she/her | 28 | enryu_97 @ ao3. currently in rare pair hell, send help. Max ultimate supporter. mainly posting about F1 now, and vertonelli has had me in a chokehold lately. nsfw mostly. header and icon: pinterest.
Oscar Piastri/Max Verstappen, rated: E, words: 5,452
Summary: Max Verstappen and the Art of Vexing People.
I… don't really know what to say about this one. It was supposed to be hot and short, and somehow it turned into this absolute monster… with a whole lot of angst, especially toward the end. So, please mind the tags!
Also, I can't write smut for shit… and then I went ahead and made most of this fic exactly that. How presumptuous of me.
Hope you'll still enjoy it! I'm pretty nervous about posting this one, though. I really hope I did Maxcar justice 🥹
Next up: Vertonelli with a choking kink. This one won't be nearly as angsty—or angsty at all—I promise!
max on his knees teasing kimi’s cock with feather light kisses and some slow strokes that disappear so quickly when kimi tries to push his hips forward. max loves the idea of edging kimi till the younger one cries and begs (he wants to fuck max senseless but all he can have now is this)
and maybe as the reward for being a good boy max lets him come on his face :)
-🥥
My lovely 🥥, hi!
Screaming into my pillow right now.
Max would for sure love that, because there's nothing hotter to him than seeing Kimi getting so frustrated and desperate for him. But also, Kimi being able to hold on for so long, until Max tells him it's time for him to come and that he can do it all over his face as a reward—and Kimi just, well, does exactly that, right that instant.
look im no authority but i do think people are sleeping on maxcar
youve got:
-younger rookie-ish guy but separated enough from the slew of 2025 ducklings that its comfy to fit in max's adopted kids
-(younger top for mama max uwu)
-quiet adoration (oscar) meets open adoration (max)
-quiet rage meets lashing out (violently) :)
-i mean can you imagine if max and oscar do switch teams and then oscar starts performing better in the car max gave up
-brr max is running him off the track and then oscar yells and they have filthy makeup sex later
-sorry back on track (me not oscar he dnf'd)
-"...do you want to skip [event] stay in?" "Oh thank god, yes"
-both are extremely easy to au (while leaving one a driver if you want)
-libra max with his people pleasing and caring nature and aries oscar with his quiet passion and steady determination to move forward
-(max learns that blunt does not always mean direct and oscar learns how to tell when max is deflecting in two words flat. if there's one thing they wont fall victim to, its miscommunication)
Oscar's eyes are trained on Max's back as he walks away. Gazing at the way his shoulders pull the material of his shirt taut and the way it's bunching around his waist. The water bottle he'd asked Oscar for is held loosely in his hand, half-empty because it used to be Oscar's. He's wearing looser-fit jeans today, and Oscar likes the way they seem to accentuate the small sway of his hips.
Then, loudly:
"Did you just call him babygirl?"
Oscar's eyes widen as he turns to Lando.
"The fuck are you on about?" He tries to play it off, but his voice stutters in a particularly unattractive way. "Max?" he asks, as if he doesn't know exactly what Lando heard.
Lando rolls his eyes. "No, I meant Liam," he snarks. "Obviously I meant Max. So, you gonna tell me what that's all about?"
Oscar does not want to tell Lando what that is all about. "I really don't know what you're talking about, mate."
"The fuck you don't, come on." Lando grabs hold of Oscar's arm and starts pulling him further into the garage and away from the bulk of the prying eyes. "I mean, it didn't sound like some joke, Osc."
Oscar doesn't mind when Lando calls him that, he really doesn't. But Max says it so much softer, the s getting caught on his tongue just slighty, and it feels wrong hearing the sharp consonant at the end in Lando's irritated accent. "So?" he says, just as sharp. "Don't see why it makes a difference to you, or why it might be your business."
Because it isn't, and Oscar wasn't supposed to say that. Somehow, he almost feels like he was led into it, Max asking sweetly if he could have Oscar's water bottle because he'd lost his own, licking his lips to ward away the dryness, saying "Thank you" with bright eyes as if Oscar had given him a great treasure.
It slid right off his tongue. "Of course, babygirl."
Lando had been right next to them. Max had smiled like nothing in the world was wrong or different and walked off.
Lando doesn't seem particularly bothered with Oscar's response, but his annoyance sticks around. "I just thought that you'd tell me if you started doing something like having kinky sex with the competition."
It makes Oscar splutter. "I didn't know I needed to run that by you."
Lando regards him for a moment. His cheeks are red, he's sure of it, and he turns away slightly as if it will do anything to help. "Happy for you, honestly." Lando finally says. "I just really thought you'd be the spoiled princess of the two." He shrugs, as if this is something everyone considers, as if this is a normal thing to say to your friend and teammate upon finding out something that may embarrass them. "I mean, the guy's loaded." And yeah, he is, being a four-time champion will do that to you. But that's never been something Oscar's cared about, and that doesn't decide who gets called what names.
He doesn't see reason to argue those semantics with Lando. "Is that all, Lan?" Oscar asks, and his tone has lost most of the bite it'd had only a few minutes ago. "I was planning to get some rest."
Lando laughs and shakes his head. "Yeah, go cuddle up with your babygirl. See if you can't convince him to slow down for you tomorrow."
Cheeks aflame all over again, Oscar turns and leaves. He had been being honest about getting back to get some rest, if only because Max's schedule was going to be running later, so he had a chance to before they got dinner. Max would have something to say about the situation over dinner, without a doubt.
-
Max doesn't mention it until after dinner. Oscar hasn't mentioned it either, but he still feels a little embarrassed about it all. He blames Lando, really. But once they're laying in bed, in Oscar's room this time because the hotel is closer for the both of them in the morning, Max lifts himself up on one arm and peers down at him. "What did Lando say, Osc?" His voice is quiet, curious.
Oscar sighs and readjusts, reaching to pull Max closer. He goes easily, and they settle against the headboard together, Max tucking himself into Oscar. "Said I'm supposed to be telling him when I have kinky sex with the competition."
Max doesn't laugh like he was hoping, and maybe it was wishhul thinking when he himself had been upset about the same words only hours ago. "Seriously?" he asks instead, as if he doesn't believe Oscar or as if he's disappointed in Lando, Oscar can't tell. Max is warm pressed against him, skin against skin.
"And that he's happy for me," Oscar continues. Max seems to settle somewhat with that thought. "He had us backward, though."
"Backward?" Max tilts his head to look up at Oscar, and for a moment Oscar is lost in his beauty, sharp jaw and striking blue eyes.
Oscar snakes an arm around his waist and pulls Max properly into his lap, his other hand finding purchase in the meat of Max's thigh. Max goes easily, like usual, like always. Once Oscar has him behind closed doors and away from the stress of their lives, there was always something languid about the way Max moved and reacted that nearly made his mouth water. "He had it in his head that I'd be the spoiled one."
Max relaxes fully into Oscar in that same languid way and makes a questioning hum. "You're spoiled," he says, not as a negative but simply as a fact.
"Oh, please. I'm not nearly as spoiled as you, babygirl," Oscar argues. Max just makes another hum, and Oscar leans down and busies his mouth with Max's skin before saying anything too much. He traces the freckles across Max's shoulders with teeth and tongue, careful not to leave any marks. After a few moments Max seems to tire of this, turning around to properly straddle Oscar's lap. His thighs are tight around Oscar's hips. He always looks so pretty like this, and Oscar is happy to be nothing more than a throne upon which Max rests if he so demands. Oscar gives in easily, the same way he had with the water bottle.
"I beg to differ," Max says as he leans down to kiss Oscar.
And Oscar does feel quite spoiled having Max all to himself, knowing things that make him tick that others could never even guess. "I can make you beg, babygirl," Oscar murmurs against his lips, and the excited huff of breath Oscar gets in return just makes him grin and pull Max closer.
It happened quietly, as most things in their relationship do. Almost right under poor Oscar's nose, he almost missed it.
He knew sweetheart made Max smile. Love made him sidle up close. Baby always got Max's attention. Baby boy came naturally one day when Max was pouting over something Oscar had said, and Max had flushed a soft red over it.
He could give Max all manner of compliments and pet names, but he started watching closer. Beautiful always made him grin wide at Oscar. Handsome only got a little shrug out of him. Strong wasn't a favorite either. Pretty seemed to be where the money was, and it nearly made Max shy, turning away from Oscar or into him, however it would be easiest to hide his face.
It wasn't even a sweet compliment that finally solidified it. No, Oscar was being a proper dog, watching Max get dressed for his event from his place on the bed, and said "God, your tits look pretty in that."
Max nearly popped off the button he'd been working at, looking at Oscar with wide eyes. "What?"
Oscar didn't want to show his own surprise, he didn't want Max think he wasn't allowed to want this kind of thing if he liked it. Oscar certainly didn't take any issue with it. "Said your tits look pretty. You sure you have to go?" He asked, grinning at Max.
Max opened his mouth to say something and shut it quickly, cheeks red. He turned his attention back to the last few buttons and got back to work. "Yes, Osc, I'm sure."
And that's that. Oscar was still grinning like the cat that got the cream when Max headed out the door.
-
It's a few weeks later when Oscar really figures it out. Practically stumbles into it.
"Oh? Don't you look pretty, baby boy," Oscar says. And it's fitting because that must be some kind of lipgloss on Max's plump lips, and his shirt is tight—some ribbed black thing and his tits look good in this one too—and his hair is brushed back rather nicely.
But Max just hums and smiles at him. Says "thank you" in that soft way, but there's no blush on his cheeks. Are his eyelashes darker than usual? Then he steps away from Oscar.
"What? No, you get back here," Oscar says, no real bite to his tone, grabbing for Max's waist before he can get too far. "Where are you going all dressed up like that?"
"Obviously, I was going to meet my secret boyfriend," Max says with a roll of his eyes, but he sinks easily into Oscar's hold. "We have dinner later, don't we?"
They do. Oscar made the reservations last week. "Want to do dessert first, before we leave?" he teases, inching his fingers under the hem of Max's shirt until he feels warm skin against them.
Max rolls his eyes again. "You want to ruin all my hard work?"
Oscar looks him over again. Combed hair, dark eyelashes, shiny lips. "All dolled up like a girl, aren't you?" he says, cheekily, and watches closely for the reaction.
And there it is. The pink rises to Max's cheeks, his eyes go wide, and he turns his head away. "You said I look pretty."
He did, and he isn't about to take that back. God, no. Never. Max was made in a lab just for him, he was sure of it. "I know, babygirl, you do," he says, and there's no cheek to his tone now, just undeniable adoration.
It sticks quickly after that. They have an early dessert and show up late to their reservation.
