hiii! first…the recent…wow wow wow that ate so hard. every part of it too. your writing is truly a gift you give us time and time again.
can you possibly write a oscar x reader piece/blurb about reader riding oscar and they both love it; reader because she feels like she’s in control/knows he likes it and oscar because he knows you’re good at it and seeing her tits. like i’m talking riding on a level that includes him choking you (but not hurting you), praise/degrading, and a tummy bulge before or after (because he’s into that).
bonus points if after care is added after.
Hi Ty!
But I’ve already written a fic quite close to what you’ve just requested!
You can give it a read here:
💬 5 🔁 12 ❤️ 733 · Just Feel It · alright absolutely needing one where reader ridesss osc and at some point he grabs part of her (neck mayb
hello hello hello saw u said u did poly and feel like i just got a green light to request soooo here i am. oh glorious wonderful author will you graciously bless us with some landoscar x reader (when you have time to write it ofc) like a chaos personified reader with horny asf lando and cunning and sly (but painfully awkward) oscar. perhaps a plot where reader is just a terror to all but her boyfriends love her so so much (that’s shitty i’m sorry i’m half asleep) i am just gonna finish this and leave an emoji at the end as a #signature cuz i may be a coward and send this anon but i will be back with more landoscar requests (and probably other cuz ur awesome and i love ur writing and id so go on ur patreon if i wasn’t broke asf)
-😈
Chaos Theory
Landoscar x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: When a horny asf Lando, meets a sly and cunning Oscar, combined with their chaos personified girlfriend.. what could go wrong.
The apartment door slammed open with enough force to rattle the expensive artwork on the walls.
"I'm home, bitches!"
You kicked off your heels mid-stride, sending one careening into the hallway table and the other somewhere in the general direction of the living room. Your jacket followed, tossed with theatrical flair over the back of a chair it completely missed, landing in a heap on the floor instead.
Lando's head popped up from the couch immediately, his entire face lighting up like you'd just announced Christmas came early. "Finally! Do you have any idea how long we've been waiting?"
"Forty-seven minutes," Oscar said from his position in the armchair, not looking up from his book. But you caught the slight curve of his lips, the way his eyes tracked your movement across the room even as he pretended to read. Cunning bastard.
"Forty-seven minutes too long," Lando groaned, already on his feet and moving toward you. "You said you'd be home an hour ago."
"I got distracted." You grinned, spinning to face them both. Your dress—a little black number that had been driving them crazy via text messages all day—rode up slightly with the movement. "There was this street performer doing this thing with fire and—"
"You stopped to watch a street performer." Oscar finally closed his book, setting it aside with deliberate precision. "While we were here. Waiting."
"He was juggling fire, Oscar. *Fire*."
"Mhmm." Oscar stood, and despite his lean frame, there was something predatory in the movement. Something that made your pulse quicken. "And the texts? The photos you sent us all day?"
"What about them?" You tried for innocent. Failed spectacularly.
Lando was close now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. "You know exactly what you did," he murmured, voice already rough with want. "That changing room photo? The one where you were 'just trying on clothes'?"
"I was trying on clothes!"
"You weren't wearing a bra." Oscar had moved too, circling around behind you like he was closing a trap. "Or underwear, from what we could tell."
You spun to face him, walking backward until you bumped into Lando's chest. His hands immediately found your hips, steadying you, holding you. "Maybe I forgot them."
"You don't forget things like that," Oscar said, still advancing. "You do things like that on purpose. Because you like making us crazy."
"Do I make you crazy?" You batted your eyelashes at him.
Lando's laugh was strained, his fingers tightening on your hips. "Baby, you have no idea. I've been hard since that first text at noon."
"That's a medical condition, Lando. You should see a doctor."
"I'm looking at the only cure I need." His lips found your neck, pressing hot kisses along the column of your throat. You melted back against him, but kept your eyes on Oscar.
Oscar, who had stopped just in front of you, close enough to touch but not touching. His eyes—usually so carefully neutral—were dark with intent. "You're trouble," he said softly.
"You love it."
"We do," he agreed. "We love you. Even when you're being a complete menace."
"Especially when she's being a menace," Lando corrected, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress.
You gasped, arching into the touch. "I'm not—oh fuck—I'm not a menace."
"You're chaos personified," Oscar said, and then his hand was on your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "Beautiful, infuriating chaos."
"You're just mad because I'm more fun than your boring book."
His smile was sharp. Dangerous. "I'm going to make you pay for that."
"Promises, promises—"
The words died as Oscar's mouth crashed into yours, swallowing whatever smart-ass comment you'd been about to make. His kiss was demanding, possessive, nothing like his usual careful control. His tongue swept into your mouth and you moaned, pressing back against Lando, who groaned at the pressure against his obvious erection.
"Fuck, you two are hot," Lando breathed against your ear, his hands now openly cupping your breasts, squeezing gently. "I could watch you kiss all day."
Oscar pulled back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing yours. "But you won't. Because you're going to join us."
"Don't have to tell me twice." Lando spun you around, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was entirely different from Oscar's—eager, almost desperate, full of barely restrained hunger. His hands were everywhere, sliding down your back, gripping your ass, pulling you flush against him so you could feel exactly how affected he was.
You felt Oscar press against your back, sandwiching you between them. His lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear while his hands settled on your hips, fingers playing with the hem of your dress.
"Bedroom," Oscar murmured. "Now."
"Bossy," you managed, though your voice was already breathless.
"You love it when I'm bossy." His teeth grazed your earlobe. "Don't pretend you don't."
He wasn't wrong. You loved the contrast between them—Lando's open, eager desire and Oscar's calculated intensity. The way Lando wore his heart (and his arousal) on his sleeve, while Oscar made you work for every crack in his composure.
Lando was already pulling you toward the bedroom, walking backward, unwilling to stop kissing you even for the few seconds it would take to get there. You stumbled, laughing against his mouth, and felt Oscar's steadying hand on your lower back.
"You're going to trip and break something," Oscar said, but there was affection in his exasperation.
"Then catch me," you shot back.
"Always."
The bedroom was dimly lit, the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows casting everything in a soft glow. Lando finally released your mouth, both of you panting, and Oscar took the opportunity to spin you around to face him.
"You've been teasing us all day," he said, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of your dress. "I think it's our turn."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie." The zipper slid down with agonizing slowness. "You knew exactly what you were doing. Every text, every photo. You wanted us desperate for you."
"Did it work?" You tried to sound coy, but it came out breathless as Lando's hands slid under your dress from behind, palms hot against your bare skin.
"What do you think?" Lando's voice was rough as his hands explored higher, discovering what Oscar had already guessed. "Fuck, you really aren't wearing anything under this."
"Surprise," you managed weakly.
Oscar's laugh was low and dark. "Oh, baby. You have no idea what you've started."
He pushed the dress off your shoulders and it pooled at your feet, leaving you completely naked between them. For a moment, they both just looked at you, and you felt the weight of their gazes like a physical touch.
"Beautiful," Lando breathed. "So fucking beautiful."
"Ours," Oscar added, and the possessiveness in his voice sent heat pooling low in your belly.
You reached for Oscar's shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons. "Too many clothes. This isn't fair."
"Life isn't fair, sweetheart." But he helped you anyway, shrugging out of his shirt while Lando did the same behind you. You felt Lando's bare chest press against your back, his skin fever-hot, and then Oscar was kissing you again, slower this time but no less intense.
Lando's hands cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked. You moaned into Oscar's mouth, arching into the touch, and felt Oscar smile against your lips.
"Sensitive," he murmured. "Lando, I think she likes that."
"She loves it." Lando's voice was smug as he pinched gently, making you gasp. "Don't you, baby?"
"Yes," you admitted, past the point of playing coy. "Yes, fuck, don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it." Lando's mouth found your shoulder, kissing and sucking marks into your skin while his hands continued their torment.
Oscar's hands slid down your sides, over your hips, and then between your thighs. You were already wet—had been since you walked in the door, if you were honest—and his fingers slid through your folds with embarrassing ease.
"So wet already," he said, almost conversationally, like he wasn't currently making your knees weak. "Were you thinking about this all day? About us?"
"Yes," you gasped as one finger circled your clit. "Yes, couldn't stop thinking about it."
"Good." He pressed a kiss to your jaw. "We couldn't stop thinking about you either. About this."
His finger slid inside you and you cried out, grabbing his shoulders for support. Lando's hands tightened on your breasts, holding you steady between them as Oscar added a second finger, stretching you, finding that spot inside that made you see stars.
"Oscar, fuck, I—"
"Not yet," he said firmly. "You made us wait all day. You can wait a little longer."
"That's cruel."
"That's fair." But his thumb found your clit, rubbing in slow circles that had you trembling. "Besides, we're not nearly done with you yet."
Lando's hand slid down your stomach, joining Oscar's between your legs. You felt him press against your entrance alongside Oscar's fingers, and the stretch was delicious, overwhelming.
"Too much," you gasped, but you were pushing back against them, wanting more.
"You can take it," Lando murmured against your neck. "You always do. You take us so well, baby."
They worked you together, fingers moving in tandem, and you were caught between them, helpless to do anything but feel. Oscar's mouth found yours again, swallowing your moans, while Lando marked up your neck and shoulders, his free hand still playing with your breast.
The orgasm built fast and hard, pleasure coiling tight in your core. You were close, so close, trembling and gasping between them.
"That's it," Oscar encouraged, his voice rough. "Come for us. Let us feel it."
"Come on our fingers," Lando added. "Show us how much you missed us."
It crashed over you like a wave, pleasure whiting out your vision as you clenched around their fingers. You might have screamed—probably did—but Oscar's mouth caught the sound, kissing you through it while their hands gentled, drawing out your pleasure until you were shaking with aftershocks.
"Fuck," you breathed when you could speak again. "Fuck, that was—"
"Just the beginning," Oscar finished. He withdrew his fingers slowly, and you watched, dazed, as he brought them to his mouth, licking them clean. "Delicious."
Lando made a wounded sound. "Not fair, I want to taste."
"Then get on your knees," Oscar said, and the command in his voice made all three of you shiver.
Lando didn't need to be told twice. He dropped to his knees behind you, hands gripping your hips, and then his mouth was on you, tongue sliding through your folds, lapping up the evidence of your orgasm.
Your knees buckled and Oscar caught you, holding you up while Lando devoured you from behind. His tongue was everywhere—circling your clit, dipping inside you, driving you crazy with broad, flat strokes.
"Oh god," you moaned, head falling back against Oscar's shoulder. "Oh fuck, Lando—"
"He's good at that, isn't he?" Oscar's hands cupped your breasts, playing with your nipples while Lando worked between your legs. "Loves eating you out. Could do it for hours if we let him."
"Please," you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for. More? Less? Everything?
Oscar seemed to understand anyway. He tilted your head to the side, kissing you deeply while Lando sucked your clit into his mouth. The dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building again impossibly fast.
"Going to come again," you warned breathlessly. "Fuck, I'm going to—"
"Do it," Oscar commanded against your lips. "Come on his tongue. Let him taste you."
You shattered, crying out as the second orgasm ripped through you. Lando groaned against you, the vibration prolonging your pleasure, his hands tight on your hips as you shook apart.
When you finally came down, Lando pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before standing. His lips were wet, his eyes dark with lust, and when Oscar kissed him, you watched them share your taste between them.
"Bed," Oscar said when they broke apart. "Now."
You climbed onto the massive bed on shaky legs, and they followed, Lando immediately pulling you into another kiss while Oscar finished undressing. When you finally saw him fully naked, cock hard and leaking, you reached for him.
"Want you," you said simply. "Want both of you."
"You have us," Lando promised, his own pants now gone, his erection pressing hot against your hip. "Always have us."
Oscar stretched out on the bed, pulling you on top of him. You straddled his hips, grinding down against his cock, and he groaned, hands gripping your waist.
"Fuck, you're still so wet," he breathed. "Think you can take me?"
"Yes," you said immediately. "Yes, please, Oscar—"
He lined himself up and you sank down slowly, both of you moaning at the stretch, the fullness. He was thick, and even after two orgasms, you felt every inch as he filled you.
"Perfect," Oscar groaned when you were fully seated. "You feel perfect."
You started to move, rolling your hips, and his head fell back against the pillows. Behind you, you felt the bed dip as Lando moved closer, his hands sliding up your back.
"So fucking hot," Lando murmured. "Watching you ride him. Can I—"
"Yes," you and Oscar said simultaneously, and Lando laughed.
You felt him move behind you, felt the cool slick of lube, and then his fingers were there, preparing you carefully. You'd done this before—many times—but Lando was always careful, always made sure you were ready.
"Okay?" he asked, pressing one finger inside.
"Yes," you gasped, still moving on Oscar's cock. "More, Lando, please."
He added another finger, stretching you, and Oscar's hands tightened on your hips, holding you still so Lando could work.
"Breathe," Oscar reminded you, one hand coming up to cup your face. "We've got you."
You breathed, relaxing into the stretch, and soon Lando was pressing inside, slow and careful. The fullness was intense, almost too much, but then he was fully seated and all three of you were connected.
"Fuck," Lando breathed. "Fuck, you're so tight."
"Give her a second," Oscar said, though his voice was strained.
You took a breath, then another, adjusting to the sensation of being completely filled. And then you moved, just a small roll of your hips, and all three of you groaned.
"Okay," you gasped. "Okay, move, please move."
They did, finding a rhythm together—when Oscar thrust up, Lando pulled back, and vice versa. You were caught between them, overwhelmed by sensation, pleasure building with every movement.
"So good," you moaned. "Fuck, you both feel so good."
"You're taking us so well," Oscar praised, his thumb finding your clit. "Such a good girl for us."
"Our girl," Lando added, his hands sliding around to cup your breasts. "Our perfect, chaotic girl."
The pleasure built higher, faster, all three of you moving together. Oscar's thumb on your clit, Lando's hands on your breasts, both of them inside you—it was overwhelming in the best way.
"Close," you gasped. "Fuck, I'm close."
"Come for us," Oscar commanded, his hips snapping up harder. "Want to feel you come around us."
"Come on, baby," Lando encouraged, his rhythm faltering. "Come with us."
Oscar's thumb pressed harder on your clit and you came with a scream, clenching around both of them. You felt Oscar follow immediately, his cock pulsing inside you as he groaned your name. Lando lasted only a few more thrusts before he was coming too, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.
For a long moment, none of you moved, all three of you breathing hard, trembling with aftershocks. Then Lando carefully pulled out, and Oscar helped you off him, all three of you collapsing onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.
"Holy shit," you breathed.
"Yeah," Lando agreed, already pulling you against his chest. "Holy shit."
Oscar pressed against your back, his arm draping over both of you. "You okay?"
"More than okay." You turned your head to kiss him, then twisted to kiss Lando. "That was incredible."
"You're incredible," Lando murmured, pressing kisses to your forehead, your nose, your cheeks.
"Even when I'm being chaotic?" you teased.
"Especially then," Oscar said. "We love your chaos. We love you."
"I love you too," you said softly. "Both of you. So much."
You lay there together, trading lazy kisses and soft touches, until Lando eventually got up to get a warm cloth to clean you up. He was gentle, careful, pressing kisses to your thighs as he worked.
"Such good care of me," you murmured sleepily.
"Always," he promised, climbing back into bed.
Oscar pulled the covers over all three of you, and you settled between them, your head on Lando's chest, Oscar's arm around your waist.
"No more teasing texts tomorrow," Oscar said, but there was no heat in it.
"I make no promises," you replied, and felt both of them laugh.
"Chaos," Lando said fondly.
"Your chaos," you corrected.
"Our chaos," Oscar agreed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
You fell asleep like that, wrapped in their warmth, their love, knowing that tomorrow you'd probably drive them crazy all over again.
I love love love your kid fics. I would love a fic where reader has a kid and is dating a driver (anyone tbh but my fav is Oscar) and they’re watching Cinderella and the kid asks why step parents get such a bad rep bc her step dad is awesome and it’s the first time that the kid has EVER referred to him as a parent and it’s sweet and fluffy and cute!
Again I love your work so much!
A Different Kind Of Cinderella Story
Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Oscar joins you and your daughter for movie night, and Cinderella turns unexpectedly emotional when she casually calls him her “step dad” for the first time — a tiny slip that leaves him soft, stunned, and completely in love with the little family he’s found.
Warning: cuteness overload 🥺
Moonlight Radio: tysm 🫶🏻, this was so adorable, I hope u like it!
Oscar doesn’t even make it ten minutes into Cinderella before your daughter ends up half‑asleep on his chest, her curls spilling over his hoodie, one of her tiny hands fisted in the fabric like she’s anchoring herself to him.
You’re curled up on the other end of the sofa, watching the two of them more than the movie — because honestly, how could you not. Oscar’s arm is around her automatically, thumb brushing slow circles on her shoulder, eyes soft in that way he never quite realises he does.
It’s domestic. It’s stupidly sweet. It’s everything you never thought you’d get again.
The movie plays on, the wicked stepmother being her usual dramatic self, when your daughter suddenly sits up a little, frowning at the screen.
“Why do step parents get such a bad rep?” she asks, completely serious. “My step dad is awesome.”
Oscar freezes.
You freeze.
The world freezes.
Because she has never — not once — used that word for him.
She doesn’t even seem to realise what she’s said. She just leans back against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Oscar’s eyes flick to yours, wide, stunned, a little glassy. He mouths, did you hear that? and you nod, biting back the kind of smile that makes your chest ache.
He swallows, voice soft. “Hey, sweetheart… what made you say that?”
She shrugs, still watching the movie. “Well, she’s mean. You’re not mean. You make pancakes and you braid my hair and you do the voices when you read bedtime stories. So you’re a good step dad.”
Oscar’s breath catches — actually catches — and he presses a kiss to the top of her head like he can’t help himself.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and his voice cracks just a little. “That means a lot.”
She beams, completely oblivious to the emotional earthquake she’s caused, and snuggles back into him. Within minutes she’s asleep again, tiny snores puffing against his chest.
Oscar looks at you over her head, and the expression on his face is something you’ll remember forever — awe, love, disbelief, and something fiercely protective.
He mouths, I love her.
Then, after a beat, I love you.
You shift closer, tucking a blanket around all three of you, and rest your hand over his where it sits on her back.
“She meant it,” you whisper.
“I know,” he whispers back, eyes shining. “I just… I didn’t think I’d ever get to be this for someone.”
You lean your forehead against his shoulder. “You earned it. Every bit of it.”
He exhales shakily, holding both of you a little tighter, like he’s anchoring himself now.
On the TV, Cinderella gets her happily ever after.
because im a little curious george: do u follow any other sports? 🤩 F1 isnt as big where im from so i was curious about others!! We watch a lot of hockey and the playoffs have been stressing me out ❤️🩹❤️🩹
Well, I was raised in a predominantly Rugby household, so there’s that 😂
But I’ve been getting into a lot of other sports besides F1 like: Tennis, Football, American Football also. I’m also a die hard figure skating fan.. bit of a weird combination but 🤭🙃
my request is something angsty where Landon's new girl is new to all that attention and feels like the whole world tells her that he isn't the right one for her. She is scared that he will hurt her and grows distance making it even more difficult and painful
You Don’t Have to Be Brave With Me
Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: You pull away from Lando after the world convinces you he’ll break your heart. He notices, gently confronts you, and when you finally admit you’re scared, he holds you close and promises he’s not going anywhere.
When you first started seeing Lando, everything felt warm and easy. He was sunshine in human form — all bright smiles, soft curls, and the kind of affection that made your chest feel too small for your heart. But then the world found out. And suddenly it wasn’t just you and him anymore. It was you, him, and millions of opinions you never asked for.
People online said you weren’t right for him. That you weren’t enough. That he’d get bored. That he’d break your heart. That you were just another phase.
You tried to ignore it. You tried to pretend it didn’t matter.
But it did.
It crawled under your skin, settled in your ribs, and whispered to you at night when you were trying to sleep.
What if they’re right?
What if he hurts me?
What if I’m stupid for believing this could be real?
And slowly — painfully — you started to pull back.
Not in obvious ways. You still texted him. You still smiled when he walked into a room. You still kissed him goodnight.
But you stopped reaching for his hand first.
You stopped leaning into his touch.
You stopped letting him see the softest parts of you.
And Lando noticed. Of course he noticed.
He noticed when you flinched at the cameras.
He noticed when you hesitated before getting into his car.
He noticed when you smiled at him like you were apologising for something you hadn’t even done.
He noticed when you stopped calling him “Lan” and went back to “Lando.”
He didn’t push. He didn’t demand answers. He just watched you drift further away, and it hurt him in a way he didn’t know how to explain.
---
Tonight, It Finally Breaks.
You’re at his place — the one place that used to feel like a bubble away from the world. But even here, you feel the weight of everyone’s opinions pressing on your chest.
You sit on the edge of his bed, fingers twisting in your sleeves, trying to breathe around the ache in your throat.
Lando stands in the doorway, watching you with that soft, worried expression he gets when he’s trying not to overwhelm you.
“Love,” he says quietly, “you haven’t looked at me properly all night.”
Your chest tightens.
“I’m fine,” you whisper.
He walks over slowly, like you’re something fragile he refuses to break. He kneels in front of you, hands resting on his thighs instead of reaching for you — giving you space, giving you control.
“You’re not fine,” he says gently. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”
Your eyes burn. You look away.
“I just…” Your voice cracks. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
His breath catches, but he keeps his voice steady.
“Do what?”
“This,” you whisper. “Us. The attention. The comments. Everyone telling me I’m wrong for you. That you’ll hurt me. That I’m stupid for trusting you. I feel like I’m waiting for something bad to happen.”
Lando’s face softens in a way that makes your heart twist painfully.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
He reaches up slowly — giving you every chance to pull away — and when you don’t, he cups your cheek with the gentlest touch.
“You think I’m going to hurt you?”
You swallow hard. “I don’t want to. I just… I’m scared.”
He nods, like he understands more than you’re even saying.
“Can I tell you something?” he murmurs.
You nod.
“I’m scared too.”
Your eyes snap up to his.
“I’m scared of losing you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared that one day you’ll decide I’m not worth all this. I’m scared that you’ll think I don’t care enough or that I’m not doing enough to protect you from all the noise.”
Your breath stutters.
“But I would never hurt you,” he continues, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “Not on purpose. Not ever. You’re the last person in the world I’d want to see in pain.”
Your eyes fill, and this time you can’t stop the tears.
Lando shifts closer, still on his knees, still grounding you with his presence.
“You don’t have to be brave with me,” he whispers. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. Just talk to me. Let me in.”
A sob escapes you — small, broken, but real.
And Lando moves instantly.
He climbs onto the bed beside you, pulling you gently into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he’s shielding you from the entire world. You bury your face in his hoodie, gripping the fabric like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
You cry — quietly, messily, honestly — and he holds you through every second of it. His fingers stroke your back, his lips press soft kisses to your temple, and he whispers every reassurance he can think of.
“You’re enough.”
“You’re perfect for me.”
“I choose you.”
“I want you.”
“You’re safe with me.”
Eventually, your breathing steadies. Your fingers loosen in his hoodie. You feel small and tired and held.
Lando tilts your chin up gently.
“Look at me for a sec.”
You do.
His eyes are warm, steady, full of something that feels like home.
“I don’t care what anyone else says,” he tells you. “I know what I feel. I know what we are. And I’m not letting the world scare you away from me.”
Your chest aches — but in a softer way now.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t apologise. Just… don’t shut me out. Let me be there for you.”
You nod, and he smiles — that soft, relieved smile that makes his dimples show.
“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling you fully into his arms again.
You curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
For the first time in weeks, you feel safe.
For the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe him.
And Lando holds you like he’s been waiting for you to come back to him — arms wrapped tight, lips brushing your forehead, whispering soft promises into your hair.
“You’re my girl,” he says quietly. “And I’m not letting you go.”
The yacht is absolutely perfect. Of course it is—Max doesn't do anything halfway. It's sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the Mediterranean Sea stretching endlessly in all directions. There's no one else around for miles, nothing but water and sky and the two of you.
"Come here," Max says, and there's a command in his voice that makes your pulse quicken. He's standing at the helm, one hand on the wheel, looking every bit the confident, commanding man he is. His shirt is already unbuttoned, revealing the hard lines of his chest and abs.
You walk toward him, and he reaches out to grab your hand, pulling you against him. The boat sways gently beneath your feet, and you grip his shoulders for balance.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes dark with desire as he takes in your appearance. You're wearing a simple white sundress, nothing underneath, because you both knew from the moment you stepped onto this yacht that clothes were going to be coming off. "But you'd look even better without this."
He doesn't wait for a response before his hands find the hem of your dress and pull it up and over your head in one smooth motion. The sea breeze hits your skin, and you shiver—though whether it's from the cool air or from the intensity of Max's gaze, you're not entirely sure.
"Perfect," he says, and his hands start to roam over your body—your breasts, your waist, your hips. "All mine. And out here, where anyone could see."
The idea of being exposed like this, of potentially being seen by another boat or yacht passing by, should make you nervous. But instead, it only turns you on more. There's something thrilling about the risk, about the openness of it all.
Max pulls you closer and kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his hands grip your hips. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your lower belly through his shorts, and you reach down to stroke him through the fabric.
"Not yet," he says, breaking the kiss. "I want to take my time with you."
He guides you toward one of the loungers on the deck, and he helps you settle onto it before positioning himself between your legs. The sun is warm on your skin, and the sea breeze is cool, and the combination is absolutely intoxicating.
Max lowers his head and kisses your inner thigh, working his way upward with deliberate slowness. Each kiss is a promise, a preview of what's to come. When his mouth finally reaches your core, you gasp, your hands immediately finding his hair.
"Oh God," you breathe. "Max..."
"Shh," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Just relax. Let me enjoy you."
He eats you out with clear devotion, his tongue working you expertly, and you can't help but arch your hips toward him, seeking more contact. The vulnerability of being completely naked on the open deck, with nothing but the ocean around you, makes everything feel more intense.
You're building toward your first orgasm when Max suddenly pulls back and stands up, his breathing heavy. For a moment, you think he's going to make you wait, but instead he's quickly removing his shorts, his hard cock springing free.
"I can't wait anymore," he says, and there's an edge of desperation in his voice. "I need to be inside you. Now."
He positions himself between your legs and pushes into you slowly, and you cry out at the sensation of him filling you. He's large, and even though you're ready for him, it still takes your breath away every single time.
"Fuck," he groans, and he stays still for a moment, clearly savoring the feeling of being inside you. "You always feel so good. So perfect."
He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. The lounger rocks slightly with his movements, and you can hear the water lapping against the hull of the yacht beneath the sounds of your combined breathing.
"I love this," you gasp. "I love being out here with you. I love that anyone could see us."
"That's what I love about you," Max says, and his thrusts become a bit more forceful. "You're not afraid. You're willing to take risks. Willing to be seen."
His pace increases, and you can feel the tension building in both of you. The sun is beating down on your skin, and you're covered in a light sheen of sweat, and it's absolutely perfect.
"Come for me," he demands, and his hand moves between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
His touch is enough to push you over the edge, and you come hard, your inner muscles clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over you. He follows moments later, his body tensing as he fills you, his face buried against your neck as he groans his release.
When it's over, you're both breathing heavily, and Max carefully withdraws and lies beside you on the lounger, pulling you into his arms.
"That was incredible," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your forehead and cheeks and lips. "But I'm not done with you yet."
---
You're still catching your breath when Max stands up and guides you to your feet. He's already hard again—you're amazed by his stamina, his constant need for you—and he leads you toward the railing at the edge of the deck.
"What are you doing?" you ask, though you have a feeling you know exactly what he's planning.
"I want to fuck you against the railing," he says bluntly. "I want you to be able to look out at the ocean while I'm inside you. I want you to feel completely open, completely exposed."
He positions you facing the railing, your hands gripping the cold metal, and he stands behind you. The position leaves you completely vulnerable, completely open to him, and when he enters you from behind, the angle is incredible.
"Oh God," you moan. "Max, that's so deep."
"I know," he says, and he's already setting a punishing pace, his hips slamming into yours with intensity. "I want you to feel all of me. Want you to know exactly who you belong to."
His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, and you don't care. You want the marks. You want the evidence of what you're doing out here, in the open, where anyone could see.
The rocking of the boat combined with his thrusts is pushing you toward another orgasm already, and you can hear the desperation in your own voice as you cry out his name.
"That's it," he says. "Scream for me. Let anyone within earshot know that you're mine."
"Yes," you gasp. "Yes, I'm yours. All yours."
He reaches around and plays with your clit while he continues to thrust into you, and it's too much. Your orgasm crashes over you, and you're gripping the railing so hard your knuckles turn white. Your inner muscles clench around him, and he groans against your shoulder as he comes again, filling you completely.
This time when he pulls out, he helps you turn around and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you inside the yacht. The sudden change from the bright sun and open air to the cool, air-conditioned interior is jarring, but not unwelcome.
He carries you toward the master bedroom and tosses you onto the large bed with surprising gentleness given his obvious need. The bed is incredibly soft, and you sink into it as Max hovers over you, his dark eyes intense.
"I want to try something," he says. "Are you okay with that?"
"What do you have in mind?" you ask, intrigued by the mysterious glint in his eyes.
He doesn't answer with words. Instead, he grabs a silk scarf from the dresser—clearly something he's thought about before—and holds it up for your inspection.
"I want to tie your hands," he says. "I want you completely at my mercy. Can you do that for me?"
Your heart rate picks up at the suggestion. You've talked about this before, about the idea of giving him complete control, but you've never actually done it. But looking into his eyes, seeing the careful consideration there alongside the desire, you nod.
"Okay," you say. "But if I want you to stop, I'll say our safe word."
"Of course," he says, and he ties the scarf around your wrists, securing them to the headboard. He tests the restraint, making sure it's not too tight, that he can still slide a finger underneath. "Okay?"
"Okay," you confirm, and you feel a thrill run through you at the vulnerability of the position.
Max steps back to admire his handiwork, and you can see his cock is already hard again. He's insatiable, and you love it.
He climbs back onto the bed and positions himself between your legs, and when he enters you, the sensation is completely different from before. Without the use of your hands, you're completely at his mercy, completely dependent on him for your pleasure.
His thrusts are slow and deliberate, and he watches your face carefully as he moves inside you, clearly attuned to your every reaction.
"How does this feel?" he asks.
"Amazing," you breathe. "I love it. I love being tied up for you."
A satisfied smile crosses his face, and he increases his pace slightly. His hands roam over your body—your breasts, your stomach, your thighs—and everywhere he touches, you feel like you're on fire.
"You're so beautiful like this," he says. "So vulnerable. So completely mine."
He leans down and kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he continues to move inside you. His hand moves between your bodies and finds your clit, and he starts to rub in firm circles.
You're building toward another orgasm, and with your hands tied, all you can do is meet his thrusts by rolling your hips, completely dependent on him for your pleasure. It's exhilarating and terrifying and absolutely incredible all at the same time.
"I'm close," he says against your lips. "Come for me. Come while you're tied to my bed, completely at my mercy."
His words push you over the edge, and you come hard, your body convulsing beneath him. He follows moments later, his entire body tensing as he fills you once again.
When he finally stills, he carefully unties your wrists and checks them for any signs of irritation. Finding none, he pulls you into his arms and holds you close.
"That was amazing," you whisper.
"You were amazing," he corrects. "You're always amazing."
---
You're not sure how much time passes as you lie there in his arms, dozing lightly and enjoying the comfort of being close to him. But eventually, you feel Max stirring, and you know what that means.
When you open your eyes, he's propped up on one elbow, looking down at you with that intense gaze that never fails to make your pulse quicken.
"Again?" you ask, amused.
"Always," he says simply. "I can never get enough of you."
He kisses you softly at first, but the kiss quickly becomes more passionate, more demanding. His hands start to roam over your body again, and you can feel his cock hardening against your hip.
This time, he positions you differently—on your side, your back against his chest, one of your legs hooked over his, giving him access from behind. The position is intimate in a different way, less about performance and more about connection.
"I love you," he whispers against your ear as he enters you slowly. "I hope you know that. This isn't just about sex for me. You mean everything to me."
"I love you too," you respond, and you mean it completely. "You mean everything to me."
He moves inside you with care and tenderness, his hand coming to rest on your heart as if he can feel it beating for him. His thrusts are slower this time, less frantic, more about the connection between you than the physical pleasure alone.
But don't be fooled by the tenderness—it's no less intense. If anything, it's more so, because it's coming from a place of deep love and devotion.
You can feel yourself building toward another orgasm, and you reach back to grip his hair, pulling him closer. He responds by increasing his pace slightly, his hand moving down to your clit to help bring you over the edge.
When you come this time, it's different from before—deeper, more emotional, more connected. And when he comes moments later, burying himself deep inside you as he groans your name, it feels like the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.
Afterward, you lie there in silence for a long time, just breathing together, your bodies intertwined. The sun is starting to set outside the window, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and purple.
"Thank you," Max says finally.
"For what?" you ask.
"For this. For being here with me. For letting me have you like this. For being you."
You turn in his arms so you're facing him, and you kiss him deeply.
"Thank you for making me feel so loved," you say. "So desired. So seen."
---
As evening falls, Max insists on taking you back up on deck to watch the sunset. He wraps you in one of his shirts—which is far too large and absolutely adorable on you—and pulls you close as you watch the sky change colors.
"I want to make love to you one more time tonight," he says softly. "Out here. Under the stars. Is that okay?"
"More than okay," you say.
But first, he brings you food and water, insisting that you eat and hydrate. There's something endearing about how he takes care of you, how he balances the intensity of dominating you in bed with genuine concern for your wellbeing.
By the time you've finished eating, the sun has set and the stars are beginning to appear in the darkening sky. The yacht is anchored, rocking gently with the waves, and it feels like you're the only two people in the world.
Max guides you to one of the larger loungers on the deck, and he helps you out of his shirt. Then he lies back and pulls you on top of him, your body straddling his, his hard cock pressing against your core.
"I want you to be in control this time," he says. "I want you to take what you need from me."
You position yourself above him and slowly sink down, taking him inside you at your own pace. The angle is perfect, and you can feel him hitting all the right spots inside you.
You start to move, setting your own pace, and Max's hands grip your hips, but loosely, allowing you to control the rhythm. His eyes never leave your face, watching every expression that crosses your features.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "Especially like this. Riding me under the stars, completely confident in who you are."
You lean down and kiss him as you continue to move above him, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. The intimacy of it—of being able to control your own pleasure while remaining completely connected to him—is incredible.
"I'm close," you say after several minutes.
"Then come," he says simply. "Come for me, and I'll follow."
You increase your pace, chasing your orgasm, and when it hits, it washes over you in waves. Max holds you close as your body convulses above him, and moments later, he's coming too, his entire body tensing beneath you.
When it's finally over, you collapse against his chest, completely spent and utterly satisfied. His arms wrap around you, and you lie there together, listening to the sound of the water against the hull and the gentle creaking of the yacht.
"I never want this to end," he whispers.
"It doesn't have to," you respond. "We could stay out here forever."
"I'd like that," he says, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "As long as you're with me, I'd like that."
You fall asleep in his arms on the deck under the stars, completely content and absolutely loved, already looking forward to the next time he takes you out on the yacht. Because now that you've experienced this—the freedom, the openness, the raw intensity of your desire in the open water—you know you'll never be able to resist when he asks again.
okay i’m definitely starting to request too much but….maybe one of lando fingering her while they’re at a restaurant with people and telling her everytime she makes a sound he’ll go harder…?
Under the Table
Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: At an upscale restaurant, Lando starts a very dangerous game with his girlfriend: every sound she makes, every gasp and moan, he'll finger her harder.
The restaurant was perfect—dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and enough ambient noise to provide cover. You should have known Lando had chosen it for a reason.
You'd barely made it through the appetizer course when you felt his hand on your knee. Nothing unusual about that; Lando was always tactile, always touching you in some way. But then his fingers began traveling upward, sliding beneath the hem of your dress with deliberate intent.
"Lando," you whispered, glancing around nervously at the other diners. The couple two tables over were deep in conversation. The waiter was occupied across the room.
"Shh," he murmured, leaning closer so his lips brushed your ear. "I want to play a game."
Your breath hitched as his fingers traced higher, skimming along your inner thigh. "What kind of game?"
"A simple one." His voice was low, dark with promise. "I'm going to touch you. And you're going to stay quiet." His fingers reached the edge of your panties, and you felt your pulse spike. "But here's the thing, baby—every time you make a sound, every little whimper or moan, I'm going to go harder. Faster. Deeper."
"Lando, we can't—" you started, but his fingers pressed against you through the thin fabric, and your words died in your throat.
"We can," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he pulled back to look at you. "And we will. Unless you want to use your safeword?"
You bit your lip, torn between the thrill racing through your veins and the very real fear of being caught. The restaurant was busy but not packed. Anyone could look over. Anyone could notice.
But god, the way he was looking at you, the way his fingers were already making small circles against your clothed clit—you were already wet, already aching for more.
"No safeword," you breathed.
His smile was wicked. "Good girl. Now, let's see how long you can last."
---
The waiter appeared to take your dinner order, and you somehow managed to speak coherently while Lando's hand remained between your thighs, his fingers drawing lazy patterns that made your skin burn. The moment the waiter left, those fingers hooked into the side of your panties and pulled them aside.
"Fuck," Lando muttered, his expression darkening as he felt how wet you already were. "You're soaked, baby. You like this, don't you? The idea of me touching you where anyone could see?"
You pressed your lips together, refusing to answer, knowing any sound would give him permission to escalate. His finger slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, and you gripped the edge of the table.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
You turned your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were intense, pupils blown wide with desire. He maintained eye contact as his finger found your entrance and pressed inside, just the tip, just enough to make you gasp—
The sound was barely audible, but he heard it. His smile turned predatory.
"That's one," he said, and pushed his finger deeper, all the way inside you.
Your hand flew to your mouth, teeth sinking into your knuckle to stifle the moan that wanted to escape. Under the table, Lando began to move, his finger sliding in and out with agonizing slowness. The angle was awkward, but he knew your body too well, knew exactly how to curl his finger to hit that spot that made your thighs tremble.
"You look so pretty like this," he murmured, picking up his wine glass with his free hand and taking a casual sip, as if he wasn't currently finger-fucking you in a public restaurant. "All flushed and desperate. Trying so hard to be good."
You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on your breathing, on staying silent. But then he added a second finger, stretching you, and you couldn't stop the small whimper that escaped.
"That's two," Lando said, and his pace increased, his fingers pumping faster, harder. "You're making this too easy, baby."
The waiter returned with your entrees, and you had to sit there, smiling politely, while Lando's fingers worked inside you. You could feel how wet you were, could hear the obscene sound of it even beneath the ambient noise of the restaurant. Surely the waiter could hear it too. Surely everyone could see what was happening.
But no one looked. No one noticed. And that somehow made it even hotter.
---
"Eat," Lando instructed once the waiter left, nodding toward your plate. "You need to keep up appearances."
You picked up your fork with a shaking hand, trying to cut into your food while his fingers continued their relentless rhythm. He'd found the perfect angle now, his palm pressing against your clit with every thrust of his fingers, and you were rapidly losing the battle for control.
"That's it," he encouraged, his own meal forgotten as he watched you struggle. "Take a bite. Act normal. Like you're not dripping all over my fingers right now."
You managed to get a forkful of food to your mouth, chewing mechanically, tasting nothing. All your focus was on the pressure building between your legs, on the way his fingers were stretching you, filling you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
"You're doing so well," Lando murmured, leaning in close again. "But I can feel you clenching around me. You're close, aren't you? You want to come all over my fingers while all these people eat their dinner, completely oblivious to what a dirty girl you are."
A soft moan escaped before you could stop it, and you immediately knew your mistake.
"Three," Lando growled, and added a third finger.
The stretch was intense, almost too much, and you couldn't stop the gasp that tore from your throat. Your hand slammed down on the table, rattling the silverware, and the couple at the next table glanced over.
"Careful," Lando said loudly, his voice full of false concern. "Are you alright, darling?"
You nodded frantically, forcing a smile at the concerned couple. "Fine," you managed. "Just—hot in here."
They turned back to their meal, and Lando's fingers began moving again, faster now, harder, three thick fingers pumping into you with a force that made your whole body shake. His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you bit down on your lip so hard you tasted blood.
"That's four," he said quietly. "Four sounds. You're being so bad, baby. I think you want me to fuck you harder. I think you want everyone here to know what a needy little slut you are for me."
His words were filthy, whispered so only you could hear, and they went straight to your core. You were so close, teetering on the edge, your thighs trembling and your pussy clenching around his fingers. The coil of pleasure in your belly was wound so tight you thought you might shatter.
"Lando," you breathed, barely a whisper. "Please—"
"Please what?" he asked, his fingers never stopping, never slowing. "Please make you come? Please stop? You have to tell me what you want."
But you couldn't speak, couldn't form words, could only sit there and take it as he finger-fucked you in the middle of the restaurant. Your hand found his thigh under the table, nails digging into his leg, and he hissed in pleasure.
"You're so fucking tight," he muttered, his own composure starting to slip. "Squeezing my fingers so hard. I can't wait to get you home and fuck you properly. Gonna make you scream my name as loud as you want."
---
The pressure was unbearable now, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Lando's fingers were relentless, three of them pumping into you while his thumb worked your clit, and you knew you were seconds away from falling apart.
"Look at me," Lando commanded, and your eyes snapped to his. "You're going to come for me. Right here, right now. And you're going to be so fucking quiet about it, understand?"
You nodded desperately, and he smiled.
"Good girl. Now come."
His fingers curled, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and his thumb pressed hard against your clit, and you shattered. The orgasm crashed over you like a wave, pleasure exploding through every nerve ending, and you had to stuff your fist in your mouth to muffle the cry that wanted to escape. Your whole body went rigid, thighs clamping around Lando's hand as you came and came and came, your pussy pulsing around his fingers.
Lando worked you through it, his fingers gentling but never stopping, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you were boneless and trembling in your seat. Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers, and you felt the loss acutely.
You watched, dazed and sated, as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight sent another pulse of heat through you, even though you'd just come harder than you could remember.
"Delicious," he murmured, then picked up his fork as if nothing had happened. "You should eat, baby. Your food's getting cold."
You stared at him, at this man who'd just made you come in a crowded restaurant, who was now calmly eating his dinner like he hadn't just destroyed you. Your legs were still shaking, your panties were soaked, and you could feel the lingering pulse of your orgasm.
"I hate you," you whispered, but there was no heat in it.
Lando grinned, reaching over to squeeze your hand. "No, you don't. You love me. And you love when I make you feel good."
He wasn't wrong. You did love him, loved the way he pushed your boundaries, loved the thrill of doing something forbidden. And judging by the bulge you could see straining against his pants, he'd enjoyed it just as much as you had.
"When we get home—" you started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.
"When we get home," he said, his voice dropping to that dark, promising tone again, "I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow. I'm going to make you scream my name until the neighbors complain. But first, we're going to finish our dinner like the civilized couple we pretend to be."
You squeezed your thighs together, already feeling the renewed ache between your legs. It was going to be a long meal.
But as Lando raised his wine glass in a toast, his eyes full of wicked promise, you couldn't help but smile back. After all, anticipation was half the fun.
hii i love your writing so much and i know you're overwhelmed with requests so i'm not here to add any for right now but i just wanted to know if you're open to writing for arvid lindblad? you mentioned not wanting to write excessively for kimi since he's not in your top 5 so i just wanted to make sure before i ask for any driver.
Hi tysm! 🫶🏻
And yes I do write for most drivers, Arvid is one of them!
It’s just I’ve had so many Kimi requests, it’s gotten a little tiring!
May i please request a max verstappen fluff fic where the reader is a writer and max is their muse. [Maybe a bit of yearner! Max]
My Muse, My Max
Max Verstappen x Writer!reader
Synopsis: Max quietly falls in love with the writer who unknowingly makes him her muse. When he reads a draft that reveals she’s been writing about him too, the truth finally comes out — and the story they’ve both been avoiding becomes the one they choose to live.
Moonlight Radio: I loved writing this one, i hope u like it! - and i kinda made the chapter titles as they would be in an actual book, i thought that would be a cute detail 🫶🏻
Max learns the rhythm of your writing long before he ever admits it.
He learns the way your fingers hover over the keyboard when you’re searching for a word. The way your mouth moves when you’re silently testing a sentence. The way you go still — completely still — when inspiration hits you like a physical thing.
He learns all of it because he watches you. Constantly. Quietly. Pathetically, in his own words.
You call it focus.
He calls it being in love.
---
I. the muse who pretends he isn’t
It starts with a joke.
You’re sitting on the sofa, laptop balanced on your knees, hair tied up in a messy knot that keeps falling loose. Max is beside you, pretending to watch a documentary but actually watching you, because you’re far more interesting than anything on the screen.
“What are you writing now?” he asks, casual, too casual.
“A character study,” you murmur, typing without looking up. “Someone who’s terrible at expressing his feelings but feels them too much anyway.”
Max’s ears go pink. “Sounds… dramatic.”
“It’s not dramatic,” you say, still typing. “It’s yearning.”
He swallows. Hard.
You don’t see it — you’re busy, lost in your world — but he turns his face away, jaw tight, because if you look at him right now you’ll see it.
The truth.
The way he feels everything too much, especially when it comes to you.
“Is he based on someone?” Max asks, trying to sound light.
You hum. “Maybe.”
He dies a little.
---
II. the drafts he isn’t meant to see
You fall asleep on the sofa that night, laptop still open beside you. Max lifts it carefully, intending to close it, but then he sees his name.
Not directly.
But close enough.
He looks at her like she’s the only thing in the room worth noticing.
Like he's memorising her. Like he's terrified she'll disappear if he blinks.
Max freezes.
He reads the paragraph once.
Twice.
A third time, slower, because he wants to feel every word.
He shouldn’t be reading this.
He knows that.
But he can’t stop.
He loves her quietly, the way a storm loves the sea — inevitable, consuming, impossible to hide.
His breath catches.
He closes the laptop gently, hands trembling, and sits there for a long time, staring at nothing, heart pounding like he’s just taken pole.
He doesn’t sleep that night.
---
III. the confession that isn’t meant to be one
The next morning, you find him in the kitchen, staring into his coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“You okay?” you ask, rubbing your eyes.
He nods too quickly. “Yeah. Fine. Good.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m not weird.”
“You’re absolutely being weird.”
He sets the mug down. Hard. “I read something.”
Your stomach drops. “Max—”
“I didn’t mean to,” he rushes, hands up. “You fell asleep and your laptop was open and I just— I saw a few lines.”
You cover your face. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t hide,” he says softly, stepping closer. “Please don’t hide from me.”
You lower your hands slowly.
He’s looking at you like you’re fragile and powerful all at once.
“Was it about me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You swallow. “What did you read?”
He recites it. Word for word. Like scripture.
Your breath stutters. “Max…”
“Was it about me?” he repeats, eyes searching yours.
You don’t answer.
You don’t need to.
He exhales shakily, like he’s been holding the truth in his lungs for years.
“I wish you knew,” he murmurs, “how long I’ve been yours.”
Your heart stops.
“I’m your muse?” you whisper.
He laughs — soft, disbelieving, a little broken. “You’re my everything.”
---
IV. the writer and the muse
You kiss him first.
Because he’s looking at you like he’s been waiting his whole life for permission.
Because his hands hover at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
Because you’ve written a hundred versions of this moment, but none of them come close to the real thing.
When you pull back, breathless, he rests his forehead against yours.
“Write about this,” he whispers.
You laugh. “I will.”
“And write about how much I wanted it.”
“I already did.”
He smiles — soft, shy, devastating. “Good. Then write this too.”
He kisses you again, deeper this time, hands finally settling on your hips like he’s allowed to touch you now.
“And write,” he murmurs against your lips, “that I’ve been yearning for you since the day I met you.”
Your fingers curl into his shirt. “That’s a strong word.”
“It’s the only one that fits.”
---
V. the ending you both deserved
Later, when he’s asleep with his head on your chest, arm wrapped around your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you, you open your laptop.
You start a new document.
He was never just a muse.
He was the story.
You look down at him — messy hair, soft breathing, face relaxed in a way the world rarely gets to see — and you smile.
You’ve written a thousand characters.
But none of them have ever looked at you the way Max does.
Like you’re his favourite chapter.
Like he’s terrified of the ending.
Like he’s finally found the place he belongs.
You type one more line.
And she loved him back — loudly, finally, completely.
The Quadrant studio was buzzing with the kind of energy that meant only one thing: someone was about to be humiliated on camera.
You walked in to find Max setting up the lie detector machine like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. Ria was adjusting the lights. Aarav was already laughing.
And Lando…
Lando looked like a man who had made a terrible mistake.
“You ready?” you asked, dropping into the chair beside him.
“No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not. I want to go home.”
Max clapped him on the back. “Too late, mate. The people want the truth.”
Lando groaned. “The people can mind their business.”
You smirked. “You agreed to this.”
“I agreed under duress.”
“You were literally eating a croissant.”
“Emotional duress.”
You leaned in, brushing your shoulder against his. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying already.”
The machine wasn’t even on yet, but Max still pointed at it dramatically. “SHE’S LYING!”
You burst out laughing. Lando looked betrayed.
---
THE VIDEO STARTS
The cameras rolled. The lights hit. The intro music played.
Max stood behind the machine like a game show host who’d been given too much power.
“Welcome back to Quadrant! Today, we have Lando and his lovely girlfriend—”
Lando cut in. “She’s not lovely. She’s evil.”
You patted his knee. “He’s scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
The machine beeped.
Everyone froze.
Ria blinked. “It’s not even turned on yet.”
Lando glared at it. “It knows.”
---
ROUND ONE — EASY QUESTIONS
You went first, because Max insisted “the girlfriend should set the tone.”
You placed your hand on the sensor. Lando watched you like you were defusing a bomb.
Max cleared his throat. “Question one: Do you like being in Quadrant videos?”
“Yes,” you said.
The machine stayed silent.
Lando exhaled dramatically. “Okay. Good. Good start.”
Max smirked. “Question two: Do you think you’re funnier than Lando?”
You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The machine beeped: TRUE.
Lando gasped. “WHAT?”
You shrugged. “I am.”
“You’re not!”
“Lando, you lost the cheap vs expensive video because you thought plastic headphones were luxury.”
He pointed at you. “They FELT expensive.”
The machine beeped again.
Max cackled. “The machine says you’re lying about that too.”
Lando threw his head back. “I hate this machine.”
---
ROUND TWO — LANDO’S TURN
He sat down like he was preparing for execution.
You squeezed his hand. “Relax.”
“I can’t relax. You’re going to ask me something evil.”
“I would never.”
The machine beeped.
He glared at it. “Stop doing that!”
Max rubbed his hands together. “Alright, Lando. Question one: Do you think you’re the funniest person in Quadrant?”
“Yes.”
The machine beeped: FALSE.
Aarav burst out laughing. “He didn’t even hesitate!”
Lando looked personally attacked. “I AM funny!”
You patted his knee. “You’re adorable.”
He pointed at you. “That’s patronising.”
The machine beeped again.
Max wheezed. “The machine agrees.”
---
ROUND THREE — THE SPICY QUESTIONS
Ria took over hosting, which was dangerous.
She smiled sweetly. “Okay, Lando. Question two: Do you stalk her Instagram when she’s away?”
Lando’s eyes widened. “No.”
The machine beeped: FALSE.
You turned slowly. “Lando.”
He threw his hands up. “I don’t STALK it! I just… check it. Occasionally. Like a normal boyfriend.”
“How often?”
“Like… once.”
The machine beeped.
“Twice.”
Beep.
“Okay fine, every day.”
The machine stayed silent.
Max fell off his chair laughing.
You tried not to smile. “That’s cute.”
“It’s not cute,” Lando muttered. “It’s research.”
“For what?”
“For… boyfriend things.”
The machine beeped.
---
ROUND FOUR — YOUR TURN AGAIN
You put your hand back on the sensor.
Lando leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “My turn to ask.”
Max nodded. “Go on.”
Lando smirked. “Do you think I’m dramatic?”
“Yes.”
The machine beeped: TRUE.
He gasped. “You didn’t even think about it!”
“Because you ARE dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic.”
The machine beeped.
Everyone screamed laughing.
Lando looked betrayed by the universe.
---
ROUND FIVE — THE QUESTION THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING
Ria leaned forward, suddenly serious.
“Okay, Lando. Last question.”
He swallowed. “Why does that sound ominous?”
“Do you remember the moment you realised you loved her?”
The room went silent.
You froze.
Lando blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah.”
The machine stayed silent.
Ria nodded. “When was it?”
Lando looked at you, really looked at you, and something softened in his expression.
“It was after that first Quadrant shoot you came to,” he said quietly. “You were sitting on the floor editing photos, and you were laughing at something Max said. And I just… knew.”
The machine stayed silent.
Your breath caught.
He shrugged, cheeks pink. “I didn’t say anything because it felt too soon. But yeah. That was it.”
You stared at him, heart doing somersaults.
Max whispered, “Oh my god.”
Aarav whispered, “He’s down bad.”
Ria whispered, “This is better than TV.”
Lando cleared his throat. “Okay. My turn.”
You blinked. “What?”
He leaned forward. “Do you love me?”
Your heart jumped. “Yes.”
The machine stayed silent.
He smiled — soft, relieved, warm.
Then he whispered, “Good.”
---
AFTER THE CAMERAS STOPPED
The moment the crew stepped away, Lando pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist like he’d been waiting all day.
“You okay?” he murmured.
You nodded. “Are you?”
He laughed softly. “I just admitted I fell in love with you on camera. I’m… surprisingly fine.”
You brushed your fingers through his hair. “I love you too, you know.”
He kissed your shoulder. “I know.”
You raised a brow. “You know?”
He grinned. “The machine told me.”
You shoved him lightly. “You’re impossible.”
He kissed you again — slow, warm, lingering.
“Yeah,” he whispered against your lips. “But I’m yours.”
Could you do like clingy reader x oscar like your affectionate is physical touch and you cling to oscar every chance you can and he gets randomly get annoyed without releasing or noticing and you take it hard so you distance yourself and oscar starts questioning why
Hold Me Like You Mean It
Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Oscar’s clingy, touch‑affectionate girlfriend pulls away after he unknowingly brushes off her affection. When he realises she’s distancing herself because she thinks she’s too much, he pulls her back in and makes it clear he never wants her to stop holding onto him.
You’ve always been touchy with Oscar — not in a dramatic, over‑the‑top way, but in that instinctive, magnetic way where your body just knows where his is. A hand on his arm when you walk past. Your knee pressed to his on the sofa. Your fingers sliding into his hoodie pocket to hold his hand. Your cheek tucked into the curve of his shoulder whenever he’s close enough.
It’s how you love. It’s how you breathe.
And Oscar has never minded. In fact, he’s always been quietly obsessed with it — the way you cling to him like he’s home, the way you melt into him like you trust him with every part of you. He’d never say it out loud, but he thrives on it.
Until recently.
It starts small.
A gentle shrug of his shoulder when you lean on him while he’s answering emails.
A soft “babe, wait a sec” when you try to hug him from behind while he’s cooking.
A subtle shift away on the sofa when you curl into his side.
Nothing harsh. Nothing intentional.
Just… enough.
Enough for your chest to tighten.
Enough for your hands to hesitate.
Enough for you to start wondering if you’re too much.
You don’t say anything. You just… stop reaching for him.
And Oscar notices — but not at first.
---
The Shift
It hits him on a random Tuesday night.
You’re both on the couch, a movie playing, the room dim and warm. Normally, you’d be curled into him, legs tangled, your head on his chest, his arm around you without thinking.
But tonight, you’re on the opposite end of the sofa.
Blanket pulled around you.
Hands tucked under your thighs.
Not touching him.
Not even leaning his way.
Oscar glances over once. Then again.
Then a third time, because something feels wrong.
You’re quiet. Not upset — just… contained.
Like you’re holding yourself together.
“Are you cold?” he asks, reaching for the blanket.
You shake your head. “I’m fine.”
He frowns. Fine is never fine.
But he lets it go.
For about ten minutes.
Then he tries again — subtle, testing the waters.
He shifts closer, just a little, enough that your knees could touch if you moved even an inch.
You don’t move.
You don’t even look at him.
And that’s when his stomach drops.
---
The Realisation
Oscar pauses the movie.
You blink, confused. “Why’d you stop it?”
“Because you’re sitting miles away from me.”
Your throat tightens. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he says softly. “You haven’t touched me all day.”
You swallow. Hard. “You seemed… busy.”
“I’m always busy,” he says, brow furrowing. “But you never cared before.”
You look down at your hands. “You’ve been pulling away.”
Oscar freezes.
Because he didn’t realise.
He didn’t notice the small moments — the distracted shrug, the absentminded shift, the tired sighs. He didn’t see how they added up, how they chipped away at you.
“How long have you felt like that?” he asks, voice low.
You shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me.”
You shake your head. “I don’t want to annoy you.”
Oscar’s heart cracks clean in half.
He moves instantly — sliding across the sofa, gently taking your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Your eyes lift, hesitant.
“I’m not annoyed at you,” he says, voice soft but firm. “I’m annoyed at myself.”
You blink. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t notice I was making you feel like this.” His thumb brushes your cheek. “You’re not clingy. You’re affectionate. And I love that about you.”
Your breath catches.
“I love that you hold onto me,” he continues. “I love that you reach for me without thinking. I love that you want to be close. It makes me feel wanted. It makes me feel loved.”
Your eyes sting.
“I never want you to think you’re too much for me,” he whispers. “Not ever.”
You swallow. “You just seemed… irritated.”
“I was tired. Distracted. Stressed. But never with you.” He leans his forehead against yours. “You’re the one thing that makes all of that easier.”
Your voice cracks. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“You don’t,” he murmurs. “You’re the part that makes it better.”
And then he pulls you into him — not a gentle hug, but a full‑body, desperate, grounding embrace. His arms wrap around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His face buries into your neck. His breath shakes.
“Please don’t pull away from me,” he whispers. “I didn’t realise how much I need you close until you weren’t.”
Your fingers curl into his hoodie, clinging back for the first time in days.
“I missed you,” you breathe.
He holds you tighter. “I missed you too. Come here properly.”
He shifts, pulling you onto his lap, tucking you against his chest like you belong there — because you do. His hands slide under your thighs, around your waist, up your back, relearning every place he loves to touch.
You melt instantly, your body relaxing for the first time in days.
Oscar exhales like he’s finally home.
“Don’t ever think you’re too much,” he murmurs into your hair. “If anything, I don’t think I let you hold me enough.”
You smile into his neck, soft and relieved.
“Can I be clingy again?” you whisper.
He huffs a quiet laugh, kissing your temple.
“Baby,” he says, tightening his arms around you, “I want you glued to me.”
And you are — for the rest of the night, wrapped around him, his hands never leaving your skin, his touch constant and reassuring.
