It's more of a grumble than a real protest, but Rico's made his mind up already, and while Max may be built for the cold more than he is, he's certainly not going to test that by stripping either of them of any layers.

"I'll make it up to you when we get back home, my love."

Max glowers at him hard enough that he's more than a little worried about getting more snow in his clothes, but he eventually relents, sighing.

"And thirty roast ducks."

Rico chokes on a laugh as they start to walk back the direction they'd arrived.

"And thirty roast ducks. Any less and I shall personally see to it that Horner is fed to one of the cavern beasts."

Max huffs, casting him a sidelong glance.

"Perhaps we consider that anyways."

He only halfway sounds like he's joking. Rico makes a mental note to start coming up with excuses in case one of the noble lords of his kingdom goes mysteriously missing.

"Maximilian."

He can't see it, but he knows Max has rolled his eyes.

"I'm only joking, Rico. When I get rid of him, it will be much more subtle than that."

"That is not half as reassuring as you mean it to be."

Max turns to grin at him over his shoulder.

"Then it's halfway more reassuring than I intended at all."

There are rumors of a cousin of Horner's who may be scheming to take control of the house— he decides it might be wise to start looking into who takes control when Horner is gone.

He watches as Max swings over the edge of the cliff, climbing down a few handholds to drop onto the ledge below.

Even when he's plotting to remove a nobleman he's endearing— Rico is beyond saving by now, if there were anything to be saved from. He swings down after Max, thankful that the rest of the path is mostly snowy trekking, and less climbing.

"Max."

Max pauses, turning back to him questioningly.

"Are you alright?"

Rico nods, stepping forward to grab one of Max's hands in both of his own.

"I will not give you a reason to bring me back here."

Max's expression gentles, and he steps closer to press a brief kiss to his lips.

"I trust you won't."

[formulaficrecs]

This fic might have been deleted however its worth a shot:

Oscar is an omega and he accidentally hears 2 alphas sleeping together. (Im 90% sure one of the alphas is carlos) they end up having a threesome and then oscar finds out hes pregnant but hes not sure which is the father, both the alphas decide to help raise the baby. And after the pregnancy reveal they sleep together again

[formulaficrecs]

Hey so it appears im stupid. The fic was "once bitten twice shy" by Lucithornz

It was lestappen and oscar

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63601486

Super good super hot

Great plot 👏

[formulaficrecs]

This fic might have been deleted however its worth a shot:

Oscar is an omega and he accidentally hears 2 alphas sleeping together. (Im 90% sure one of the alphas is carlos) they end up having a threesome and then oscar finds out hes pregnant but hes not sure which is the father, both the alphas decide to help raise the baby. And after the pregnancy reveal they sleep together again

[lislemons]

despite the last day or so, i’m gonna keep writing f1 rpf and if a team wants to make an AO3 account to make their drivers read my fanfic where one of them has a pussy and the other one is into puppy play that’s simply on them

[wanderingblindly]

Read on Ao3

Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri, 14.5k

It has to be Love. He's in Love with Lando Norris. Which can only me that he, Mundane Oscar Piastri, debuted as a Love Witch a decade after it was meant to happen. Christ, he's going to be fucking sick.

did this take every bit of determination to finish? yes. am i terrified to post again for some reason? also yes! BUT WE ARE SO BACK BABY IM GONNA CARRY THIS MOMENTUM I HAVE I D E A S!! SUMMER ROMANCE IDEAS!!!!

[formulaficrecs]

THIS WAS THE GREATEST THING EVER

24 hours later I am still shaking in my boots and im on my 3rd reread

It has everytbing

Alex albon the goat

WITCHES

Oblivious oscar

In love lando

AMAZING

[sixteensecrets]

Dua Lipa and Callum Turner’s honeymoon pics have bewitched me, and now I’m desperate for someone to write a lestappen socmed fic or create some fanart about Max and Charles being papped on their honeymoon and everyone reacting to the cuddling, back scratches, ass grabbing, shower canoodling, and realizing just how freaked out these two drivers are for each other.

[formulaficrecs]

I also would love to read this....

[noodlesforbaldies]

No fic has ever made me sit back and rethink my life and fill me with emotions like this one:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62882260

It made me feel like each progressive sentence was punching me in the face and yet somehow by the end I was more full as a person than when I started.

[sixteensecrets]

nicole you're too bad...why did you have to give us the idea of canon lestappen honeymoon date??

now I NEED the fic

You’re telling me 😭 I neeeed someone to write lestappen getting papped on their freaky little honeymoon.

Like, even better, imagine they’re out but usually very demure. The most the public ever really sees from them is the occasional pic of them walking hand in hand or the camera catching a quick hug between them after races. Maybe one time Max kissed Charles cheek on a podium, but that was it.

Then their engagement announcement drops, eventually followed by just a few simple and classy wedding pics to let everyone know they’re married. People are mostly happy for them. The public kind of has this subconscious perception of lestappen as this royal f1 couple that is very private, very reserved, but quite sweet together, and that image seems to work for everyone involved.

But then the paparazzi catches them on their honeymoon.

And suddenly everyone is seeing the love bites on Charles neck and thighs, the bright red scratch marks down Max’s back, the sloppy makeout sessions on the sun beds, Max constantly groping Charles’ ass, Charles’ hand fondling the front of Max’s swim trunks, the ‘FUCK ME’ eyes in every single pic…

Now it is abundantly clear that the ‘sweet, demure, and reserved’ image is not accurate at all, these two are actually absolute freaks for each other.

The world watches, stunned and kind of turned on. Ferrari desperately tries to figure out how they can auramaxx their way out of this scandal. Red Bull social media is reposting every pic they can possibly get away with for that sweet Lestappen engagement. Everyone on the grid and in their personal lives just heaves a sigh because they’ve been dealing with lestappen’s overly affectionate obsession with each other for years so this is far from a surprise.

And Charles and Max barely even realize what’s happening because they’re too busy enjoying their honeymoon and giving the growing horde of paparazzi plenty of new material every time they emerge from their bedroom 😉

[maxiepedia]

Caught! Charles and Max Verstappen-Leclerc's Steamy Honeymoon! Pics Inside!

I couldn't get it out of my head all day, so I tried my best. Thank you @sixteensecrets for the idea.

Fic on ao3

[formulaficrecs]

This is literally perfect 👌 👍 🥰

[alliziarook1e]

When the sports student you have been secretly in love with takes the initiative to talk to you

[formulaficrecs]

if someone has anything like this i would love it!!!

[f1-pussy-curse-fest]

Prompting open NOW until August 15.

It's time to create new pussies!

Have you been dreaming of a world where more drivers and F1 personalities have a temporary pussy? The time is now, the pussy is here. Maybe it's soulmates but they have to find the matching pussy. Maybe each race win comes with a free pussy. Maybe second drivers canonically give up their dicks, and so on forever. The options are endless and this fest is a chance to explore them all. Don't miss your chance to leave a prompt.

Leave a prompt here!

F1 needs you 🫵 for fresh pussy prompts.

Collection | Rules & Timeline

[dilfgp]

GBBWEEKLY26 prompt: race engineer AU

There is a table in hospitality, the back left by the kitchen door, which is now known as Max's. He's new to Ferrari this year, fresh off a five year progression through Haas as first a data engineer, then a simulation engineer, and then finally a trackside performance engineer. It was all leading to this step: being a race engineer. For Ferrari.

Max works with Ollie Bearman, who - helpfully - also moved up to Ferrari from Haas this year. The kid is nice, almost ten years younger than he is, and finds everything about Ferrari exciting. It's endearing. He hadn't quite imagined the driver he worked so closely with being starry-eyed, but he was also great on track, so Max could look past it.

He was straight forward about his work. Data spoke to him in ways most things didn't. Max wasn't known for his social skills. And so: the table.

It's his. Informally.

On Thursdays while the team are doing Ollie's seat fit, Max is sitting at his table and going through the sim data, marking points to discuss with Ollie or with the performance team.

They're on the eighth race of the season, Monaco, a race with more charm than Max cares to admit. He arrives early, the first boat drop of the day, and greets the skeleton staff setting up hospitality. He drops his backpack off on the table, making eye contact with the security guard and nodding once, then making a beeline for the bathroom.

When he comes back the backpack is gone. He gapes for a moment at the now occupied table, the back of a shaved head all that's visible to Max. The security guard, Salvatore, Max remembers now, nods to a different table, one by the window. His backpack has been moved there.

Max doesn't want the window. The window is no good for reviewing data, the glare on his laptop screen makes it nearly impossible, and soon the various family members will arrive. They'll be in the windows, noisy and pestering.

Max looks between shaved head and his backpack, then makes his decision. He grabs the rucksack up, taking measured steps to his table and setting his things down with a heavy thunk.

Without looking up he says, "this is the best table and so you are going to need to either move or share. I am at work. This table is mine. It is the best one."

"I know it's the best one," an amused voice agrees, low and smooth and British, "that's why I'm sat here,"

Max looks up, laptop in hand, and pauses. Because that is- well, that is GianPiero Lambiase, two time World Drivers' Champion and Max's childhood crush. He's the last man to win a WDC with Ferrari.

"You are GianPiero Lambiase," Max tells him.

"You're new," GianPiero smirks, sitting back in his chair with an espresso, "this is my table,"

"I don't think you can claim a table if you are not attending every race. That of course would be stupid. We are at race eight, you have not stolen my table before, therefore it is my table," he argues.

"I come to a few races each year, this is where I sit on a Thursday morning to have coffee," Lambiase reasons again, raising an eyebrow at Max, "we've not met yet,"

"You are of course a VIP," Max finishes setting up his informal data review station, "VIPs sit in the window to be seen,"

GianPiero whistles through his teeth, setting his espresso cup down with an unpleasant clink that makes Max's face scrunch up. He nudges the ceramic to make it sit in the little divot of the saucer properly, another unhappy sound reaching Max's ears, and then he tells Max, "you have a scathing view of celebrity,"

"Very Important People come to races to be photographed more than they come to watch races. Especially in Monaco,"

Incredulously, GianPiero asks, "you're accusing me of not wanting to watch the race?"

Max frowns at the start-up logo on the screen, watching the wheel of doom circle once, twice, thrice, and then says, "I suppose that would be a very stupid thing to say to you, yes. You probably will watch the racing, even if it's boring."

"Is racing ever boring?"

"We are in Monaco," Max deadpans, "and you do not get to read all of the data, so I think yes, you probably will find it boring."

"You replaced Santi, yes?"

Santi was Hamilton's engineer. He moved back to a factory position when Lewis retired, making way for Max to come through with Ollie.

"Did you know Carlo?" Max asks, glancing up at Lambiase who is still watching him closely, and back down to carefully key in his fifteen digit security code.

He makes a noise, noncommittal, and tells Max, "not well. He'd just started when I moved across to Toyota,"

Max nods, once, and then says, "you've finished your coffee,"

Lambiase laughs, disbelieving, and then stands. Not for the first time, Max realises he's been rude. As GianPiero walks away he calls to him, "enjoy watching the race,"

He watches the former World Champion shake his head, hears his short chuckle, and watches him clasp hands with Salvatore. Their conversation melts into the background as Max focusses on his work, mind tuning into the numbers and discarding that he's just met his childhood hero.

-

Alex: Did I see you sitting with GP?!?

Max: He stole my table. Also his name is GianPiero.

Alex: He literally introduced himself to me as GP?

Max: Okay

Max: He stole my table

-

Max may be paranoid but he can feel eyes on him. He and Ollie had just climbed from the harbour, Max having been dragged in by his victorious driver. He glances around, seeing fifty photogs and several more journalists.

Faces he knows, faces he doesn't.

Over the Sky Sports cameraman's shoulder he sees him again, GianPiero. The man is smirking at him, lifting a bottle of water to his mouth as the tender slowly drives him out of the harbour. Unwillingly, Max's gaze follows the small the boat all the way out to a much bigger one, one Max can't really see other than it dwarfs the one that Lambiase was on.

-

"Verstappen," Fred hooks his arm around Max's neck, "you are coming to the party, non?"

"He's coming," Alex confirms from Max's left, "just gonna go change and then we'll be back for the tender,"

"It is on a boat?"

"Yup," Alex nods, "nice one, too,"

"We'll see you after the gala," Fred grins, "good work today gentlemen,"

-

The boat is big. And nice.

The Francesca.

Max has only seen this level of luxury in Monaco, never anywhere else. Other races feign this level of grandeur, but Monaco is unique. He doesn't particularly like it, but he respects it. Monaco is exactly what it purports to be. Max likes that.

They're helped off of the small boat and onto the big one by crew in carefully pressed polos, the music already blasting and drinks clearly flowing. Max had dressed in his standard party attire, a plain white t-shirt and slim fit jeans that Alex had told him were 'in'. He still didn't understand why his skinny jeans had to be 'out'.

They climb to the top of the stairs with the rest of the team who were on the little speedboat with them, and at the top of the stairs, smirking, is GianPiero Lambiase.

"GP," Alex exclaims, going in for a bro hug, "thanks for the invitation,"

"Ferrari wins, I host," GianPiero grins, "that's the deal I made with Leclerc,"

"I don't think he thought Bearman would be the one to follow through," Alex jokes, moving past the man and onto the main deck.

"Hello again," Lambiase greets him, leant against the railing and grinning wide, "Max, isn't it?"

"And you are GianPiero," Max nods, hand in his pocket.

"GP," GP corrects him, "call me GP,"

Max nods and then comments, "this is a nice boat,"

"Thanks," GP quirks a brow, "drinks are at the front, bathrooms are downstairs. Enjoy,"

He glances behind himself and realises he's backing up the crowd, then nods and steps past GP, "thank you,"

-

GP finds him on the lower deck hours later. Max isn't tipsy, but he's feeling good. Two beers in on an empty stomach will do that. He'd gone to find some peace and quiet to digest the race.

"Funny how I said 'bathrooms are downstairs'... don't remember telling you to find my bedroom,"

Max looks up at him, handsome in the low light, boat gently rocking side to side, and grins wryly.

"I needed some space, but the first three places I tried my colleagues were- would you call it celebrating?"

GP starts to laugh, a low chuckle that unfortunately makes Max's ears flush pink, "people lose good sense when they win Monaco,"

"And when they win the championship?"

The man sits heavily next to him on the bed, laughing still, and tells Max, "personally? I went on a two week bender that ended with my mama showing up at my apartment with her priest."

"What did the priest say?" Max asks, intrigued.

"He's Italian," GP smirks at Max, "he blessed me and told me I could do it again. Then I did."

Something about the self-assuredness of the statement makes Max hot. He's sitting in a bedroom with his childhood crush who has aged like fine wine and Max- Max wants him.

"There it is," GP muses, lifting his hand to cup Max's chin, thumb drifting across his race-bitten lower lip, "you're very pretty, Max,"

"Oh," Max exhales, feeling his face flush, "um- thank you,"

He glances at GP's lips, and then lower, to his broad shoulders in the tight t-shirt. Max can't think. He's sitting on GianPiero Lambiase's bed and GianPiero Lambiase is telling him he's pretty and- Max wants him.

"You've had a few drinks?"

Max swallows, nods, clarifies: "a couple of beers,"

"Hmm," GP's grey-green eyes flick to Max's lips and back to his eyes, "would you like to celebrate your win in Monaco? The jewel in motorsports crown?"

"With- with you?" Max checks, hand loosely grasping GP's where the man is holding his chin gently.

"Mmmhmmm," GP nods, face moving closer, breath ghosting Max's lips, "I liked when you kicked me off my table,"

"It is my tab-"

GP cuts Max off by kissing him, first gently and then with intent. His tongue glances over Max's lips and he gives in, weak to the dominating way he's being kissed. It feels to good to put up a fight for control. Max doesn't want to be in control of this anyways.

When he's given a moment to breathe and GP is kissing his neck, Max insists, "you cannot claim a table when you are not at every race,"

GP laughs properly then, hands on Max's hips and pulling him into his lap, murmuring, "in that case I'll see you in Barcelona,"