katsuki with a shy girl who only lets him eat her out if he has a blanket over his head...
he tried to do it a couple times before, only to be met with your thighs clenched around his head and your face stuffed in a pillow — pulling him up by the collar of his shirt as you ignore the ache between your thighs and mutter that he "doesn't have to do that"
and katsuki knows what he can do, prides himself on knowing how to eat pussy, how to make his girl feel good — and he's determined to get to the bottom of this.
so, the next time he's kissing down the valley of your cleavage and feels his hair being tugged as he reaches for your waistband, he decides enough is enough.
"why won't you let me do this"
your hands loosen their grip in his hair, "katsuki—"
"please, you're killing me here" he mutters, bringing one of your hands towards his lips as he kisses your palm, "just wanna make you feel good"
it's clear he wasn't taking your excuses this time, especially when he can see your slick soaking the thin fabric of your panties when his mouth gets just a little too close.
so, you give him an ultimatum...
and katsuki's mouth is ruthless, as if he's been depraved from something so divine all his life — because he has. his head bobbing under the sheets as he listens to your stifled moans. he comes up for air between licks, forehead dewy and hair stuck to his face as he watches you with glossy eyes.
and katsuki never complains, cause if this is the only way to have you as loud as he wants you to be — he'll choose that damn blanket every time.
a/n: do we fuck with the blurbs horndogs? i like writing them when i feel like i have an idea that doesn't need a whole fic 🤔 also then i can provide for your freakiness a little faster ykyk -> masterlist. | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋
your breath catches when kiri’s fingers latch onto your jaw and pull your lips from katsuki’s. he turns your head to him, leaning in and licking across your lips before slipping his tongue in your mouth. you moan into him, squeaking when katsuki starts to pepper kisses along your neck, pressing in closer, and grazing his teeth against your heated skin.
“mmngh.” you squirm between them.
“‘s wrong?” kiri chuckles, kissing down your jaw.
you tilt your head back, giving them more space as moans slip free from your parted lips. they’re lips meet over your throat, making you groan that you can’t see. they laugh into each others mouths, each hooking a leg over yours as they spread you out on the bed between them.
“bet you’re leaking in your sweats.” kirishima pulls back, grinning at katsuki.
his face heats all the way to the tips of his ears. “shut up.” he buries his face back into your neck to suck and nibble.
kirishima takes your lips again, rubbing the inside of your thigh, humming when his hand meets katsuki’s over your panties. you melt between them, each drag of their fingers setting your body alight. katsuki hooks his fingers into the cotton and pulls them to the side, kirishima wastes no time in sliding his fingers through your slick.
“mmm!” your hips jerk forward.
“so wet already.” katsuki coos, trailing his fingers next to kiri’s.
katsuki circles your clit while kirishima prods at your entrance, dipping the tip of his finger in and pulling out just to hear your gasps and whimpers. katsuki pinches your clit the same time kiri slides a long finger into you, your head falling back in the process.
“how’s it feel?” kirishima pulls his finger out just to slip two in. “hm?”
“good!” you gasp. “so good.”
katsuki swirls around your clit faster and kiri answers by fingering you to the same rhythm. kirishima leans over and presses his lips to katsuki’s again, both of them getting lost in ea h other as you get lost in them. you’re grinding against their hands, thighs twitching and toes curling as they work you up.
they pull back from each other, strings of spit still connecting them as they look down at the wet mess they’ve turned you into. the sounds of your wetness reach your ears and you face burns but you’re too far gone to care.
“fuck! faster! please!” your tummy twists as you feel it coming.
“yeah? already baby?” kirishima looks at you.
“barely even started.” katsuki chuckles, fingers moving even faster.
your pleasure snaps, thighs desperately trying to clamp around their hands as they keep you spread. they work you through it, never slowing, their fingers only switching spots. katsuki slips two fingers into you already curling them perfectly while kirishima taps your clit.
hear me out, big meaty strong kirishima is a really sweetheart & everyone loves him, he radiates positivity and kindness but he’s real nervous about his big cock and always does lots and lots of foreplay so he can get it in, but unfortunately it never fully fits so he never gets those deep strokes that make him crazy, until he meets reader of course who has just the right anatomy to take those deep strokes pls bring this vision to life
✩꒱ too big to handle ft. eijirou kirishima .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero eijirou kirishima & fem!reader. size kink, size queen, big boy eijirou, reader mentioned to be smaller than kirishima, established relationship. -> eijirou’s afraid his size might hurt you but you’re all about proving him wrong.
i dunno abt like right anatomy it defo all sits with the foreplay and build up but !!! eijirou and his size queennnnn !!
eijirou meets you by chance at a bar and knows then, that you’re different. unlike any girl he’s ever met — not afraid of his strength or his size. you’re all over it. you date for a while, months, before he tries anything with you.
he’s scared that you’ll be put off by how well endowed he is, so whenever things between you get intimate and he starts to get hard — he kinda darts off with a flimsy excuse fluttering on his lips or leaves abruptly to go jerk off at home. in the shower :( though the man never leaves you hanging he’ll finger you to oblivion n back to make it up to you but even then… he’s aware of how thick and deft his fingers are. worries about stretching you out on them too.
pretty quickly — you get tired of the red head avoiding going all the way with you though. you’ve seen the outline of that monster cock and you know, with enough determination that you can take it. it’s more about getting eijirou there. so while you’re canoodling one night, his hand down your little pink panties he loves so much just lazily rubbin’ you, biting on your lower lip — you let him make you cum, soak through your clothes before you attack.
pin him to the bed even though he is so massive and he knows he could break free in a heartbeat. then you snap his boxers down n use l a single hand (much smaller than his) to guide his girth towards your sluice and dripping entrance now that you’re straddling him.
“w-wait, slow down —!” he’d gasp, choke on a moan because you’re already to warm and wet against him and he can smell your slick in the air whilst you circle your cunt down on the burningly thick circumference of his tip. “baby — oh god — baby, you might … hurt yourself.”
“don’t care,” you huff and you pout and he swears the world starts spinning because you’re suctioning around him and your walls ripple every time that you thrust down. “need to know what it’s like, havin’ you inside.”
he swallows, throat bobbing, eyes on your face because if he looks between your legs — where your bodies meet and your pussy stretches to make room for him — he really might die.
“fuckfuckfuck… you’re so perfect. so, so perfect.”
your hand glides up his chest, pecs that heave beneath the ghost of your touch, pecs that still once you cup the base of kirishima’s throat. he grasps your wrist — desperately hoping it’ll ground him somehow because your cunt makes his thread of sanity run loose.
he can’t believe his luck, that someone like you has made her way through the stars to be with him. eijirou’s face flushes with the same intense kind of heat you get from being under the sun for too long, he bucks and he flinches — afraid that it’ll hurt when a little more of him slips past your quivering hole and practically kisses your cervix with his leaky tip.
but you don’t cry, you don’t back down. instead — your head tilts as though you’re memorised by the way he looks. ruined and wrecked. your lips spread into smile eijirou is sure only angels are capable of and you thrust your own hips to match is tentative rhythm, swallowing more of him. easily.
“i’ll take all of you, i know i can do it, promise,” you lick your lips as you swear. “and the next time you cum, it won’t be in your hand or the shower or some tissue. it’ll be inside me.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!!
pairing: lando norris x fem!reader (no y/n, established rel.)
warnings: sweet and cliche, p in v, slight dumbification, sleepy soft sex, soft dom lando
wc: 2.7k
summary: lando comes home to his sleepy girlfriend after an exhausting triple-header
ale's note: RACE WEEEEK !!! i tried to write something soft and sweet but you know me i always have to add smut...
also, for everyone asking stalker!osc is coming soooon 🙂↕️
lando has his forehead against the cold taxi window, watching monaco slide past outside in a haze of orange light, thinking about nothing in particular except that he's nearly home.
three weeks. austin, then mexico city, then são paulo, back to back to back, a stretch of paddocks and airport lounges that wrung him dry. it’s been weeks since he’s had you in his arms. he’s had the curve of your spine and the smell of your hair on his mind for the entire length of the triple-header. he’d thought about calling last night, but hadn’t, worried you’d hear how sad he was and start crying too. he’d told the team he was flying back in the morning, but the idea of one more night on a starched hotel pillow, the silence of not-you, made him punch in a last-minute booking and wedge himself into a seat on the earliest possible plane.
it's not complicated. he just missed you.
theres a neurochemical whiplash to the change—from track adrenaline to the slurred, irritable exhaustion of a long haul, from the humidity and heat of brasil to the crispness of the monegasque night. he imagines you, tucking yourself into bed, sleepy. the way you’ll probably cry when you see him because you get emotional when you’re exhausted. the thing about loving someone who tires easily is that you start to get addicted to the way they sag into you. the trust in it, the vulnerbaility. lando is thinking about this as the taxi pulls up in front of the apartment building. he drags his duffel out, thanks the driver in mushy french,then keys himself into the lobby. the lift takes forever. he stands in it with his bag and the pervading stench of airplane and his bajillion unread messages from jon, watcing the floor numbers go up.
he opens the door with a metallic snick, careful and quiet in case you’re asleep. the first thing that hits him is the warmth, so different from the chill outside, and saturated with the scent of your perfume. you must have cooked something earlier, he thinks, something rich and garlicky. he kicks off his shoes, toeing them neatly by the door. he can hear sound from the tv in the living room, light from the screen flickering out into the dimly lit room. he leaves his bag by the door. he'll deal with it later.
and there you are, in the living room, curled on the couch. your cheek is smushed into the leather and your lips are parted, a tiny gloss of drool pooling at the edge of your mouth.
the blanket is half off, exposing your bare thigh. your hair is a wreck, mussed and waterfalling over your face. his throat tightens. he’s not sure what it is—maybe the picture you make, all sweet and oblivious, or maybe the memory of how empty the hotel beds felt these last weeks—but it does something to him.
there’s something in him—a failure of emotional maturity, probably, or maybe just a hole in his own childhood—that has always wanted to keep something soft alive, to have something that needs him. he thinks of you as a baby bird, or sometimes a puppy, all twitchy and sweet and trusting. it’s not meant to be an insult. you’re smarter than him, probably. but you’re still so easily tired by the world, so obviously in need of shelter. he sometimes has this weird need to build a house around you and stand outside all night, knife in hand, just in case.
he kneels by the sofa, reaching out to brush stray locks off your cheek. you don’t stir. he wonders if he can get away with watching you like this forever, but theres this greedy, selfish urge clawing at him. he missed you. he needs you to wake up. he drags his knuckles along your jaw, the softest nudge. you make a small noise, nose twitching, and your eyelids flutter. he strokes your face again, more deliberate. “hey, sleepyhead.”
your eyes flutter open, unfocused and bright. you blink slow, like your brain is still rebooting. it’s disgustingly cute.
“‘lando?” your voice is raspy, a little confused.
“hi, sweetheart,” he whispers back, smiling, “didn’t mean to wake you.” lie.
you stare at him, foggy, and your mouth curls into a half-smile, sleepy and dopey. “you’re not supposed to be home,” you say, like you’re accusing him of something horrible.
“missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t try to hide the way his voice breaks.
you try to sit up, but your limbs are noodles, and you just flop over sideways. he pulls you into his arms instead. you come down easy, melting against him like you want to crawl under his skin. you burrow your head into his armpit, so pliant and so warm that he feels like he could hold you forever.
“i missed you more,” you mumble into his skin. at least that’s what he thinks you say, your words are barely intelligible and slurred with sleep.
he lifts your chin with a finger and looks at you properly. your eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, and your lips are parted, soft and lush. you look like you’ve just been fucked into oblivion, not like you’ve been napping. he grins, a little wolfish, and you catch it, your eyebrows lifting, “whuh?”.
“you’re just…” he shakes his head, can’t find the right word. “sweet.”
you roll your eyes, but it’s slow, like your brain is wading through syrup. he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and tucks your head back against his shoulder. the clock on the wall ticks to 12.
“you should get to bed,” he whispers, but you only whine, a wordless sound that means you want to stay right here, in his lap.
“i’ll carry you,” he offers, only half-joking, because all he wants is you in his arms, but your answering noise is so eager, he can’t help but smile.
“‘kay,” you say, and he hooks an arm under your knees and another around your back and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you just cling, face buried in his neck, hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. he can feel your smile againt his skin.
he deposits you on the bed, pulling the duvet over you. your hand shoots out for him when he moves away.
“stay,” you whisper.
“i have to shower, sweetheart. i’m disgusting.”
“don’t care,” you slur. “wanna smell you.”
something in his chest squeezes. “5 minutes, yeah?”
you make a vague sound, somewhere between a yes and a snore.
he showers fast, rinsing the smell of recycled air off him. when he comes back, you’re still in exactly the same position, sweet, defencdeless, and completely his. he crawls into bed next to you, pulling your back against hsi chest. you make a pleased sound.
“i love you,” he breathes into your hair, and he’s never meant anything more in his life.
he wants to tell you more, everything. how lonely it is in those hotel rooms, how the world feels sharper and meaner when you’re not with him, how the thing he wants most isn’t the win or the champagne or the cameras but this: you, drooling on him, arms around him, so tired you can barely keep your eyes open but still greedy for his touch. how he could have all of the podiums and the trophies in the world, and how it’d still mean nothing without you.
but he knows you’re about to fall asleep again—he can feel your breath evening out, your muscles going slack—so instead he swallows the emotion down.
he kisses the crown of your head, then your temple, then your lips. you smile in your sleep, making a little blissed-out noise, and lando thinks: if this is what the rest of my life is, i’ll never need anything else.
꩜
lando wakes to sunlight spilling through the blinds. your arm is splayed over his chest, your hand has curled loose around his bicep. there’s a damp spot on his chest where you must have drooled, which makes him smile.
he’s always felt a little sick with how much he loves you. it gnaws at his insides, the affection. sometimes he thinks about you as a child—photos of you with fat cheeks and scraped knees, the stories you tell about getting locked out of the house by your older brother. he gets obsessed with the idea of having known you then. he wants to peel back the years and wrap his arms around every version of you, keep you safe and soft and protected, make sure nothing ever bruises you except the things he can kiss better.
he moves a fraction, and you grunt in protest, wiggling closer back into him. there’s something almost perverse about how easily you fold into him, no friction at all, only this puddling collapse. its like your bones have liquefied in the night. an hour ticks by and evebtually, you shift, eyelids fluttering.
“lando,” you mumble, and then, “lando, don’t let me go.”
he squeezes you and you nestle in. you’ve always been the coldest human alive, and in winter you use him like a hot water bottle. he lets you, likes it even, how you shove your iceblock feet between his legs.
eventually, you begin to stir. it starts with a hand at his waist, searching for him under the sheets. he rolls you to face him, and you blink up at him, dazed in the blue morning light. your hair’s a disaster, and your face is creased from the pillow. he wants to bite you, a little, just to see what you’d do.
you reach for him again, pulling his arm across your chest so his hand lands on your tits. you sigh, content, and it’s so obvious what you want that he has to laugh.
“missed me that much, huh?” he teases, but you don’t rise to the bait. you just push your tits into his palm and shiver, like you’re cold, like you can’t get enough of him. he obliges, thumb brushing over your nipple until it’s hard and you’re making those tiny whimpering sounds he loves.
“lando,” you whisper, drawn out and needy. he’s been waiting weeks to hear you like this.
he kisses you, slow and deep, licks into your mouth until you go slack. you melt, your body going boneless under his touch. he takes his time, kissing you like you’re oxygen. your tongue is lazy, letting him do what he wants, and he does—tilting your head, biting your lip, sucking your tongue until you moan into his mouth.
you whine when he pulls away, hands chasing him in effort to keep him close. he loves that—loves how you go floaty and dumb for him, how your only thought is how to get him closer.
he kisses your jaw, your throat, then slides down to lift your top, taking your nipple in his mouth. you arch, pulling him closer.
“greedy,” he laughs, low in his chest, and you only nod, lost to the sensation. he traces down your ribs, his hand spanning your waist, thumbs hooking into the band of your shorts. you buck up, hips chasing his touch, and he’s so hard it almost hurts, his cock pressed against your thigh.
“you want me?” he murmurs, and he’s a little mean about it because you always say yes, but this time you’re so gone you can’t even speak. you just nod, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth open, panting. he slides his hand down, cups your pussy over the fabric, and you whimper. he can feel the heat leaking through cotton.
“so wet, baby,” he coos, smug, and rubs slow circles through your shorts until you’re grinding desperate against his hand. he wants to see you, wants to fuck you until you can’t walk, but more than anything he wants you to just let go, let him do everything for you.
he slides his palms under the fabric and squeezes your ass. you grind down, making his cock twitch.
“jesus, you’re needy,” he murmurs, almost reverent.
you only make a broken, whimpery sound. he flips you, easy as tossing a pillow, and you let yourself be manhandled. he wants to laugh again, at how much you love being small, how much you love being handled, but it would ruin the spell. your eyes flutter shut, maybe with exhaustion, maybe with pleasure.
“you awake?” lando asks softly, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose.
“’m awake,” you slur, your expression caught between bliss and confusion. “missed you so much.”
“did you now?” he traces the line of your jaw with his tongue, nipping at your earlobe.
“mm. missed you. missed your cock,” you mumble, almost too quiet to hear.
he freezes, then pulls back to look at you. you’re blushing, but smiling, all the same.
“greedy,” he tuts, but the word is thick with lust.
“please?” you manage, and the word is so pathetic, so honest, he has no choice but to oblige you.
he peels your shorts down, and you try to help, barely, lifting your hips just enough for him to slide them off. your cunt is glistening, wet and puffy. he touches you gently, running his fingers over your clit, and you choke out a moan, clutching at his arm.
he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ve got you, sweetheart. just relax.”
“inside?” you look up at him, eyes wide and trusting. “lando, inside, please?”
and fuck, that voice. what else can he do but give you what you are so sweetly begging him for?
he peels off his boxers and lines himself up, presing the head of his cock against you and pushing in slow, savouring every inch of it. you gasp, back arching, hands grabbing for his arms, his shoulders, anything to anchor yourself.
“okay?” he asks, even though you’re already nodding, already grinding back onto him.
“feel so good,” your voice is slow, like you can’t concentrate on all the sensations at once.
he pulls out, thrusts back in, slow and shallow, and watches you come apart under him. you keep making these soft, kittenish sounds, keep scratching shallow lines down his back. he wants to fuck you harder, wants to pin you down and make you scream, but he knows that’s not what you need.
“pretty girl,” he praises, “you’re so fucking pretty. my good girl.”
“please,” you breathe. you’re almost crying, you don’t even know what you’re begging for.
he leans down, mouth at your ear, “you can cum, sweetheart. want you to.”
you do, eyes screwed shut and panting, cunt fluttering around his cock. then you melt, arms falling away. you blink up at him, dazed and grateful, a tiny smile pulling at your lips.
“’s good,” you mumble, then yawn, already half-asleep again.
he’s hasn’t finished, but he doesn’t care. he stays inside, just holding you, more for you than to chase his own pleasure. he thinks about just thrusting back inside you so he can cum—it’d be so quick, so easy—but looking at you, sated and sleepy, he knows he can't ruin that.
you whimper when he tries to pull out, arms and legs locking around him, trapping him inside.
“okay,” he laughs, breathless, so full of love he could burst, “okay, baby. i’ll stay.”
you sigh, content, and in minutes you’re asleep again, still clutching him. he stays inside you, uncomfortably hard, the heat of your cunt making his head swim, but he’s never been so happy.
he’s stuck there, buried in you, and it feels like the only place in the world he’s supposed to be. the room is warm and light, and lando thinks he might die here, in this bed, in this moment, and be happy forever.
Summary: You are Toto’s assistant, which means you manage his calendar, his calls, his guests, and several very private needs your job description politely forgot to mention. During a Mercedes brunch in Monaco, Toto appears in white jeans, a light denim shirt, sunglasses, and a smile that should be illegal. You try to behave. You fail beautifully.
Warnings: 18+, smut, boss/assistant dynamic, secret affair, public event tension, body worship, white jeans kink, blowjob, deep vaginal penetration, table sex, risk of being caught, creampie, dirty talk, soft aftercare, humor.
Words count: 3.2k
a/n: okay, I admit it without a fight — I saw Toto in those white trousers and that denim shirt, and well… my imagination ran wild. Sorry, not sorry 🤭 enjoy!
... and I could write a continuation and make a Part 2 where she sees him on the podium, all wet from champagne 🤭
Monaco brunches are dangerous.
Not because of the champagne. Not because of the sponsors. Not because someone always says, “Let’s make it casual,” and then arrives wearing a watch worth more than your apartment.
No.
This particular brunch is dangerous because Toto Wolff walks into the Mercedes hospitality wearing white jeans.
White.
Jeans.
You stop functioning. Completely.
Your tablet stays in your hand. Your face remains neutral. You are technically still standing beside the display of the newest Mercedes models, looking professional in your team shirt and jeans.
Inside, you are gone. Totally ruined and finished.
Toto is moving through the crowd like he owns the air.
White jeans fitted perfectly over his hips and thighs. A very pale denim shirt tucked in, fastened with little metal snaps you immediately want to open with your teeth. Sunglasses on his nose. Hair slightly messy from the sea breeze.
That relaxed Monaco smile on his face. The one that says he knows everyone is looking at him, and he is calm enough to let them.
Bastard.
You stare at his chest. Then his stomach. Then lower... Then back up very quickly when George walks past you with a plate of fruit.
“You okay?” George asks.
“Yes.”
“You look angry.”
“I am professionally focused.”
He looks at Toto. Then back at you.
“Oh.”
You glare at him.
George grins. “White jeans?”
“Leave.”
“Thoughts and prayers.”
“George.”
He walks away laughing.
Kimi appears beside you three seconds later, eating something small and suspiciously chocolate-covered.
“Toto looks like summer boss,” he says.
You nearly choke.
“Kimi.”
“What?”
“Go stand next to the car.”
“Okay.”
He wanders off peacefully, because Kimi is both an angel and a menace.
Toto is speaking with guests near the white car, one hand resting lightly on the open door, sunglasses catching the light. Someone says something funny, and he smiles — that slow, lazy, confident smile — and your thighs press together before you can stop them.
Across the room, Toto turns his head. His gaze finds you. Of course it does. His smile changes. Barely. Enough.
He knows.
Your skin heats under the team shirt.
He says something to the sponsor, finishes the conversation smoothly, then moves on to a set of short videos with George and Kimi for social media. You stand off-camera with the PR schedule, watching him lean against the car, sunglasses on, shirt pulling slightly across his chest every time he laughs.
This is workplace harassment.
By fabric. By buttons. By white jeans.
When the filming ends, Toto walks past you, close enough that his shoulder almost brushes yours.
“Everything on schedule?” he asks.
Professional voice. Public voice.
You look up at him. “Mhm.”
His mouth twitches.
“That bad?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I am attending a Mercedes event.”
“You are wearing those trousers.”
His eyes drop to your mouth for one second.
Then he leans closer like he is checking the tablet in your hand.
“What would you like me to do about that?” he murmurs.
Your pulse jumps.
A guest laughs nearby. A camera flashes.
You smile politely like your boss has not just destroyed your ability to stand normally.
“I need you for five minutes,” you say.
“For work?”
“No.”
His jaw tightens.
Good. Finally.
You do not wait for permission. You turn and walk down the side corridor toward one of the smaller private rooms used for storage, quick calls, and apparently terrible decisions. Toto follows thirty seconds later because he is many things, but stupid is not one of them.
The second the door closes, you turn on him.
“Toto.”
He removes his sunglasses slowly.
“Yes?”
“You are a menace.”
His mouth curves. “You said that already.”
“And I meant it.”
Your hands go straight to his shirt.
The snaps open beautifully. One. Two. Three.
Then you lose patience and pull.
The shirt opens down his chest in one smooth line, revealing warm skin, hard muscle, that broad chest and firm stomach you have been mentally touching since he arrived.
Your breath catches.
Toto watches your face. His amusement fades into heat.
“You really like the shirt.”
“I like what’s under it.”
You press both palms to his bare chest, sliding them slowly down over warm skin, feeling his muscles tighten beneath your touch. His breath changes.
You love that. Love that you can affect him.
Love that this powerful, controlled man can stand in front of sponsors like nothing touches him, then lose a piece of his mind because your hands are on his body.
“You are staring,” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
His hands settle on your waist.
“You like touching me.”
“I love touching you.”
That lands.
You see it in his jaw, in his eyes, in the way his fingers tighten on you.
Then he kisses you. Hard.
Your back hits the door, your hands still on his bare chest, fingers spreading over him like you cannot get enough. You stand on your toes to reach him properly, and he bends to meet you, one hand sliding into your hair, the other dragging you closer.
You moan into his mouth. He groans back.
Your hands move lower. Over his stomach. To the waistband of those white jeans.
Toto’s breath catches when your palm presses against him.
He is already getting hard.
You feel it. He knows you feel it.
Both of you make a sound at the same time, and he laughs breathlessly into your mouth.
“Liebling.”
“Your fault.”
“The trousers?”
“The trousers. The shirt. The sunglasses. The whole rich Monaco menace thing.”
His mouth curves against yours.
“Rich Monaco menace?”
“Yes.”
Your fingers open the button of his jeans.
No belt. Thank God.
The zipper follows, slow and loud in the small room.
Toto’s hand tightens in your hair.
You look up at him as you reach inside and wrap your hand around his cock.
His eyes darken instantly.
“There,” you whisper.
His jaw flexes.
“You are very pleased with yourself.”
“You’re hard in the white jeans.”
“Because you dragged me into a storage room and opened my shirt.”
“You followed.”
“I did.”
You stroke him slowly, your other hand still moving over his open shirt, his chest, his stomach, like you cannot decide which part of him to worship first.
The answer is all of him.
You drop to your knees.
Toto exhales sharply.
His cock is heavy in your hand, already fully hard now, flushed and beautiful against the clean white of his open trousers. His shirt hangs open around his torso, sunglasses tucked in one hand, hair slightly messy, eyes locked on you.
The sight almost makes you come untouched.
You look up at him.
“My God,” you whisper. “You look unreal.”
His face changes. The praise affects him more than he wants to admit.
“You are supposed to be working.”
“I am.”
You kiss the tip of his cock.
His hand slams softly against the wall beside him.
You smile. “Private assistance.”
“Fuck.”
You take your time at first. Because he deserves it. Because you have been thinking about this since he walked in.
Because his body in those clothes has turned you into something shameless and needy and completely focused.
You kiss him slowly. The tip. The underside. The base.
You let your tongue trace him, soft and wet, while your hands move over his thighs, his stomach, his open shirt. Toto watches you from above, breathing unevenly, his usual control already cracking at the edges.
“You like looking at me from there,” he says, voice rough.
You lick him again. “Yes.”
“You look very sweet on your knees.”
You moan softly and take him into your mouth.
Toto’s head falls back. “Mein Gott.”
You take him deeper slowly, lips stretching around him, one hand working what your mouth cannot reach, the other still pressed to his bare stomach. He is big enough to make your jaw ache quickly, and that only makes your body hotter.
Size. Weight. Heat.
The effort of taking him. The sight of him losing control above you.
You love all of it.
Toto looks down at you, hand sliding into your hair.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Taking me so well.”
You hum around him. His hips twitch.
The sound he makes is low and almost broken.
You pull back just enough to breathe, licking your lips.
“I want you.”
His eyes darken. “You have me.”
“No.” You kiss him once more, then look up. “I want you to fuck me. Here. Like this.”
Toto’s jaw tightens. “In the shirt and the white jeans?”
“Yes.”
His mouth curves slowly. “Oh, Schatz.”
You rise quickly, already pulling your team shirt over your head. Your bra follows. Then your jeans. Your underwear. You are naked in seconds, standing in front of him while he is still half-dressed, shirt open, jeans undone, cock hard and exposed.
Toto looks at you like he is about to forget where he is.
Good.
There is a small table in the room. Sturdy. High enough. Perfect.
He lifts you onto it in one smooth motion.
You gasp as the cool surface meets your skin.
His hands spread your thighs.
He looks down. Feels you with his fingers.
His jaw tightens. “You are soaked.”
You laugh breathlessly.
“Yes, Toto. Because of you. Because of this shirt, these trousers, and the fact that you walked in looking so fucking good I almost forgot my own name.”
His eyes flash. “Careful.”
“No.”
He steps between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock through your wetness.
Your hips jerk. “Toto—”
“You wanted this.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted me in these clothes.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted me to fuck you while I still look like your boss at a Mercedes event.”
Your body clenches.
He sees it. His smile turns dark.
“There it is.”
He pushes into you. Deep. Strong. All at once.
Your cry breaks out of you, and he catches it with his mouth, kissing you hard as he fills you to the core. Your hands fly to his open shirt, fingers gripping fabric and bare skin, your legs spreading wider to take him.
He stills when he is fully inside.
Your forehead rests against his.
The room feels too small. Too hot. Too close to the party outside.
“You feel incredible,” he breathes.
“Move.”
His mouth curves. “Demanding.”
“Desperate.”
That makes his control snap.
He starts moving slowly at first, each thrust deep, deliberate, almost cruel. The table creaks faintly beneath you. Your thighs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer, trying to take more.
Toto grips under your knees and lifts your legs higher.
The angle changes.
You see stars.
“Oh God— Toto—”
“There?”
You nod, frantic.
His eyes darken. He thrusts again. Deeper.
“There.”
Your nails dig into his bare chest, one hand sliding down over his stomach, feeling every muscle move as he drives into you. His shirt hangs open around your hands, his jeans still on his hips, open and obscene, white fabric framing the way he fucks you.
You cannot look away.
“You like seeing me like this,” he says, voice rough.
“Yes.”
“Half dressed. Inside you.”
“Yes.”
“While everyone outside thinks I am talking to sponsors.”
You moan loudly.
He kisses you immediately, swallowing the sound.
“Quiet,” he murmurs against your mouth.
“You try being quiet.”
His laugh is low and filthy.
Then he pulls your hips closer to the edge of the table. His hands grip your ass, dragging you down onto him with every thrust.
The new angle breaks you.
Your head falls back.
He takes the chance to lower his mouth to your breast. His tongue circles your nipple. Then he sucks. Hard.
Your whole body arches.
“Toto—”
His mouth moves to the other breast, licking and sucking with no shame, like he has forgotten there is a brunch outside, like he has forgotten George and Kimi and guests and cameras and the Mercedes cars glittering in the sun.
You love it. Love being the thing that makes him forget.
His hips move faster now. Harder.
The table shifts with the force of him. Your legs lock around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groans against your breast.
“You are going to make me lose my mind.”
“You started this.”
“I wore jeans.”
“Exactly.”
He laughs into your skin, then thrusts so deep your laughter becomes a moan.
His hand slides between you, thumb finding your clit.
Your body jerks. “Fuck—”
“There she is,” he murmurs. “Already?”
“Yes.”
He rubs slow, firm circles while his cock drives deep inside you, and everything becomes too much at once — his open shirt under your hands, his warm chest against yours, the risk of being heard, the taste of his mouth still on your tongue, the memory of his cock in your mouth, the current reality of him buried inside you.
You come hard.
Your body locks around him, nails scraping over his chest as the orgasm rips through you. He kisses you through it, groaning into your mouth when you clench around him.
“That’s it,” he says roughly. “Good girl. So fucking beautiful.”
You tremble, still gripping him.
He does not stop.
His rhythm turns less controlled, deeper and more desperate. He pulls you even closer to the edge of the table, his hands firm under your ass now, changing the angle again until every thrust hits exactly where you need.
Your mouth opens soundlessly.
Toto smiles like he knows. Because he does.
“You wanted deep,” he murmurs. “You wanted to feel me.”
You nod, unable to answer.
His hips snap forward. You gasp.
“There. Take it.”
Your second peak begins too fast, a hot pressure building through the aftershocks. You are too sensitive, too full, too turned on by the sight of him still half-dressed and losing control because of you.
“Toto, I—”
“I know.”
His hand returns to your clit.
Your whole body jolts.
“One more.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.”
His voice is low, steady, completely certain.
That certainty ruins you.
You come again, smaller but sharper, your thighs shaking around him, face buried against his neck to muffle the cry. Toto groans, holding you tight, his own control breaking fully now.
“Inside,” you whisper.
His eyes darken.
He thrusts deep, once, twice, then stills, coming hard inside you with a low, rough groan against your mouth. You feel him fill you, hot and deep, his hands gripping your ass as he pulses inside you.
For a long moment, you stay like that. Locked together. Your naked chest pressed to his bare chest. Your nipples rubbing against warm skin.
His shirt open around you. His cock still inside you. His breathing rough against your cheek.
You close your eyes and smile. This is your favorite part. The immediate quiet after. The messy softness.
The way his body goes from powerful and demanding to warm and protective without needing a single word.
His hands slide gently over your ass now. No urgency. No pressure. Just touch.
His mouth moves to your neck, kissing slowly. “You are crazy,” he murmurs.
You smile against his shoulder. “No.”
“No?”
You press a lazy kiss to his neck.
“Horny.”
He laughs. A real laugh. Low and warm and beautiful.
“You dragged me into a storage room during a Mercedes event.”
“You wore white jeans.”
“That is your defense?”
“Yes.”
His chest shakes with another laugh.
“You are impossible.”
“You like impossible.”
“I love impossible.”
That softens you immediately. You pull back and look at him.
His shirt is still open. His sunglasses are somewhere on the table. His hair is messy. His white jeans are open, and he still looks like the most gorgeous problem you have ever had.
You touch his face.
“I love touching you.”
His expression changes. His hand covers yours.
“I know.”
“I love when you look like this.”
His mouth curves.
“Half undressed after being ambushed by my assistant?”
“Yes.”
“My very professional assistant.”
“Extremely professional.”
“You gave me a blowjob next to cleaning supplies.”
“Private client service.”
He laughs again, then kisses you softly.
Aftercare is quick but careful. It has to be. There is an event outside. Guests. Cameras. George being nosy. Kimi probably eating something he found on a tray.
Toto cleans you gently with tissues first, then a damp cloth from the small bathroom. His hands are warm and careful between your thighs, his expression soft when you twitch from sensitivity.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
He kisses your forehead. Then helps you dress. Mostly.
You have to redo your jeans twice because your hands are not entirely steady, and Toto looks far too pleased about that.
You snap his shirt closed for him, one button at a time. Slowly.
He watches you. “You are doing that on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“You are dangerous.”
You smooth your palm down his chest over the fabric, mourning the loss of bare skin.
“You look good.”
“Still?”
“Worse now.”
His brows lift. “Worse?”
“Now I know what you look like freshly fucked in it.”
His jaw tightens. For a second, you think you may not make it back outside.
Then someone knocks faintly down the corridor.
Both of you freeze. A voice calls, “Toto? They need you for the group photo.”
George.
Toto closes his eyes. You bite your lip to stop laughing.
“I will be there in one minute,” Toto calls, perfectly calm.
Silence.
Then George says, “Brilliant. Take your time. Or don’t. Actually, don’t.”
You snort. Toto gives you a look.
You whisper, “He knows.”
“George suspects everything.”
“Because George has eyes.”
Toto kisses you once, quick and deep.
“Behave.”
You smile. “Always.”
He opens the door first, stepping out with all the composure of a man who absolutely did not just fuck his assistant on a table. You follow a minute later, hair fixed, shirt tucked, cheeks only slightly flushed.
The event is still sparkling. Guests are still talking. Mercedes cars are still shining in the Monaco sun.
Kimi looks at you. Then Toto. Then the corridor behind you.
He says nothing. Smart boy.
George, on the other hand, looks at Toto’s shirt, then at your face, then at Toto’s sunglasses now hanging slightly crooked from his pocket.
His eyebrows rise. “Productive meeting?” he asks.
You take a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray.
“Very.”
Toto stands beside you, face calm, mouth relaxed, eyes hidden again behind sunglasses.
But you can feel it. His satisfaction. The smugness rolling off him in waves.
George looks between you both and mutters, “I hate knowing things.”
Kimi eats another sandwich.
“I do not know things,” he says peacefully.
You take a sip of water, still feeling Toto between your thighs, still tasting him faintly on your tongue, still remembering his bare chest under your hands and the way he filled you against that table.
Your cheeks warm. Toto’s hand brushes your lower back for one second. Professional. Polite. Devastating.
You glance up at him. He does not look at you. He only smiles at a guest. Very calm. Very composed. Very proud of himself.
Bastard.
You smile into your glass.
White jeans were officially a problem.
And judging by the way Toto’s thumb brushes your back again, briefly, privately... they will be a problem again.
oscar piastri x yn!singer | request — here | masterlist |
"One night I was bored in bed, And stalked you on the internet" in which a popstar's crush on a f1 driver turns into a front page story...
note — (all manips made by me!!) i love this fic soooooo much, like it's very dear me.... hope you all enjoy it (not proofread ignore any mistakes) <3 !! likes, reblog's and comments are really appreciated ❤
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♬ Y/n L/n ‧ obsessed
Liked by yourinstagram, user1 and 772,256 others
oscarpiastri 💪
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user1 new song to add to the playlist
user2 thirst trap on main???
user3 y/n is holding her self back by not commenting
->user4 ik she's remembering her pr training right now
->user5 wait why????
->user4 it's a known thing among fans that she has a crush on oscar...
->user5 HUH!??!?!? how haven’t i heard about this??!???
user6 You got this 🏎️
user7 okay can mclaren invite y/n to a race please
user8 listening to obsessed?? why does oscar know ball
user9 need to see all his playlists
user10 Future world champion💪🔥🧡
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tmz Y/nL/n seen arriving in Melbourne, Australia today.
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user1 love her <3
user2 wait..... the australian gp is this weekend
->user3 and mclaren recently followed her....
->user4 are we thinking they invited her to oscar's home race!?!??!
->user3 YESSS
user5 this could be so major...
user6 winona hat is so cute
user7 she's going to find her a aussie man anyway she can
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YnLnNews Y/N IN AUSTRALIA!!!!! Y/n sat with Oscar Piastri prior to qualifying, Y/n cheered on Oscar as he qualified P2.
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user1 EVERYONE STAY CALM
user2 very important things happening right now
user3 who else was with them???? do we know how long they hung out..?
->user4 i saw a video of them talking and the poster said they were talking alone for about 15+ mins until someone on the team wanted to meet y/n
->user4 he sat with them for 5 mins and they kept talking for around 30 more minutes and hugged goodbye
->user3 omg ty sm user4 !!
user5 her SMILEEEE
user6 already loving them AIWLUHDFLUIAWG
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yourinstagram never finished that beer 🍻
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user1 summer maxing
user2 everywhere but that damn studio
oscarpiastri 🌹🍻
->user3 alright man... we get it
->user4 no im not jealous at all
user5 you r my inspo
user6 mclaren girllll
->user7 **oscar piastri girl
->user8 she's truly only there for the race and oscar
user9 gorgeous girl
user10 what dat mean???
->user11 idk maybe she never finished her beer????
->user10 okay 😐
user12 does the piano mean we're getting music?!!?!
user13 the last slide and the koala.... taking notes
user14 can you get any more perfect
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yourinstagram story !
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oscarpiastri It was great to finally meet you in person!
yourinstagram a pleasure to meet you as well!!!
yourinstagram ik you have a busy schedule so ty for sparing the time!
oscarpiastri SPARING?? I would've skipped qualifying just to keep talking to you
oscarpiastri I wanted to meet you! So the schedule was cleared just for you!
oscarpiastri It obviously wasn't the race I would've liked for you to have been present for....
yourinstagram at least you didn't finish last!!!
yourinstagram hopefully the next race i go to will have a better outcome 🤞
oscarpiastri Speaking of you going to another race have you been to China? 👀
yourinstagram no…. but i’ve always wanted to go!!
oscarpiastri Well there is a race coming up in China if your up for that…?
yourinstagram mhmmmm that does sound like something i’d enjoy
yourinstagram and if i were to go…
oscarpiastri Mhm hmm 🤔
yourinstagram id like to find a place for us to get dinner, since you picked last time 😁
oscarpiastri You drive a hard bargain.. but i think we have a deal
yourinstagram good doing business with you 🤝
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enews Brewing Romance? Y/n L/n and Formula One Driver Oscar Piastri have been causing a stir as of late.
While the pair have been linked to each other since late 2024, the two hadn't met in person till March 15th 2025. Piastri said after meeting L/n "We've talk prior to meeting, so it was nice to finally meet in person. She's lovely." With L/n's recent presence in China for the Chinese Grand Prix, people are starting to wonder if there's a couple in the making...
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user1 they're so cute! im here for it
user2 enews doesn't even know about their crushes on each other
->user3 i was fully expecting to see them mention that but was glad they didn't
->user4 truly don't know how i would react if there were articles written about my crush
user5 i've been rooting for them since she liked an edit of him on tiktok
user6 her with an athlete is scary but he seems chill
user7 not my favs being on the jumbotron wth
user8 i feel like ppl are going to say it's PR but i think they're dating honestly
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oscarpiastri First win of the year 🏆
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user1 wait is that y/n????
user2 LETS GOOOOOO
yourinstagram and to many more!!
->oscarpiastri 😉
->user3 okay they're cute i guess...
user4 Y/N MADE THE POST!!!!!
user5 mini goat 🐐
user6 keep on pushing oscar we love you!
user7 he knew to add that y/n pic iktr
user8 power couple omg?!
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deuxmoi While we do enjoy seeing young love, we can't help but wonder is it real... or is it PR?
Comment your thoughts below ⬇
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user1 it's not like they're two young attractive people dating they HAVE to be doing pr??? y'all are so bored, let them live
user2 no shade to oscar but there are much more famous guys she could've gotten with to "up" her image
->user3 LITERALLY
->user4 an actor would've made waves... like it's not about the perception
user5 they had crushes on each other and then started dating it's not rocket science
user6 no one likes you guys, please don't speak on the queen
user7 this is family business.. why are you here??
user8 they're happy.... why does it matter ?
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♬ The Cure ‧ Just like Heaven
Liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 4,842,584 others
oscarpiastri 💙🏝🌞
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user1 My parents omg
yourinstagram 🐢🌊🐠 Liked by oscarpiastri !
user2 she is a real life princess
user3 1st slide is my roman empire
user4 you two are adorbs
user5 does he know this is his instagram...? bro only posted 1 pic of his face 😭
->user6 because he knows we're here for y/n
->user5 fairs
user7 he knew to post her on main
user8 that picture being first is so iconic
user9 okay we need about 50 more pics of you 2 cuties
user10 ugh he matches her energy so well <333
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enews Y/n L/n teases new music in Vogue Interview!
"Everything that I've been writing has been written in this notebook and I feel like my last two albums are very angsty and heartbroken and just as a creative endeavor and also because I'm experiencing so much joy in my life, I've wanted to figure out how to like inject that into the songs that I'm making. And I'm really proud of it so far!”
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user1 we are about to get such a lover girl song
user2 she could never make a bad song... im so ready
user3 not related but her face card is so insane in that picture wow
user4 i just know she has a hit song on the way
user5 "y/n to grace us with new music" i can't wait
user6 oooo i need it NOWWW
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Liked by oscarpiastri, rachelzegler and 4,563,642 others
yourinstagram <3 !!!
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user1 oh mama is in loveeee
user2 posting her man on main wow
oscarpiastri = ❤♾ Liked by yourinstagram !
->user3 EXACTLYYYY
->user4 need them to get married
user5 it so SERIOUSSSS
user6 "I'm experiencing so much joy in my life" MY SHAYLAS
user7 holy hard launch
user8 and when u + me = <3 is a song title THEN WHAT????
user9 a WHOLE post dedicated to being in love... that love song is going to change my life
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yourinstagram drop dead is out now!!!! I was lucky enough to film the music video at the palace of Versailles a few months ago and I’m so stoked with how it turned out. I hope you guys love it as much as I do xoxo
more soon to come <3
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user1 Can’t stop listening!!!❤️
user2 obsessed is an understatement...
rachelzegler MY GIRLLLL Liked by yourinstagram !
user3 ALREADY LISTENED ATLEAST 100 times
user4 best song of all time
user5 might drop dead over this music video 😭
user6 literally changed my life
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Liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 3,842,584 others
oscarpiastri "drop dead (taken that eurostar to france)" music video filmed by me out now on y/n's youtube!
so proud of my girl ❤
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user1 HE FILMED IT????
yourinstagram thank you angel boy <3 Liked by oscarpiastri !
->user2 im so parasocial about them
->user3 OSCAR PLEASE TEACH ME YOUR WAYS
->user4 "angel boy" and "my girl" I LOVE THEMMMM
user5 this is so cute i can't
user6 OMGGGG THEY'RE SO ADORABLE
user7 she’s looking like an angel on the walls of versailles
user8 you can hear him say "perfect" at the VERY end of the video
->user9 I knew i heard something !!
->user10 very cute that she kept it in 🥺
user11 this is cooler than any race win lowkey
user12 the way the video is actually beautifully shot too, oscar you have a backup career in photography
user13 "my girl" someone hold me please i can’t take it
user14 PARENTSSS
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✎…… hope you all enjoyed as much i did!!! i adored making this fic <3
using the same profile picture for the tweets made finishing this go 99% faster... probably going to be doing that from now on 😭
ⓘ things they do that you pretend to absolutely hate, but secretly love.
feat. lando norris, oscar piastri, charles leclerc, max verstappen ⨾ est. relationship, fluff, 1.7k wc ノ 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
LANDO NORRIS . ˚ You hated being in the passenger seat when Lando was driving.
Absolutely “hated” it.
Because the second you got in the car, he suddenly seemed to forget every speed limit in existence, like road signs were just optional decorations and not actual instructions meant to be followed.
“You’re doing it again,” you said, already gripping the seat a little tighter.
“Doing what?” Lando replied, far too casually for someone who was definitely up to something.
The car accelerated—on purpose, of course. Not a mistake. Just Lando deciding that normal driving speed was, in fact, deeply offensive to his character.
“Lando.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. The worst kind of grin—the one that already meant he had decided to ignore whatever you were about to say.
“You know we’re not on track, right?”
“I’m aware,” he said, far too calm for someone currently treating a normal road like a qualifying lap.
“Then why are you driving like we’re fighting for pole?”
His grin only widened, like that was exactly the reaction he wanted.
And there it was. The reason.
He was showing off.
Like a twelve-year-old boy with a brand-new bicycle, desperate for someone to watch.
“You know I’m not impressed by this,” you said, trying to sound firm, even as you kept your eyes on the road ahead.
“Really?” he asked, glancing at you briefly, grin still there.
“Really.”
The car took the next corner just a little too fast—completely unnecessary, completely intentional.
You immediately grabbed the door handle.
“Lando Norris!”
He laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “We’ve been dating for too long for you not to be used to my driving, baby.”
What he didn’t say—but absolutely knew—was that you were used to it. That you did think it was a little impressive. That you hated how much you secretly liked the confidence, the control, the way he made everything feel a bit too fast and a bit too exciting.
And that was the real problem. Because he knew it.
“I am used to it. I just value my life,” you said, still holding onto the door handle like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.
“Some people would kill for having an F1 driver as a chauffeur, you know,” Lando said, glancing at you with that smug little half-smile that meant he was enjoying this far too much.
You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe I should drive next time.”
The smirk on your face made it worse.
Lando went completely still for half a second—then slowly turned his head toward you like you’d just suggested something deeply personal and deeply dangerous.
“Absolutely not,” he said immediately.
You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“I value my life too,” he replied, way too quickly.
That made you laugh, because for all his confidence on the road, the idea of you behind the wheel clearly terrified him more than any corner at high speed ever could.
“Interesting,” you said softly, leaning back into the seat. “So you trust yourself with my life… but not me with yours?”
“Exactly.”
OSCAR PIASTRI . ˚ You breaking your phone should not have been a big deal.
In theory.
In reality, it absolutely was.
One second it was in your hand, the next it was slipping, hitting the floor, and lighting up one last time like it was saying goodbye before completely dying.
“No—no, no, no,” you gasped, crouching down immediately. “Are you serious right now?”
You pressed the power button. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
“Oh my God.”
Oscar looked over from where he was sitting, your panic barely registering on his face yet. “What happened?”
“My phone just died,” you said, voice rising slightly. “Like properly died. It’s gone. Everything is gone!”
“It’s fine,” he said calmly.
“It’s not fine,” you snapped instantly. “There are photos, messages, everything—this is literally my whole life.”
Oscar stood up, walked over, and gently took the phone from your hands like it wasn’t currently a disaster.
“Calm down,” he said simply. “We’ll buy a new one.”
“That’s not the point!”
He glanced at the screen, then back at you. Still completely unbothered. “It kind of is the point.”
You stared at him. “How are you so calm right now?”
Oscar shrugged slightly, like the answer was obvious. “Because it’s just a phone.”
That made you stop.
Just for a second.
Because to you, it felt like everything crashing at once. To him, it was just… a thing that broke.
He reached for your hand without making a big deal out of it, tugging you slightly closer.
“We can back it up,” he added. “Get a new one. Nothing’s actually ruined.”
You wanted to argue.
You really did.
But the longer you stood there, the more your breathing slowed to match his. The more your panic felt a little… too big for the situation.
And that was the thing with Oscar.
He never made your feelings feel stupid.
He just quietly showed you when they were bigger than reality.
Later, when you had a new phone and everything was fine again, you still thought about it.
How he didn’t panic. How he didn’t make it worse.
How he just stayed calm until you could be calm too.
And annoyingly enough…
You loved that about him.
CHARLES LECLERC . ˚ You didn’t even notice it at first.
It started small.
Harmless, almost.
You were sitting nearby when Charles was on a call with one of his sponsors, speaking in that smooth, professional tone you’d only ever hear him use in interviews.
Everything about him looked serious. Focused. Perfectly composed.
Until you heard it.
“Yeah, it’s been a busy week,” he said into the phone, nodding slightly. “Me and Y/n went to dinner after training, it was… nice.”
You blinked.
Me and Y/n?
You weren’t even part of the conversation.
You were literally just sitting there drinking water.
The call continued, and you tried to ignore it. Maybe it was a one-off thing. A slip. Nothing weird.
It wasn’t.
“Me and Y/n were in Paris last weekend actually,” he added later, like it was completely relevant to business strategy. “She loves it there, you know?” You slowly lowered your bottle.
Excuse me?
He smiled slightly at something the person said on the other end, completely unaware that your soul was leaving your body in real time.
It became a pattern.
Work interviews. Sponsor calls. Random media bits you weren’t even present for.
Somehow, everything circled back to you.
“How do you handle pressure?” “Honestly, it helps when I’m with Y/n”.
“What do you do to relax?” “Usually just spend time with Y/n.”
You finally confronted him about it one night.
“You know not every answer has to include me, right?” you said, leaning against the counter as he scrolled through his phone.
Charles looked up, confused. “Why not?”
“Because sometimes they’re asking about you.”
He frowned slightly, like that concept didn’t really compute. “But I am me and you are part of my life.”
“That’s not the point,” you muttered, trying not to smile.
But he just shrugged, completely unbothered. “It’s honest.”
And the worst part?
It was.
Because when he wasn’t talking about racing, or sponsors, or anything else in his world…
He was thinking about you anyway.
Always you.
So eventually, you stopped fighting it. You just accepted it and eventually started loving it.
MAX VERSTAPPEN . ˚ You had barely survived the week.
Emails, deadlines, mistakes you didn’t even make but somehow had to fix anyway. By Friday you were exhausted in a way that made even sitting on the couch feel like effort.
So when Max asked how it went, you just sighed.
“Bad week,” you said simply. “Everything went wrong.”
You didn’t think much of it after that.
Max nodded once, like he’d registered the information, then pulled you into his side without saying anything else.
You assumed that was the end of it.
It wasn’t.
Two days later, he came home and handed you a small box like it was nothing. No explanation. No warning. Just that calm, unreadable expression he always wore when he’d already decided something.
You opened it.
And froze.
A diamond necklace.
Not subtle. Not small. Not remotely casual.
“What is this?” you asked immediately, sitting up straight. “Max—no. This is too much.”
“It’s fine,” he said, already taking off his jacket.
“This is not fine,” you shot back, still staring at it like it might disappear if you blinked. “This is a necklace for a major life event. Not a… not a bad week at work.”
He glanced at you, completely unbothered. “You had a bad week.”
“Yes, so I get like—chocolate. Or takeout. Not… jewelry that looks like it belongs in a museum.”
Max shrugged slightly, like the scale of it made perfect sense in his world. “It’s just a necklace.”
You stared at him.
“It is not just a necklace.”
But he was already walking past you, like the conversation was done in his mind.
And that was the thing with Max.
He didn’t do small gestures when it came to you.
There was no mental scale where “bad week” sat at “reasonable comfort.”
To him, if something made you tired, annoyed, stressed—he fixed it in the biggest way possible.
Like anything less wouldn’t be enough.
You looked back down at the necklace, then toward him.
“You know,” you muttered, “normal people get flowers.”
Max paused. “Do you want flowers as well?”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands.
Because of course he would take it literally.
And of course, tomorrow there would probably be both.
You looked at him again, still holding the box like it might suddenly become less expensive if you stared at it long enough.
“Thank you, Max,” you said softly. Then, a little more serious, “I love you, but you really don’t know what to do with your money.”
Max just shrugged, completely unbothered, like that wasn’t even a problem worth solving.
“Does this mean I can buy another sim?” he asked, a faint grin forming as he leaned back against the counter.
You blinked at him.
Of course that was where his brain went.
“Absolutely not,” you said immediately, but you were already laughing despite yourself. “Not even a little bit.”
His grin widened like he’d at least tried his luck and was satisfied with the answer anyway.
— 🪷 lils speak ! hi hello!! i got inspired by few blogs on here so I decided to start writing too… so here i am! be kind to me world 🫶🏻. english is not my first language so please bear with me! see you on my next work ❤︎
pairing: lando norris ; max verstappen ; charles leclerc ; oscar piastri x reader
warnings: none
summary: your lovely boyfriend buying you lovely lingerie aka. his excuse to simply see you half naked.
check this out: MASTERLIST | KO-FI | PATREON | CARRD
LN; | 01
• Would literally drag you there everytime you two are shopping
• “I will also pay for everything don‘t worry, baby.“
• “Oh yeah you better,“ you replied cockily.
• Because he always dragged you to the most expansive stores.
• “What about this one?“ and literally shows you something either in orange or with a hint of orange in it, every. damn. time.
•“What? It’s the colour of my team!“ he raised his brows at you.
• But he also just loooooves the colour orange on you.
• ALWAYS goes into the dressing room with you, closing the door behind you before he already turned around and put his eyes on you.
• “C’mon, undress yourself and show me the set I chose for you!“
• Such an inpatient man, as always.
• As soon as you are standing there all naked looking breathtakingly gorgeous, he‘s already putting his hands on your body.
• “You‘re so fucking gorgeous — you‘re driving me crazy, seriously,“ and then he already leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, his hands on your bare waist.
• You bend to and grabbed the small thong, slowly putting it on.
• After you put the bra on, you turned towards your man,
• “And? Do you-”
• “You look so delicious.“ Kiss on the lips.
• “So pretty.“ Kiss on the cheek.
• “So fucking sexy.“ Kiss on the lips again, this time including his tongue.
MV; | 03
• Would mainly gift you lingerie.
• Either in dark blue or black, basically no other colour.
• “You look lovely in every colour, schatje,“ he sighed, his hands on your waist, “But you know that I love those colours on you a bit more than others.“
• Max is the type of guy to come home from a race in a foreign country with either one new thong, one new bra or one new pretty set.
• “Baby? Look what I got you!“ he says all happily as he has a small chic looking shopping bag in his hand.
• And obviously he’d want you to model a bit for him.
• He’d the type of man to sit on the couch and wait for you to walk out of the bedroom, legs spread and eyes staring eagerly at the bedroom door.
• As soon as you walk out the door, he sits up a tad straighter and bites his bottom lip.
• “Mijn god, schatje,“ he let‘s his eyes run over your body which is dressed in that beautiful dark blue lingerie,
• “Je ziet er zo mooi uit,“ you look so pretty, he ran his hands briefly over his face.
• And you only stood there, giggling like a happy little girl while he stood up,
• “I chose right, huh?“ his eyes stayed on your gorgeous tits, briefly running his thumbs over the cups which covered your breasts.
• You nodded up at him before you pulled him down for a kiss
• “Thank you baby.“
• “My pleasure, only the best for my pretty girl,” he kissed you again.
CL; | 16
• He literally typed your sizes into the notes app on his phone, just so he won’t ever forget it.
• ALWAYS buys you the most expensive things he can find.
• A gorgeous pink and black set from Victoria’s Secret for 200€? No problem.
• A pretty nightdress made out of comfortable silk for 150€? Already bought them in every possible colour for you.
• And his favourite colour? Red… obviously.
• Charles LOVED seeing you in a pretty red bra made out of the most expensive lace, paired with a nice pair of red panties.
• “Mon dieu, mon chéri,“ he ran his hands over his face as you stood there right in front of him in that stunning red set.
• “What? Does it look good?“ you asked innocently as you glanced in the mirror, Charles still standing behind you with raised brows and slightly parted lips.
• Charles chuckled, “Good? Mon dieu, baby,” he ran his hand through his hair, his eyes OBVIOUSLY on your gorgeous tits which were almost spilling out of the cups.
• “You look so fucking unreal, seriously,“ he cupped your cheeks before he ran his big hands down your body until they landed on your lower back, pulling you closer.
• He bit his lip as his hands slowly slid to your bum, a tiny grin on his face.
• “Does it fit? Isn‘t it too tight or too loose?“
• You shook your head, “Nope, not at all, don‘t worry, Charlie,“ you pecked his cheek.
• Charles released a tiny sigh of relief before he patted your ass with a smile.
bonus;
OP; | 81
• He’s a bit more shy about it but he still LOVES going shopping with you.
• Always pretends to be a bit annoyed when you drag him into a lingerie store, but ALWAYS ends up loving it because you model for him.
• “Don‘t you think that light pink makes my skin look pale?“ you asked him as you stood in the changing room in front of the mirror, your boyfriend sitting right behind you on the wooden bench in the small room.
• Oscar IMMEDIATELY shook his head.
• “Gosh, baby no!“ his eyes scanned your almost naked body as you turned your backside towards him again.
• “My god, you need to get-” he quickly interrupted himself, “Fuck it, I’ll buy you this one.“
• But as soon as he watches you try a white lacy set on, it’s game over for him.
• “Oh my god, love…“ he looks up at you, his legs spread, his wallet already in his hand.
• “You look like an angel, seriously.“
• “Oscar, I’m sorry to disappoint you but that set costs over 300-”
• “I do not give a fuck, baby,“ he already opens his leather wallet and checks how much money he got currently on him — luckily, enough.
• And he literally ends up buying anything you/he want(s).
alright absolutely needing one where reader ridesss osc and at some point he grabs part of her (neck maybe but not choking choking) with his hands bcccc need that. he definitely talks her through it and gives her so much praise too.
bonus points if the end includes cuddling/aftercare because you can’t tell me he wouldn’t do that
Just Feel It
Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Oscars talks his girl through her ride.
Warning: smut, dirty talk, light light chocking
Moonlight Radio: you better give me bonus points 😂 jkkk, hope u like this.
The lamplight catches in Oscar's eyes as you roll your hips, and the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing that exists in this moment—sends heat pooling low in your belly.
"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice already rough with want. "Just like that."
You're straddling him, thighs bracketing his hips, and the fullness of him inside you makes your breath catch. You've barely started moving, just slow, experimental rolls of your hips, but already his hands are sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts.
"God, you're so beautiful like this," Oscar says, his accent thickening the way it always does when he's turned on. "Taking what you need. I love watching you."
You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath your palms, and lift yourself slightly before sinking back down. The sensation pulls a gasp from both of you.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel incredible."
His praise emboldens you. You establish a rhythm, rising and falling on him with increasing confidence, and Oscar's fingers dig into your hips—not controlling, just holding on, grounding himself in the feel of you.
"That's my girl," he says, eyes locked on yours. "Look at you, taking me so well. You're perfect, you know that?"
Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't look away. There's something intoxicating about the way he watches you, the way his lips part with each breath, the way his gaze travels from your face down your body and back up again like he's trying to memorize every detail.
"Oscar," you breathe, and his name comes out needy, desperate.
"I know, baby. I've got you." His hands slide up your back, one settling between your shoulder blades, the other cupping the nape of your neck. "You're doing so good. Just feel it. Feel me."
You do. God, you do. Every nerve ending seems to light up as you move, the drag and stretch of him inside you building a delicious tension that coils tighter with each movement. Your pace quickens slightly, chasing the sensation, and Oscar groans.
"Yes, just like that. Don't stop." His thumb strokes the side of your neck, a tender counterpoint to the raw intimacy of what you're doing. "You're so fucking gorgeous when you ride me. Could watch you all night."
The words spur you on. You find your rhythm properly now, a steady roll and lift that has both of you breathing harder. Your thighs burn with the effort, but the pleasure building inside you makes it easy to ignore.
"Talk to me," Oscar says, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me how it feels."
"So good," you manage, the words coming out breathy and broken. "You feel so good, Osc."
"Yeah?" His hips lift slightly to meet your next downward movement, and the angle makes you cry out. "Right there?"
"Yes—fuck, yes—"
"That's it, baby. Take what you need. I'm right here." His hands are everywhere now—your hips, your waist, sliding up to cup your breasts. When his thumbs brush over your nipples, you arch into the touch with a moan. "So responsive for me. Love how your body tells me exactly what you like."
You're moving faster now, chasing the building pressure, and Oscar matches you, his hips rising to meet yours in a rhythm that's becoming increasingly desperate. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared gasps and moans.
"Look at me," Oscar commands gently, and when you do, the intensity in his gaze nearly undoes you. "There you are. Stay with me, beautiful. Want to see every second of this."
His hand slides up from your collarbone to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. Then his fingers trail down, wrapping around the front of your throat—not squeezing, just holding, his palm warm against your racing pulse. The possessiveness of the gesture, the trust it requires, sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.
"This okay?" he asks, always checking, always making sure.
"Yes," you gasp. "God, yes."
His fingers flex slightly, the pressure firm but careful, grounding rather than restricting. "You're mine," he says, and there's something primal in his voice now, something that makes you clench around him. "All mine. And you're taking me so perfectly."
The combination of his hand on your throat and his words in your ear drives you higher. You're riding him harder now, desperate for more, and Oscar's free hand grips your hip to help guide your movements.
"That's my good girl," he praises, his voice strained with his own pleasure. "Fuck, you're incredible. The way you move—the sounds you make—you're going to make me lose it."
"Oscar, I'm—I'm close—"
"I know, baby. I can feel it. Can feel how tight you're getting." His thumb strokes the side of your throat in soothing circles even as his other hand helps you move faster. "You're going to come for me, aren't you? Going to come all over my cock?"
You can only nod, words beyond you now as the tension coils impossibly tighter. Your movements become erratic, chasing your release, and Oscar takes over slightly, his hips driving up to meet you with perfect precision.
"Let go," he urges. "I've got you. Come for me, beautiful. Want to feel you."
His hand tightens just slightly on your throat—still not choking, just a firm pressure that somehow amplifies everything else—and that's what tips you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your body clenching around him as pleasure whites out your vision.
"That's it, that's it," Oscar chants, talking you through it. "So beautiful when you come. God, you're perfect. Keep going, baby. Ride it out. I've got you."
His voice anchors you as you shake apart above him, and somewhere in the haze of your pleasure, you feel him follow you over, his grip on your hip bruising as he thrusts up into you one last time with a groan that sounds like your name.
For a moment, you're both frozen, trembling, breathing hard. Then Oscar's hand slides from your throat to cup your face, pulling you down into a kiss that's surprisingly tender given what just happened.
"Come here," he murmurs against your lips, and he helps you ease off him before pulling you down to lie against his chest. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand stroking up and down your spine while the other tangles in your hair.
You're both still catching your breath, hearts racing in tandem. Oscar presses a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your cheek—soft, reverent touches that make your chest ache in the best way.
"You okay?" he asks quietly, his fingers continuing their soothing path along your back.
"More than okay," you manage, your voice hoarse. "That was..."
"Yeah," he agrees with a soft laugh. "It really was." He shifts slightly, reaching for something on the nightstand, and comes back with a bottle of water. "Here. Drink."
You push yourself up enough to take a few sips, and Oscar watches you with such open affection that it makes you feel warm all over again. When you're done, he takes the bottle and has some himself before setting it aside and pulling you back against him.
"Not too much?" he asks, his hand finding your throat again, this time just resting there gently. "When I—"
"It was perfect," you assure him, covering his hand with yours. "You were perfect."
He smiles, that soft, private smile that's just for you, and kisses you again. This one is slow and sweet, a stark contrast to the intensity of minutes ago. When he pulls back, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
"You're amazing, you know that?" he says. "The way you just take control like that—fuck, it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."
You duck your head, suddenly shy despite everything you just did, and Oscar chuckles, pulling you closer.
"Don't hide from me now," he teases gently. "Not after you just rode me like that."
"Oscar," you protest, but you're smiling.
"What? I'm just appreciating my incredibly sexy girlfriend." His hand resumes its path up and down your spine, and you feel yourself starting to relax into the boneless contentment that always follows. "Seriously though. You're incredible. Thank you for trusting me."
"Always," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his chest.
You lie there together as your breathing evens out, Oscar's fingers drawing idle patterns on your skin. Eventually, he shifts you both so you're lying side by side, facing each other, and he pulls the blanket up over you both.
"Better?" he asks, and you nod, already feeling drowsy.
Oscar's hand finds yours under the blanket, fingers interlacing, and he brings your joined hands up to kiss your knuckles. "Love you," he says simply.
"Love you too," you reply, and his smile is radiant.
He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you let yourself sink into the warmth and safety of his embrace. His heartbeat is steady under your ear, and his fingers continue their gentle exploration of your back, your shoulder, your arm—touching just to touch, to maintain that connection.
"Sleep if you want," he murmurs. "I'll be right here."
And wrapped in his arms, thoroughly satisfied and completely loved, you let yourself drift.
Hello! Can i get a jealous kimi fic? Which like end with smut. The basic plot being that nobody knows theyre dating so in-between stuff hell just pull her in a hallway or shit to make out. Then he sees another driver kinda hitting on her (franco or lando or anyone you choose lol🥹) and he gets very jealous which ends in smut at his hotel or home or whatever
Yours
Kimi Antonelli x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: a jealous Kimi, a secret relationship, Franco's unwelcome flirting, and a very possessive night at the hotel.
The hallway is empty, dimly lit, tucked away behind the hospitality suites where no one ever bothers to look. That's why Kimi chose it.
His hand is already sliding around your waist before you can fully register the movement, pulling you into the shadows with practiced ease. Your back hits the wall—not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch—and then his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding.
"Kimi—" you start, but he swallows the word, his tongue sliding against yours as his body presses flush against you. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head exactly how he wants it, deepening the kiss until you're dizzy with it.
This is how it always is between you two. Stolen moments. Secret touches. A relationship that exists only in the spaces between what everyone else can see.
"Missed you," he murmurs against your lips, his accent thicker when he's like this—worked up, wanting. His thumb traces your bottom lip as he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with hunger. "All fucking day, watching you walk around, and I can't touch you."
"You're touching me now," you breathe, your fingers curling into his shirt.
"Not enough." His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and you have to bite back a moan. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows every spot that makes you weak. "Never enough."
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, shattering the moment. Kimi pulls back with a frustrated sound, running a hand through his hair as you check the message.
"I have to get back," you say reluctantly. "They're looking for me in the media center."
His jaw tightens, but he nods. This is the price of secrecy—always having to pull apart, always having to pretend. He straightens your shirt where his hands had wrinkled it, his touch lingering.
"Later," he says, and it's not a question.
"Later," you promise, stealing one more quick kiss before slipping out of the hallway, leaving him in the shadows.
---
The paddock is buzzing with activity an hour later, teams preparing for tomorrow's race, journalists hunting for stories. You're standing near the timing screens, reviewing notes on your tablet, when a shadow falls across you.
"Hey there."
You look up to find Franco Colapinto grinning at you, all boyish charm and easy confidence. He's still in his race suit, the top half tied around his waist, his team shirt clinging to his frame.
"Franco," you acknowledge with a polite smile.
"I've been meaning to talk to you," he says, leaning against the barrier beside you, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne. "You're with the media team, right? I never see you in our garage."
"I cover all the teams equally," you reply, keeping your tone professional.
"That's a shame." His grin widens. "I'd definitely behave better in interviews if I knew you were watching."
You laugh despite yourself. Franco is harmless, really—just a flirt, like half the drivers on the grid. "I'm sure you behave perfectly well already."
"You'd be surprised." He shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. "Hey, a few of us are going out tonight after the team debriefs. You should come. I could show you around—I know all the best places."
"That's sweet, but—"
"Come on, just think about it." He pulls out his phone. "Here, let me give you my number. No pressure, but if you change your mind..."
You're about to politely decline when you feel it—that prickling awareness at the back of your neck. You glance up and your stomach drops.
Kimi is standing about twenty feet away, next to his engineer, supposedly reviewing data on a tablet. But he's not looking at the screen. He's looking at you. At Franco's hand on your arm. At the way Franco is leaning into your space, all easy smiles and casual touches.
Even from this distance, you can see the tension in Kimi's shoulders, the hard set of his jaw. His eyes meet yours for just a second, and the jealousy burning there makes your breath catch.
"—so what do you say?" Franco is still talking, oblivious.
"I really can't," you manage, stepping back. "But thanks for the offer."
Franco looks disappointed but shrugs good-naturedly. "Your loss. But hey, if you change your mind, you know where to find me." He winks before sauntering off toward his garage.
You risk another glance at Kimi. He's already walking away, his movements sharp and controlled. You know that walk. You know what it means.
Your phone buzzes.
**My hotel. One hour. Don't be late.**
Your pulse kicks up. You've seen Kimi jealous before—possessive and intense—but something about the clipped tone of that message tells you tonight is going to be different.
---
You knock on his hotel room door exactly fifty-eight minutes later.
It swings open immediately. Kimi stands there, still in his team polo and jeans, his hair slightly mussed like he's been running his hands through it. His eyes rake over you, hot and assessing.
"Inside," he says, his voice low.
You step past him and hear the door close, the lock clicking with finality. Before you can turn around, his hands are on you, spinning you to face him, backing you up until your shoulders hit the door.
"Kimi—"
"Do you think I'm stupid?" His voice is quiet, controlled, but you can hear the edge beneath it. His hands bracket your head, caging you in. "Do you think I didn't see him touching you?"
"He wasn't—it was nothing. He was just being friendly."
"Friendly." Kimi's laugh is harsh. "His hand was on your arm. He was giving you his number. He was looking at you like—" He breaks off, his jaw clenching. "Like he has any fucking right to look at you at all."
Your heart is pounding. "You know I'm not interested in Franco."
"I know." His hand slides down to cup your throat—not squeezing, just holding, possessive. "But he doesn't know you're mine. Nobody knows. And I'm fucking tired of watching other men think they have a chance with you."
"Then maybe we should tell people—"
"No." His thumb strokes along your pulse point. "I like having you as my secret. I just don't like sharing."
He kisses you then, hard and claiming, his tongue demanding entry. You open for him immediately, your hands fisting in his shirt as he presses his body against yours. You can feel how hard he is already, his cock pressing against your hip through his jeans.
"Mine," he growls against your mouth. "Say it."
"Yours," you breathe, and something in him snaps.
His hands are everywhere suddenly—yanking your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra with practiced efficiency, palming your breasts roughly as his mouth moves to your neck. He bites down on the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and you gasp.
"Everyone's going to see that tomorrow," you manage.
"Good." He soothes the bite with his tongue before moving lower, his mouth closing over your nipple. "Let them wonder who put it there."
His hands make quick work of your jeans, shoving them down along with your panties until you're naked and he's still fully clothed. The imbalance makes you feel vulnerable, exposed, and from the dark satisfaction in his eyes, that's exactly what he wants.
"Bed," he commands. "Now."
You obey on shaky legs, climbing onto the massive hotel bed. Kimi follows, stripping off his shirt as he moves, revealing the lean, muscled body you've mapped with your hands and mouth a hundred times. He leaves his jeans on, though, the denim rough against your inner thighs as he settles between your legs.
"Spread wider," he says, his hands on your knees, pushing them apart. "Let me see what's mine."
Heat floods through you at his words, at the possessive hunger in his gaze as he looks at you—really looks, taking in every inch of your exposed body. His hand slides up your inner thigh, and you're already so wet that when his fingers finally reach your pussy, they slide through your folds effortlessly.
"Fuck," he mutters. "You're soaked. You like it when I'm jealous, don't you? Like knowing I want to mark you up so everyone knows you're taken."
"Yes," you admit breathlessly as his thumb finds your clit, circling it with maddening pressure.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I like it when you're jealous."
He rewards you by sliding two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you arch off the bed with a moan. But he doesn't give you time to adjust, doesn't ease you into it—he fucks you with his fingers hard and fast, his thumb still working your clit, building you up ruthlessly.
"You're not coming yet," he says when he feels you starting to tighten around him. He pulls his fingers out, ignoring your whimper of protest. "Not until I'm inside you. Not until you remember exactly who you belong to."
He finally strips off his jeans and boxer briefs, and his cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. You reach for him, but he catches your wrist.
"Turn over," he orders. "On your knees."
You flip onto your stomach, rising up on your hands and knees, and feel his hands grip your hips, positioning you exactly how he wants you. This angle is deeper, more intense, and you know you're going to feel him for days.
"Tell me again," he demands, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. "Who do you belong to?"
"You, Kimi. Only you."
He slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and you cry out at the overwhelming fullness. He doesn't give you time to adjust, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, setting a punishing pace that has you fisting the sheets.
"That's right," he grits out, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Mine. This pussy is mine. This body is mine. You are mine."
"Yes," you gasp, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "Yours, all yours."
One hand leaves your hip to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back, arching your spine. The new angle has him hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, and you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly.
"Did you like his attention?" Kimi asks, his voice rough. "Did you like him flirting with you?"
"No," you manage. "Only want you."
"But you smiled at him. Laughed at his jokes." His pace somehow increases, becoming almost brutal. "Maybe I need to remind you why you're mine."
His hand comes down on your ass—not hard enough to really hurt, but sharp enough to sting, to make you gasp. He does it again, and again, timing the slaps with his thrusts until you're trembling, overwhelmed by sensation.
"Please," you beg. "Kimi, please—"
"Please what?" His hand soothes over the heated skin of your ass before sliding around to find your clit. "Tell me what you need."
"Need to come. Please let me come."
"Come then," he commands, his fingers working your clit in tight circles. "Come on my cock and scream my name so everyone in this fucking hotel knows who you belong to."
His permission is all you need. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, pleasure whiting out your vision as you clench around him. You do scream his name, unable to hold it back, and feel him groan behind you.
"Fuck, yes," he growls. "That's my girl. So fucking perfect."
He fucks you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you're boneless and shaking. Only then does he let himself go, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own release. He comes with a guttural moan, his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his cum.
He collapses over your back, both of you breathing hard, his weight pressing you into the mattress. After a moment, he carefully pulls out and rolls you over, gathering you against his chest.
"Mine," he murmurs into your hair, softer now but no less possessive.
"Yours," you agree, tracing patterns on his chest. "But Kimi?"
"Mm?"
"You know I was never interested in Franco, right? Or anyone else."
He's quiet for a moment, his hand stroking up and down your spine. "I know," he finally admits. "But seeing him touch you, seeing him try... I couldn't think straight. All I could think about was getting you alone and reminding you—reminding myself—that you're mine."
You tilt your head up to look at him. His eyes are softer now, the jealous fire banked but not extinguished. "I'm yours," you say firmly. "Secret or not, I'm yours. Only yours."
He kisses you then, slow and deep, a claiming of a different sort. When he pulls back, there's a small smile playing at his lips.
"Good," he says. "Because I'm not sharing. Not now, not ever."
"Possessive," you tease.
"You love it."
You do. God help you, you really do.
Later, after a shower where he takes you again against the tiles—slower this time, but no less intense—you're curled up in his bed, wearing one of his shirts, when he speaks again.
"Maybe we should tell people," he says quietly. "About us."
You look up at him in surprise. "I thought you liked the secrecy."
"I do." His arm tightens around you. "But I like the idea of everyone knowing you're taken even more. Knowing they can't touch you, can't flirt with you, can't even think about you without knowing they'd have to go through me first."
Your heart swells. "Jealous Kimi is very hot," you murmur. "But I think I like the sound of that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You kiss his jaw. "Let's tell them. Let's make it official."
His smile is pure satisfaction. "Good. Because tomorrow, everyone's going to see that mark on your neck and know exactly what it means."
You laugh, touching the tender spot where he bit you. "You're impossible."
"I'm yours," he corrects, echoing your earlier words. "And you're mine. That's all that matters."
And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you can't help but agree.
Bakugou clasps onto your throat harder than the continuous thrusts to kiss the blossomed opening of your cervix.
“God, fucking look at you..” he mutters in a struggled breath, the slosh of your pussy from his jabs rotting his brain as the only thing he can seem to focus on. He wants to ruin it, he wants to feel your little squeeze to not let go and pull out like a baby running to her daddy.
You’re forced to rest your head on his broad shoulders to keep it from banging against the wall, your body being pushed between the wall; one leg raised up and his large frame blocking you in with no where to go makes you moan, it makes your mouth agape with no other option to take it and push right back into his cock for more
You wanted more.
Nails dig into his bare back as katsuki hisses. Your pantyhose are thrown to the side- your pretty skirt bunched up at the hips opening up to be bruised, and your white office shirt unbuttoned to show everything you got for your boss.
It was a reminder how wrong this was. God forbid another employee walking in to see a newly hired intern being fucked like a whore by their boss. A scene where the room echoed of his ragged breaths, your wet pussy and sloppy kisses to the target of your breasts- how he couldn’t resist to kiss when they were served in front of him like a platter to a starved man.
His fingers wandering down to play with your soaked center, how he playfully runs them down the trail of your leaking fluids to slick them with you.
“Bakugou, please- we really shouldn’t anymore..” You felt yourself getting to a closing point, but the guilt ate at your mind this was just not right.
You were a paid intern, a paid intern getting fucked in the paper closet by the top hero Dynamight. To say those words stung but you were scared to know something like this doesn’t last forever.
“Shut up and open..” he whispers sensually with his gravely tone. You obeyed, sticking your tongue out just how you knew he liked it.
His spit reaches the tip of your tongue, his fingers diving straight in your mouth like it was fucking your sweet, tight pussy- just making a straight mess of your mouth as he reveled in the low vibrations of your closed moans.
It didn’t matter to him what was supposed to be “right.” If this was not right then he’d feel okay being in the wrong, as long as he continued to see your sweet face melt into a pot of sweetness and your body want his just as badly as he needed yours.
“It feels good doesn’t it?” His thrusts getting more ferocious. “Just take a peek down, baby..” he breathed. “You practically already squirted on me.”
You couldn’t help but feel your eyes roll back in pleasure. How this had been the fifth time you fucked but he’s got your body printed on his mind better than a map. “Please..” you whispered up at the ceiling, that feeling of desperation clinging onto your energy telling him to just go harder.
Katsuki feels that dibolic nature settle in as sloppy kisses from your tits finally reach the plumpness of your lips that he needed more than air.
You both feel it, you can see it on eachother. That bead of sweat snowballing down the deep crevice of his sheen abdomen past every living scar. How your lower half pushes back against his pelvic with erotic slaps and your upper is limp against his kisses.
Katsuki’s hand squeezes the plump of your hip, his mouth gaping against your lips feeling your milky arousel drip out around the creamy ring around his cock made from you two.
Your embarrassment wasn’t allowed to settle inside yourself as you watched your boss tease around your entrance, coated fingers being cleaned away by his hot mouth.
You legs didn’t last a second being left to stand alone before Katsuki catches your waist. He follows your slumped figure against the wall, putting his cock back in his trousers and starts to rebutton your exposed breasts.
I’m ovulating and I need some Kimi smut 😭 perhaps reader and Kimi go out to party to celebrate a win but they have to come home early because he is down so bad perhaps just Kimi being down bad smut full stop
Celebration
Kimi Antonelli x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Kimi can’t take it anymore. Kimi ends up leaving his grand prix win party early because his insatiable need for his girl becomes too much.
Warning: smut, dirty talk
Moonlight Radio: hope u like it! - also f**king pray for me I’m currently melting here in uk… our houses are not meant for heat 🥵
The club pulses with energy, bass thrumming through your chest as you watch Kimi accept congratulations from yet another group of friends. He's magnetic tonight—confidence radiating from him in waves after his win. The dim lighting catches the sharp line of his jaw, the way his shirt fits across his shoulders, and you can't help but admire him from across the room.
His eyes find yours through the crowd, and something flickers in his gaze. Heat. Want. It makes your stomach flip.
You make your way to the bar, ordering another drink, when you feel him materialize behind you. His hand finds the small of your back, fingers splaying possessively across the fabric of your dress.
"Having fun?" he murmurs against your ear, voice rough enough to send shivers down your spine.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? This is your party." You turn to face him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his pupils are slightly dilated even in the low light.
"Yeah." His gaze drops to your lips, then lower, tracing the neckline of your dress. "Yeah, it's great."
He doesn't sound convinced.
The bartender slides your drink across the polished surface, and Kimi's hand tightens on your waist. "Dance with me," he says, though it sounds more like a plea than a request.
On the dance floor, bodies press close in the crush of celebration. You move against him, feeling the hard planes of his body, the way his breath catches when you roll your hips. His hands grip your waist, then slide lower, fingers digging into your hips with barely restrained need.
"Fuck," he breathes, and you feel it more than hear it.
You turn in his arms, pressing your back against his chest, and the groan that rumbles through him is deeply satisfying. His lips find your neck, hot and open-mouthed, and you arch into him.
"Kimi," you warn, laughing. "We're in public."
"Don't care." His voice is strained. One hand splays across your stomach, holding you against him, and you can feel exactly how affected he is. "You look so fucking good tonight. Been driving me crazy since we got here."
You glance back at him over your shoulder, catching the desperate edge in his expression. His jaw is tight, eyes dark with want, and suddenly you realize he's barely holding it together.
"We should stay," you tease, even as heat pools low in your belly. "It's your celebration."
"Baby." His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I need to get you home. Now."
The raw honesty in his voice makes your pulse race. You turn fully, pressing close, and rise on your toes to whisper in his ear. "Then take me home."
His control snaps visibly. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight, and he's pulling you through the crowd before you can blink. He tosses a quick excuse to his friends—something about being tired, early morning tomorrow—but no one's buying it based on the knowing grins that follow you out.
The night air hits you like a shock after the heat of the club. Kimi's hand is still locked with yours as he practically drags you to his car, and the moment you're both inside, his mouth is on yours. The kiss is desperate, hungry, his hand cupping your jaw as he devours you.
"Fuck, I've been wanting to do that all night," he groans against your lips. "Watching you dance, watching other guys look at you—"
"No one else matters," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair. "Just you."
He makes a sound low in his throat and kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes you clench your thighs together. When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard.
"I need to drive," he says, sounding pained. "But the second we get home—"
"I know." You bite your lip, watching his eyes track the movement. "Drive fast."
He does.
His hand finds your thigh within seconds of pulling onto the road, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, pushing the hem of your dress higher. You part your legs slightly, and his grip tightens.
"You're killing me," he mutters, eyes fixed on the road even as his hand slides higher. "Actually killing me."
"Keep your eyes on the road," you tease, though your voice comes out breathy when his fingers brush the edge of your panties.
"You're not helping." But he doesn't move his hand, just keeps touching you, teasing, until you're squirming in your seat.
The drive feels endless and far too short all at once. When he finally pulls into his driveway, he's out of the car and opening your door before you can unbuckle your seatbelt. He pulls you out, pressing you against the car, and his mouth finds yours again—hot, demanding, perfect.
"Inside," you gasp between kisses. "Kimi, the neighbors—"
He growls but releases you, though his hand finds yours again immediately. You barely make it through the front door before he's on you, pressing you against the wall of the entryway, his body hard and hot against yours.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" His voice is rough, hands roaming your body like he can't decide where to touch first. "All night, watching you, wanting you—"
"Show me," you challenge, and something in his expression turns feral.
His mouth crashes against yours as his hands find the zipper of your dress, sliding it down in one smooth motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you in just your underwear and heels, and he pulls back to look at you.
"Fucking perfect," he breathes, eyes raking over you with undisguised hunger. "How did I get so lucky?"
You reach for his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. "Less talking, more touching."
He laughs, the sound dark and promising, and helps you strip him. Soon his shirt joins your dress on the floor, and your hands explore the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his abdomen. He's beautiful, and he's yours.
His hands cup your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they're hard peaks. You arch into his touch, gasping, and he takes advantage of your distraction to unhook your bra, tossing it aside.
"Bedroom," he mutters, but neither of you move. His mouth finds your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he sucks hard, and your knees nearly buckle.
"Kimi—oh god—"
His arm bands around your waist, holding you up as he lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and sharp nips that make you cry out. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close, and you can feel how wet you're getting, how badly you need him.
"Please," you whimper, and he groans against your skin.
"Love it when you beg for me." His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. When he finds how wet you are, he curses. "Fuck, baby. All this for me?"
"All for you," you confirm breathlessly. "Always for you."
He drops to his knees, pulling your panties down your legs, and the sight of him looking up at you from that position makes your core clench. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, and then his mouth is on you.
The first touch of his tongue makes you cry out, head falling back against the wall. He's relentless, licking and sucking, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as your legs shake. When he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you nearly come apart.
"Kimi—I'm—oh fuck—"
"Come for me," he demands, voice muffled against you. "Want to taste you."
His fingers pump faster, tongue circling your clit with perfect pressure, and you shatter. Pleasure crashes through you in waves, and you're dimly aware of crying out his name, fingers tight in his hair as he works you through it.
When you finally come down, trembling and oversensitive, he stands, and the sight of him—lips glistening, eyes dark with lust—makes you want him all over again.
"Bedroom," he says again, and this time you both move.
You barely register the journey down the hall before you're falling onto his bed, and he's covering your body with his. His weight is perfect, grounding, and when he kisses you, you taste yourself on his tongue.
"Need you," he groans, grinding against you. Even through his pants, you can feel how hard he is. "Need to be inside you."
"Yes," you breathe, reaching for his belt. "Please, Kimi."
He helps you strip him, and then he's finally naked above you, all hard muscle and heated skin. His cock is thick and hard, and when he positions himself at your entrance, you spread your legs wider in invitation.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, pushing inside slowly. The stretch is delicious, perfect, and you both groan as he fills you completely. "So tight. So perfect."
"Move," you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Please move."
He does, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in, and the pleasure is overwhelming. He sets a steady rhythm, each thrust deep and purposeful, and you meet him movement for movement.
"Harder," you gasp, nails raking down his back. "Kimi, harder—"
He complies with a growl, hips snapping against yours with increased force. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixed with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. His hand finds your breast, pinching your nipple, and the added sensation makes you clench around him.
"Fuck, do that again," he demands. "Love feeling you squeeze my cock."
You do, deliberately tightening your muscles, and he curses, rhythm faltering. "You're going to make me come too fast."
"Good," you pant. "Want to feel you come inside me."
His eyes darken impossibly further. "Dirty girl." He shifts the angle slightly, and suddenly he's hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "Touch yourself. Want to feel you come on my cock."
Your hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, and the added stimulation has you spiraling fast. "Kimi—I'm close—"
"That's it, baby. Come for me. Let me feel it."
A few more thrusts and you're gone, orgasm crashing over you with devastating intensity. You cry out his name, body arching, and the feeling of you clenching around him triggers his own release.
"Fuck—" He buries himself deep, hips jerking as he comes, and you feel the warmth of him filling you. His face is buried in your neck, breath hot against your skin, and you hold him close as you both ride out the aftershocks.
When he finally lifts his head, his expression is soft, sated. "Worth leaving the party early?"
You laugh, still breathless. "Definitely worth it."
He kisses you, slow and sweet this time, before carefully pulling out and collapsing beside you. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his chest.
"Sorry I couldn't make it through the whole celebration," he murmurs against your hair.
"Don't be." You trace patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow beneath your palm. "This was a much better celebration anyway."
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Give me ten minutes and we'll celebrate again."
yn yl admits she accidentally got into formula 1 trying to impress man and the internet immediately decides that man is lando norris. unfortunately for them, the internet might actually be right [singer!reader]
warnings: two spelling mistakes?
a/n: back with yet another singer!reader x lando norris smau. absolutely no one is surprised. i'm currently obsessed with drop dead by olivia rodrigo and somehow that turned into this whole smau lol. this is part 1 out of 3. hope you enjoy! x
teamyn ✓
Liked by user13, y/n.y/l and 111.901 others
teamyn new episode of therapuss with jake shane and yn out now 🫶 exclusively on @/netflix and @/spotify.
view all 617 comments
user5 she's SO funny without trying
user19 they made this episode specifically for ME actually ♥︎ by author
user3 did I hear that right? new music SOON??? I need the release date NEOWWW
user15 not the 'i'm past trying to deny i write from experience' HELPPPP 😭
y/n.y/l ✓ a time was had!!! 🐙 ♥︎ by author
user81 and looks were served ! Girlllll you look so good🤩
user2 jake's face when she said she's been into f1 lately SENT me lmaoo
user20 I'M UNCOMFORTABLE WITH HOW CALM EVERYONE IS BEING ABOUT SOME OF THE THINGS TALKED ABOUT IN THIS PODCAST
user9 The accidental oversharing throughout the whole episode was *chef's kiss* 💋
user11 so relatable honestly
user7 SHE SAID NEW MUSIC HOPEFULLY SOON I AM SO READY
user10 she needs to do podcasts more often!!! this was incredible🫶🏼 ♥︎ by author
user14 manifesting at least one (1) love song this new era 🧘🏽♀️
user1 the chemistry between them was SO good ♥︎ by author
user8 you can tell she and jake genuinely got along ♥︎ by author
user6 i could listen to her yap for like 12 hours actually ♥︎ by author
user13 album THREEEEEEE 🙂↕️🙂↕️ ♥︎ by author
user16 this episode just made her feel way more real to me idk
user4 F1 TWITTER WAKE UP???!!! 🗣️
user17 i'm crying this is how we find out she might be in a relationship??
user18 wHAT
user17 girl go watch IMMEDIATELY
20 March 2026
celebwhispers
Liked by user4, user81 and 32.801 others
celebwhispers Singer Yn Yl is being linked to Formula 1 Champion Lando Norris after fans noticed the pair liking a few of each other's Instagram posts over the past few months.
The speculation comes shortly after Y/n revealed on a recent episode of Therapuss with Jake Shane that she 'accidentally' got into Formula 1 while trying to impress a man she liked.
Neither follow each other publicly, and there's currently no evidence the pair have met, but that has never stopped the internet before.
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user8 I'm sat I don't even care if this is fake
user1 'but that has never stopped the internet before' 💀💀💀
celebwhispers Did we lie?
user6 f1 champion🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 lando norris
user11 not the internet building a relationship out of instagram likes again🤡
user33 what bothers me is we lost one of our strongest investigative tools bc half the f1 girlfriends already followed her BEFORE this bc theyre fans 😭
user81 the girls in the paddock having taste is ruining our work smh
user9 I know pr teams everywhere are stressed
user10 everyone say thank you to the person who checked the likes🫵🏼
user14 i'm equal parts surprised and disappointed it's taken us this long to find this information out tbh
user3 the people saying this is a reach are boring booo🍅🍅🍅👎🏻👎🏻
user12 The way she accidentally started a dating rumour by being honest
user13 i'm crying she probably thought nobody would care about that story
user12 She should've thought twice🙂↔️
user7 the fact they don't follow each other is making me MORE convinced somehow
user2 not the first time f1 champion lando norris has done that btw!!!
user5 sorry but two hot people liking each other's posts is enough for me. let's plan the wedding!
user4 everyone involved is probably so uncomfortable right now....
21 March 2026
y/n.y/l ✓
Liked by joejonas, madelineargy and 3.089.041 others
y/n.y/l most alive i've ever been! but kiss me and i might drop dead!!!
'drop dead',
the first single of my third studio album is out this Thursday 2/4 🩷
view all 28.800 comments
user3 OMG YAY 😭🩷🩷🩷 can't wait ♥︎ by author
user13 the way i immediately thought about 'i'm past trying to deny i write from experience'.......... i'll be dissecting every lyric
user10 HOW LONG has the little racing situation been happening for there to already be a SONG 😭
user15 she said new music soon and she actually meant it for once 😳😳 ♥︎ by author
user12 LOVE SONG LOVE SONG LOVE SONG 🗣️
user14 HOW DOES SHE MANAGE TO KEEP MAKING THINGS WORSE FOR HERSELF HELPP
passthatpuss ✓ Ok wait chills ♥︎ by author
user7 i told u all we were finally getting a love song after those stories !!!
user16 this is TERRIFYING
user1 YNYL3 ERA STARTS NEXT WEEK 🩷
user18 aka lando norris pop muse era 😌
user9 a love song announcement ONE WEEK after those rumours … okay 😶
user4 very brave of her tbh
user17 very marketing genius of her too🤫
user6 NEW ERA im sooo ready🫡🫡 ♥︎ by author
teamyn ✓ if you hear screaming from the team office no you didn't
user11 just dopped dead ♥︎ by author
user5 'most alive i’ve ever been' ??? oh we lost her
user8 IM SO HAPPY??🩷 ♥︎ by author
user2 oh this is INSANEEEE
20 March 2026
masterlist | next
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