You can call me J- I'm 25, she/her, Southeast Asian.
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Summary - I have no idea what to put for a summary other than the fact that Charles is a desperate man for his hot coworker
Warnings - smut, manhandling, reader being folded in half Charles the desperate slut (p in v) unprotected sex
Word count 1672
A/n god | love when Pinterest gives me the perfect aesthetic picture
A/n TUMBLR IM NOT A CHILD IM A GROWN WOMAN GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER
A/n my sister graduated high school yesterday so this is a queued fic
18+ | minors do not interact | warnings are marked, please mind the tags!
Tagging @sinofwriting and @checkeredflagggs
The tension between you had been building for weeks. Not just flirting or lingering touches under restaurant tables, something heavier than that. Something dangerous.
Ever since the rumors started. Charles had brushed them off publicly. Of course he had. He was used to headlines, speculation, cameras following him everywhere. But this one got under his skin because it involved another driver’s ex-girlfriend and suddenly your name was everywhere too.
Photos of you leaving the paddock. TikToks analyzing the way Charles looked at you during interviews. Fans dissecting every interaction like it meant ownership. And the worst part? You hadn’t even defined what this was yet.
Not officially which was exactly why the dinner tonight had felt unbearable. Because across that stupid candlelit table in Monaco, while everyone else laughed and drank and celebrated the race weekend, Charles had spent the entire night looking at you like he wanted to drag you out of there.
Not because he was possessive. Because he was jealous. The realization hit you the second another driver touched your lower back while talking to you at the party afterward. It was innocent and friendly.
But Charles went completely still across the room. Most people wouldn’t have noticed the shift. They wouldn’t have caught the way his jaw tightened around the rim of his champagne glass or how his eyes darkened instantly.
But you did and suddenly all the tension from the past few weeks snapped tight between you. Which was how you ended up here now. The room was dark except for the muted gold light bleeding in through the curtains.
Monaco glittered outside somewhere beyond the balcony doors, but neither of you cared enough to look. Charles barely made it through the door before he was on you. Not rough, never rough with you but desperate in a way that stole the air from your lungs.
His hands found your waist instantly, backing you into the wall with a breathless laugh that died the second your fingers tangled in his curls.
“Fuck,” he whispered against your mouth.
The word sounded ruined and desperate.
You kissed him harder in response, and Charles made this low sound in his throat that almost made your knees give out right there. The adrenaline from the race weekend still clung to him. Sweat. Expensive cologne. The sharp edge of champagne from the afterparty he’d abandoned early because he “couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
You’d teased him for it but now you understood. Because the second his mouth found your neck, your brain stopped functioning completely.
“Charles”
“I know, baby,” he murmured, lips dragging lower. “I know.”
His body pressed impossibly close, warm skin against skin as he pushed your shirt up your stomach impatiently. His hands were everywhere at once your ribs, your hips, your thigh hooked around his waist.
Like he needed proof you were real.
The kiss turned messy quickly.
Open mouths. Heavy breathing. The soft sound of the headboard hitting the wall after Charles walked you backward toward the bed without breaking contact once. You landed against the mattress with a startled laugh, but it vanished when he climbed over you.
God.
The sight alone nearly killed you His curls were messy from your hands tugging at them all night, cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen and wet. His gold chain rested against tan skin, dipping lower across his chest as he braced himself above you and the way he looked at you like he was starving.
“Why are you staring?” you whispered.
Charles leaned down slowly, nose brushing yours.
“Because you look so pretty under me.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“You say things like that on purpose.”
“Mm.” His mouth curved against yours. “And it works every time.”
You rolled your eyes weakly before pulling him back down into another kiss. This one was slower and hotter. The kind that made time melt.
Charles kissed like he drove intense, consuming, completely focused. One hand slid into yours against the sheets while the other gripped your thigh tightly enough to leave fingerprints.
Every touch felt deliberate. Every breath was stolen.
“You have no idea,” he muttered between kisses, “how difficult dinner was.”
You laughed softly. “You seemed fine.”
“I was imagining this the entire time.”
“Charles—”
“I’m serious.” His forehead dropped against yours. “You kept looking at me like that across the table and I almost lost my mind.”
Heat rushed to your face instantly he noticed of course he noticed. Charles always noticed everything about you. His thumb brushed your cheek gently now, a sharp contrast to the tension in his body.
“You’re blushing.”
“Shut up.”
He grinned that stupid, devastating grin before kissing you again, slower this time, like he wanted to memorize it.
But then he stopped.
Actually stopped.
His forehead rested against yours as his breathing slowly steadied, one hand still cradling the side of your neck. And for the first time all night, neither of you moved.
“What?” you whispered softly.
Charles swallowed hard.
“I hated that tonight.”
Your brows pulled together. “What?”
“Hearing people talk about you like…” He exhaled quietly. “Like they knew you. Like they had any right to speculate about us when I haven’t even gotten to call you mine yet.”
The confession knocked the air from your lungs far more effectively than the kissing had. Charles laughed once under his breath, almost embarrassed by his own honesty.
“Pathetic, huh?”
“No,” you said immediately.
His eyes lifted to yours then, vulnerable in a way you didn’t see often. Not the Ferrari driver. Not the public version of him. Just Charles.
“I don’t want to hide this anymore.”
Your heartbeat stuttered.
“Charles…”
“I’m serious.” His fingers tightened slightly against your waist. “I know this life is insane and people are always going to talk, but I’m tired of acting like you’re just someone I casually see between races.”
Emotion climbed into your throat too quickly to speak around. Because underneath all the heat and tension and desperate touching, that had been the real problem all along.
You were both terrified to ask for more. Charles brushed his nose gently against yours again, softer now.
“Tell me if I’m alone in this.”
You stared at him for half a second before pulling him back down into a kiss so intense it answered for you. And Charles smiled against your mouth immediately. Like he’d been waiting for that answer forever.
The tenderness of the moment snapped as Charles’s hand slid from your thigh, diving under the fabric of your underwear to find you already soaking. He let out a sharp, jagged breath when his fingers brushed against your clit, finding you slick and ready for him.
"You're so wet for me," he groaned, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating against your skin.
He didn't wait for an answer. He stripped his clothes off with a frantic energy, tossing his shirt blindly across the room until he was stark naked, his hard cock pulsing and straining toward you. He looked like a god in the dim gold light, muscles lean and defined, his skin radiating a heat that seemed to pull you toward him.
Charles didn't just enter you; he claimed you. He gripped your hips, lifting your legs high and pinning them back toward your shoulders to open you up completely. He lined the head of his cock against your drenched opening, pausing for one heartbeat of agonizing tension before he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.
"Ah... fuck," he gasped, his head snapping back, eyes fluttering shut as your tight walls clamped around him. He stayed there for a moment, shaking, filling you completely, his chest heaving as he fought for air. "You feel... so fucking good."
He began to move every thrust was deep and deliberate, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the quiet room. He wasn't just fucking you; he was trying to merge with you. His hands gripped your waist so hard his knuckles turned white, pulling you up to meet every plunge of his cock.
You arched your back, your nails digging into the muscles of his arms as the friction built into a searing heat. Charles leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours, swallowing your moans as he picked up the speed. The bedframe groaned under the rhythm, the headboard thudding rhythmically against the wall.
"Look at me," he commanded, pulling back just enough to stare into your eyes. His gaze was dark, blown wide with lust. "I want to see you when I make you come."
He shifted his angle, hitting your g-spot with every heavy drive. You let out a strangled cry, your internal muscles pulsing around him, which only made him drive harder. He was relentless, his breath coming in ragged hitches, his sweat dripping onto your chest.
"That's it, baby... right there," he hissed, his voice a ruined wreck.
As the tension peaked, Charles reached down, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in a fast, blurring circle while he continued to pound into you. The double stimulation was too much. Your vision blurred, and you screamed his name as your orgasm ripped through you in violent, crashing waves.
The feeling of you squeezing him tight sent Charles over the edge. He let out a guttural growl, his body stiffening as he delivered three more powerful, deep thrusts, burying himself as far as he could go. He groaned loudly, his forehead pressing into yours as he came, filling you with hot, thick spurts of cum that seemed to go on forever.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting pressure, his heart hammering like a drum against your ribs. For several minutes, neither of you spoke, the only sound being the synchronized gasps for air in the golden silence of the Monaco night.
Charles shifted slightly, kissing your temple with a lingering, exhausted sweetness. "I told you," he whispered, a smug, breathless smile touching his lips, "I couldn't stop thinking about this."
"It would be nice to think that I wasn't just, you know, a driver in a time of success for the team. I'd like to think I was a driver that helped the success of the team. Even if I don't become a world champion, or none of that happens, then I think just being known as someone who went out racing as hard as they could, did everything they could to try and be the best, but also in the right way, that's an important thing for me as well. So... yeah, I think just being a true racer, a hard racer, but someone that was very committed to the team and tried to make McLaren a better team.'' - Oscar Piastri
We are aware that AO3 is down and investigating the cause. We will update with more information shortly! Please refer to our status page for more information. Posted: 15:39 UTC July 28, 2025
We are aware that AO3 is down and investigating the cause. We will update with more information shortly! Please refer to our status page for more information. Posted: 15:39 UTC July 28, 2025
wanna ride oscar when he does that lil hip thing that he does in the cool down room. his arms above his head just watching
ohhhh my god why would u say this to me... this is sick twisted and evil... that clip of him doing that shit lives in my head rent free. i just know that oscar cannot sit still when he's ridden. he tries to, but eventually he's bucking his hips, fucking up into you. RAH!!! he thinks it's fun to watch you struggle and glare at him. does that stupid fucking eyebrow raise and smirks at you, tells you "aw, is it too much? can't handle it?" because he's a little shit.
summary:
What starts as a casual night in front of Lando's PC ends in his gaming chair with her on his cock and Max Fewtrell frozen in the doorway. Lando doesn’t stop. Doesn’t flinch. Because showing off his girl? That’s part of the thrill.
warnings:
public sex (interrupted), voyeurism, degradation kink, praise kink, creampie, cocky dom!lando, oral implied, masturbation mention, exhibitionism, consent established through dynamic, filthy language, one-sided voyeur consent, gaming chair smut, overstimulation, choking (light), use of recording equipment
There's a red glow from the LED strip across the ceiling. RGB reflections in the glass panels. Headsets tossed aside. Discord still open on the second monitor, mic muted, but only just.
They'd barely made it past the loading screen. The moment she sat on his lap in nothing but one of his old Quadrant hoodies and no fucking underwear, it was over. Game abandoned. Chair reclined. Legs spread. His cock already inside her, slow and deep and fucking possessive as she whimpered and rocked down onto him.
"You're such a little distraction," Lando muttered against her neck, one hand gripping her waist, the other trailing up to press over her mouth when her moans got too loud. "You know I was gonna stream?"
"You still can," she whispered, grinding against him harder.
He laughed, low, feral. "Don't tempt me."
The room smelled like sweat and sex and leather. His handprints were on her thighs. Her knees dug into either side of his gaming chair, legs trembling as he kept thrusting up, rhythm uneven and brutal. He loved watching her fall apart like this, messy, fucked out, trying to keep it together and failing miserably. All over him.
"Feel what you do to me?" he growled, slapping her ass once before grabbing a handful, guiding her movement. "God, you're so fucking needy for it."
She nodded, breath hitching, the hoodie sliding further off her shoulder.
And then, the door opened. "Oi, mate, you said to come-" Max Fewtrell.
Lando didn't even flinch. He didn't stop. Didn't pause. Didn't apologise. His eyes locked with Max's in the doorway, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a filthy, fucking daring smirk. "Oh, hey," Lando said, voice casual even as he fucked up into her harder. "Didn't realise you were coming over right now."
Max blinked. Froze. Eyes wide, mouth parted. "Are you- are you fucking- what the fuck?"
Lando leaned back further in his chair, hands still locked around her hips, dragging her up and down on his cock like she was made for it. Like she wasn't even there for herself, just for him.
"She needed it," Lando shrugged, breath still ragged, the wet sound of their bodies filling the room. "Couldn't make her wait."
"Jesus Christ," Max muttered, but didn't leave. Didn't look away either.
Lando's smile twisted, smug and wild and completely unfazed. "You not gonna stop me, are you?"
Max looked between them, her flushed face, the way her back arched, the obscene stretch of Lando's cock sliding in and out, wet and perfect. She whimpered again, louder this time, and Lando moaned in her ear like he was performing for the room now.
"You like knowing he's watching?" he whispered, filthy and low. "You like being shown off like this?"
Her breath caught. She nodded. "Tell him," Lando said, voice rough.
She barely got it out, a choked little, "Yes."
Lando groaned, hips stuttering. "Fuck, that's hot."
He gripped her harder, lifting her off him slightly and slamming her back down with a force that made the chair creak. Max stepped further into the room, stunned silent, watching like he'd been hypnotised. His eyes flicked to Lando's hands, to the way her thighs trembled, to the way she buried her face in Lando's neck trying to muffle another cry.
"Can't keep quiet now, can you?" Lando teased, licking over her jaw, one hand sliding between them. "Fuck it- let him hear you."
He rubbed her clit in tight, fast circles, relentless. She came with a scream, her whole body tensing, shaking, collapsing into him as she clenched down hard, soaking him. Lando swore, bit down on her shoulder, and came inside her seconds later, grinding up with slow, deep thrusts as he filled her.
And still- Max stood there. Frozen. Wide-eyed. Staring.
When it was over, Lando finally let out a long, shaky breath, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, and looked back at Max again.
"You want a go next, or...?"
"Lando-"
"I'm kidding," he said, breathless, laughing. "Unless you're into that."
Max blinked. "You're a fucking menace."
"Not my fault I've got the best girl and the best chair." He slapped her ass again and kissed her temple, smug and utterly unbothered.
"You're not deleting this footage, by the way," he added, nodding to the screen still quietly recording. "I'm gonna need to watch that back later."
Max turned to leave, muttering something unintelligible. Lando just smirked and whispered in her ear again, "Round two after he's gone, yeah?"
And she nodded, because with Lando? There was never just one round. Not when he had an audience. Not when she was his favourite thing to show off.
hey, it’s j @piastrification - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
