Drivers Included: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Carlos Sainz and Franco Colapinto.
Lando Norris:
He didn’t believe you.
“Swear down,” he laughed, turning the heart-shaped piece of chocolate over in his fingers. “It’s just a stupid TikTok sex trend.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Don’t take it. But I hope you can handle being edged for three hours when I’m the one who takes it and begs for more.”
That did it.
He popped it in his mouth with a smug little chew. “Tastes like a Cadbury. Bit of mint. Not bad.”
It hit twelve minutes later.
One second he was giggling through a movie with his legs draped over yours on the couch.
The next?
He was straddling your thighs on the living room rug, shirt off, pupils huge, hips grinding down against your clothed core as he moaned—actually moaned—into your neck.
“I feel,” he breathed, pulling his mouth away from your collarbone, “so fucking horny I could die.”
You were still laughing when he ripped your top clean in half.
“Lando—!”
“No, no, no,” he whined. “Need it. Right now. I don’t care. Gimme.”
He dragged your panties down with his teeth.
This Lando? This was feral.
He didn’t even prep you. Just spit, aligned himself, and pushed in with a desperate grunt.
“FUCK—you’re warm, you’re warm, you’re warm—”
He set a pace like he was possessed. Messy, frantic, hips slapping, hands everywhere—your wrists pinned, your thighs shaking, his forehead pressed against yours with insane eye contact the whole time.
Kink unlocked: Overstimulation and begging.
Because once you came the first time, it was like a switch flipped.
“No, no, don’t stop—don’t stop, baby, come on, be good for me, again, again—please again, I swear I’ll die—”*
When he came, it was with a whimper, his whole body shaking like he’d never felt it before. But the worst part?
He stayed hard.
“What the fuck was in that?” he gasped, laughing while flipping you onto your stomach. “Round two, yeah?”
…You didn’t walk for two days.
Charles Leclerc:
You left it on the kitchen counter.
Just a silly little heart-shaped chocolate in pink foil with a note next to it that read:
“⚠️ DO NOT TOUCH — SEX CHOCOLATE. For later. I’m serious.”
You figured he’d laugh.
He’s always teasing you for getting things off TikTok.
You never in a million years thought Charles “Mr. Control” Leclerc would eat it without asking.
So when you come home and find him shirtless, sweat beading at his temples, sprawled across your bed like a painting in distress, hand fisting the sheets while his boxers tent aggressively…
You drop your fucking keys.
“Charles?!”
His head lifts slowly, neck flushed red, pupils dilated to hell.
His voice is wrecked. “Ma chérie… I—what the fuck was in that chocolate?”
You freeze. “You ate it?!”
“I thought you were joking!” he groans, grabbing his cock through his boxers with a desperate, strangled sound. “You left a snack! On the counter! What was I supposed to do?!”
You laugh. You shouldn’t laugh.
But your boyfriend—the stoic, calm, always-in-control Charles—is quite literally bent in half by horniness.
And then he moves.
He gets up slowly, like his own body is too much to handle.
And he stalks toward you—hungry, trembling, growling.
Eyes locked on yours. Lips parted. Breathing like he’s run a marathon.
“You did this,” he rasps, trapping you against the wall. “You put that in the house. You—*fuck—*you knew I wouldn’t resist chocolate. You did this on purpose.”
He grabs your jaw. Tilts your face to his. Licks into your mouth like he wants to taste the sin before he sinks into it.
“Tu vas me laisser te baiser comme j’en ai besoin, n’est-ce pas?”
(You’re going to let me fuck you the way I need to, aren’t you?)
You nod. You whimper.
It’s all he needs.
He rips your leggings down, slides your panties off, then lifts you like nothing.
Holds you up against the wall with one hand on your ass, the other wrapped around your neck—gently, but firmly—and sinks in raw.
You scream.
He growls.
“Tais-toi… Don’t speak. Just feel me. Just take it.”
KINK UNLOCKED:
• Breath play
• French degradation/praise
• Wall sex + size kink
• Delayed orgasm control + possessive dom energy
His thrusts are hard, precise—a rhythm sent from the gods and delivered through Monaco’s most beloved slut.
He’s cursing in French, biting your shoulder, saying things like:
“Tu m’as manqué. Cette petite chatte—putain, elle m’a manqué.”
(I missed you. This little pussy—fuck, I missed it.)
You can’t think. You can’t breathe.
Every stroke is deep and perfect and made to destroy you.
When you cry out—because it’s too much, too full, too fast—he smilesagainst your neck.
“You’re crying?” he pants. “*Mais non, ma chérie—*don’t cry. It’s good for you. It’s supposed to feel like this.”
And then he starts thrusting even harder.
You come with a scream, legs trembling, body writhing—and he doesn’t stop.
Not until he’s filled you twice, not until your tears stain his shoulder, and definitely not until you beg him in French to let you rest.
“S’il te plaît—Charles—je peux plus—”
(Please—Charles—I can’t anymore—)
He kisses your forehead sweetly. Carries you to bed. Tucks your hair behind your ears.
Then pulls the vibrator out of the drawer.
“Non, non,” he murmurs. “The chocolate hasn’t worn off yet, bébé.
He bent you over the counter, dragged your panties to the side, and shoved himself in with a desperate groan that vibrated down your spine.
He started pounding—deep and filthy—his chest pressed to your back, his hand tangled in your hair, his voice shaky and low.
“You gonna take it? Huh? Take it like my good girl?”
You choked. His pace got rougher.
“You’re gonna let me fuck you like this—use you, ruin you—”
KINK UNLOCKED:
• Corruption kink + degradation
• Choking + hair pulling + public risk (open blinds)
• Silent edging/overstimulation
• Possessive virginity-core flipped
He manhandled you like he couldn’t stop.
Thrusting so hard your hands were slipping on the counter, and when you whimpered, he let go of your hair—just to slap your ass so hard your knees buckled.
“Don’t go weak on me now, baby. Not until I say we’re done.”
You came once. Then again. And again.
He refused to stop. Didn’t even slow down.
He came inside you, moaning low and guttural—but stayed rock hard.
Oscar Piastri after sex chocolate is not quiet.
He’s sweaty. Messy. Loud. Obsessed.
When he finally collapsed on top of you, breathless and shaky, he murmured:
“You’re not going anywhere. We’re doing that again. And again. And again.”
Lewis Hamilton:
Lewis knew what he was doing.
He lit candles. Put on a playlist. Set out satin sheets and massage oil like it was a full ceremony.
You placed the little chocolate on his tongue and kissed him slow.
“Think it’s gonna hit hard?” you teased.
Lewis just gave you that smug little smirk. “I don’t need the chocolate to ruin you, baby. But I’ll let it enhance the experience.”
Ten minutes in, he was already kissing down your stomach.
Fifteen minutes in, he was eating you out so slowly you were shaking from restraint.
But at the twenty minute mark?
He flipped.
His calm, sensual energy turned into dirty spiritual chaos.
He was fucking you with two fingers, mouth on your clit, grinding his hips into the mattress like he was the one being touched.
“Feel that?” he rasped. “That’s me inside you already—and I haven’t even started.”
When he finally pushed his cock into you, he did it with a slow, intentional roll of his hips that made you see stars.
“Let me make you transcend, love. I wanna fuck you into another plane.”
KINK UNLOCKED:
• Tantric edging + praise kink
• Mirror sex + nipple play + temperature play (warm oils, cool fingers)
• Throat fucking (gentle but deep)
• Long, slow, multiple orgasms
• High-intensity eye contact and spiritual daddy energy
He had you in positions you’ve never even seen before.
He lifted your legs, curved your back, laid you out with a vibe pressed to your clit while he drilled into you at a luxurious pace—stretching you out until your brain short-circuited.
You came hard. Then again. Then again with his tongue between your thighs and his fingers inside you.
He licked every drop of his own come off your stomach with deep reverence.
And just when you thought he was done?
He rolled you onto your side. Bit your shoulder. And whispered:
“You’re not going to sleep tonight, sweetheart. I’ve got plans.”
Max Verstappen:
You were warned.
Max took the chocolate without even asking what it was. Just bit into it, eyes still on the sim rig screen, and said:
“Tastes kinda bitter. What is it?”
You froze.
“…Max. That was sex chocolate.”
He blinked once. “Like Viagra?”
“Worse.”
He smirked. Shrugged. “Good.”
**Fifteen minutes later—**he was already twitching with tension.
He stalked into the bedroom shirtless, flushed, jaw tight, arms flexing as he stared you down.
“Take your fucking clothes off.”
“Max—”
“Now.”
You did. You didn’t question it.
Because whatever was in that chocolate had turned Max into a full-blown, primal predator.
He shoved you onto the bed, yanked your thighs apart, and stared at your pussy like it was his next podium finish.
“You’re wet already?” he scoffed. “Didn’t even touch you yet. That’s pathetic.”
Then he spit on it. And ate you out like a punishment.
Fast. Rough. Zero mercy.
You came screaming. He didn’t stop.
When he finally slid in, it was brutal—deep thrusts, rough grip on your hips, his voice ragged in your ear as he pounded into you like he was trying to break the bed.
“You wanted to fuck a world champion? You better act like it.”
KINK UNLOCKED:
• Degradation + primal dom + forced overstimulation
• Spit play + spanking + rough grip marks
• Breath play and crying kink (because he wants you to sob)
• Edging + fearplay light (you like the threat of him, even when he’s gentle afterward)
He flipped you face down. Pressed his palm between your shoulder blades. Fucked you so hard your arms gave out.
And when you whimpered?
“No. Take it. I’m not done yet.”
He came with a low growl—then slapped your ass so hard it echoed.
But he didn’t go soft. Not even close.
“You’re not leaving this bed tonight.”
You came six times.
He didn’t even kiss you until round three.
Just whispered: “Mine.”
Carlos Sainz:
You dared him.
“I bet you couldn’t handle the chocolate. You’re all talk.”
Carlos looked offended. Deeply.
He snatched the foil heart, unwrapped it slowly, and popped it in his mouth—with eye contact.
“You’ll regret saying that.”
And you absolutely did.
Because twenty minutes later?
Carlos dragged you back to bed with fire in his eyes and a hard-on that looked medically dangerous.
He didn’t even give you time to catch your breath.
Shoved your panties aside. Sucked your clit into his mouth and held your hips down while you screamed.
You begged him to stop.
He laughed. “We’re just getting started, mi vida.”
He threw you onto all fours, gripped your ass like a vice, and fucked you from behind deep and controlled—one hand tangled in your hair, the other smacking your thigh.
“That’s it. That’s how I like it. Let them hear you.”
KINK UNLOCKED:
• Praise in Spanish + breeding kink energy + DDLG softness layered under filth
• Hair pulling + spanking + body worship (he still calls you beautiful while railing you)
• Choking + mirror play (he makes you watch)
• “You’re mine” possessiveness in both languages
He bit your shoulder. Told you to keep your hands flat on the mattress.
If you moved? He started over.
You came once? He wanted two more.
“No lloriquees ahora. Tú querías esto.”
(Don’t whine now. You wanted this.)
He came inside you, held it there, then started rubbing your clit again while still inside.
“Otra vez, baby. Dámelo otra vez.”
(Again, baby. Give it to me again.)
You were crying and shaking by the end.
He kissed your forehead.
“Good girl. Now flip over—I’m not done loving you.”
George Russell:
George didn’t rush into the sex chocolate.
He researched it. Read the label. Looked up the reviews.
“I just want to know what I’m putting in my body,” he said with a perfectly reasonable smile. “Don’t want to lose control.”
…And then he took it anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, he had you lying back on silk sheets, completely naked and trembling, your wrists tied to the headboard with his Hermes tie.
George Russell was gone.
All that British elegance? Now poured into filthy, dominating, perfectionist-level sex.
“Look at me,” he said, voice low and firm. “You do not come until I say so.”
You nodded quickly. He smiled and kissed your forehead—then spread your legs and slipped two fingers inside you while keeping eye contact.
Slow. Deep. Precise.
He worked your body like a symphony, fingers curling just right, while his other hand trailed up to your throat.
“You’re dripping. Can you feel how desperate you are? Pathetic, darling.”
You whimpered.
He laughed softly.
Then the chocolate hit full force.
His expression shifted.
Suddenly he was flipping you over, arching your back with one strong arm under your waist, and sliding his cock into you with a grunt so deep it vibrated your spine.
KINK UNLOCKED:
• Bondage (tie kink) + obedient praise kink
• Degradation mixed with gentle dominance (“You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”)
• Precision edging—he makes you beg like you’re praying
• Mirror play. “Watch how I ruin you.”
He’d go so slow, you’d think he was being soft—until he gripped your jaw and whispered:
“You move without permission, I’ll start over. Are we clear?”
When you finally came—shaking, screaming, gasping—he didn’t even stop.
He gave you a look and said, “Count how many you can give me. Let’s make it a personal best.”
Then he came on your stomach, wiped it up with a towel, and kissed your hand like a gentleman.
You were tied up for two hours.
Aftercare included feeding you chocolate strawberries… and then round two.
Franco Colapinto:
You left it on his pillow. Wrapped in red foil. A silly little heart.
“One piece = one hour of nasty.”
Franco held it up, smirked, and raised an eyebrow.
He didn’t even ask. Just ripped the foil open with his teeth and ate the whole thing.
“Ojalá no llores luego, mi amor.”
(Hope you don’t cry later, baby.)
You thought he was being dramatic.
But fifteen minutes later, Franco was shirtless. Eyes blown wide. Breath shaky. Hands trembling.
He was standing at the edge of the bed, staring at you like you were dessert—naked, sprawled out for him, waiting.
His voice was low. Like a growl, but prettier.
“Don’t say a word. I want to see you cry before you say a single fucking word.”
And then he pounced.
Mouth on your neck. Teeth. Tongue. Fingers in your hair.
He yanked you up by the throat—not hard, just enough for your head to tilt back—and kissed you like he was starving.
Groaned into your mouth. Licked into it. Breathed, “open, bebé.”
You did.
Spit. Tongue. Heat.
He kissed like he fucked—hungry and dangerous.
And when he finally broke the kiss, he had that glint in his eye. That sinister spark.
“Let’s see if this chocolate’s as crazy as people say, huh?”
“Let’s see if I can break you.”
You didn’t even get a second to process it.
He spun you around, shoved you onto the mattress, and ripped your panties off like they offended him.
Then dropped to his knees.
Tongue on your pussy. Hands holding you wide. No warning.
“Ay, mierda… You’re already dripping for me?” he purred against your skin.
Licked a stripe up your center, then did it again. Sloppier. Wetter.
Moaned into you like it was for him.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this, mi chanchita. Look at you. Moaning like a whore and I haven’t even put my cock in yet.”
You came on his tongue. Fast. Hard. Shaking.
He didn’t stop.
He laughed.
“One. C’mon. You can give me seven.”
He spit on your clit. Slapped it once. Twice. You jolted—gasps turning into sobs.
Then he stood up, eyes dark and lips soaked.
And slid in. Raw.
No foreplay. No prep. Just dominance.
He pushed in slow and deep, watching your face twist, until he bottomed out.
Your hands gripped the sheets. He grabbed your wrists. Pushed them above your head.
“No touching. Just take it.”
And then he started fucking you.
No rhythm. Just chaos. Animalistic, deep, punishing.
Every thrust hit a spot you didn’t know existed. And the chocolate? Had him insatiable.
• Overstimulation (he keeps fucking you through your orgasms)
• Mirror sex (he drags you to the mirror just to watch)
• Breeding kink (“Gonna fill you up. Want it dripping down your thighs.”)
• Crying kink + degradation + praise mix
• Mindfuck dirty talk (“I want you to forget what your name is and only remember mine.”)
⸻
He flipped you halfway through. Dragged you to the mirror. Bent you over the bathroom sink.
“Look at yourself. Look what I do to you. Qué rica te ves toda destruida.”
(You look so good all ruined.)
He fucked you like that, from behind—deep and steady, one hand around your throat, the other rubbing your clit just to watch your face as you sobbed through another orgasm.
“You love it. Admit it. Say it.”
You choked.
He slapped your ass, hard. “Say it.”
“I—I love it.”
“Mírame cuando lo digas.”
(Look at me when you say it.)
You came so hard your knees gave out.
He held you up. Kept fucking.
You sobbed. He moaned. Bit your shoulder and whispered every nasty word you’d ever wanted to hear.
Then he pulled out. Came on your back.
“That’s not the last one.”
Dragged you to the bed. Cleaned you with his shirt.
Then pushed your legs up and went back in.
Still hard.
Still filthy.
Still hungry.
“Give me one more. I want to see you lose your fucking mind.”
And when he was finally done—covered in sweat, glowing with pride—he curled up behind you, kissed your jaw, and whispered,
“You’re mine now, ¿sí? No hay nadie más. Just me.”
hey, love your writing!! I was thinking maybe you could do something on lando and fem!reader having a good time and the day after on a yacht with his friends he takes off his shirt to reveal a scratched back and a hickey on his chest
thank you!!!
Morning Revelations - Lando Norris
pairing: Lando Norris x female reader
summary: When the morning sun reveals the passionate evidence of your night with Lando on his back, his friends won't teasing you.
CW: Alluded sexual content, teasing, light embarrassment, markings.
The sun warms your skin as you lounge on the deck of Lando's yacht, the gentle rocking of the boat lulling you into a peaceful state. Last night had been magical, intimate and passionate like it always is with him.
Lando approaches with two glasses of champagne, his smile bright enough to outshine the sun itself. "Morning, beautiful," he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "Sleep well?"
"Very well," you reply, accepting the glass with a grateful smile. "Though I might need a bit more caffeine before I'm fully functional."
His friends begin to stir around the yacht, Max and Pietra emerging from below deck, followed by Carlos who looks like he's already had three coffees.
"Someone had a good night," Carlos teases, eyeing the two of you with a knowing grin.
Lando just shrugs, taking a sip of his champagne. "Always do when I'm on holiday."
The morning progresses with casual conversation and laughter, the easy camaraderie between Lando and his friends putting you at ease despite your relatively recent introduction to their circle. As the sun climbs higher, Lando decides it's time for a swim.
"Water's perfect," he announces, setting his glass down and reaching for the hem of his shirt.
Your breath catches as he pulls the fabric over his head, revealing the evidence of your passion from the night before. Red scratches trail down his back in distinct patterns and just above the collar of his swim trunks, a dark hickey stands out against his tanned skin.
The deck falls silent for a moment before Max lets out a low whistle. "Well, well, well," he says, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Looks like someone had more than just a 'good night'."
Pietra giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. "Lando! What did you do to poor girl?"
Carlos squints, leaning closer to inspect the marks. "Those are... impressive. Very thorough work."
Your cheeks burn as all eyes turn to you, Lando's friends exchanging knowing looks and teasing grins. Lando, however, seems completely unfazed by their reactions.
"What can I say?" he says with a shrug, turning to face you with a proud smile. "When you know, you know."
He winks at you before diving into the crystal-clear water, leaving you to face his friends alone as they continue their good-natured teasing about the "evidence" of your night together.
"So," Max begins, his tone playful. "Did you use a ladder to get those that high up his back, or are you just... talented?"
Pietra swats his arm. "Max! Don't embarrass her."
"I'm not embarrassed," you manage to say, though your face tells a different story. "Just... surprised they're so visible."
"Visible?" Carlos laughs. "Visible is an understatement. Those are going to be there for days. Lando's going to have some explaining to do."
As if on cue, Lando resurfaces, shaking water from his hair and grinning up at all of you. "What are you all talking about?"
"You, apparently," Max replies. "And your very... enthusiastic girlfriend."
Lando's eyes meet yours, his expression softening slightly despite the teasing atmosphere. "She's not my girlfriend," he says, his voice carrying across the water.
Your heart sinks for a moment until he continues with a grin, "She's my future wife. Just doesn't know it yet."
The teasing intensifies after that, with Lando's friends speculating about your night together and making playful bets on how long the marks will last. Through it all, Lando remains proud and unashamed, occasionally calling out to you from the water with promises of revenge for leaving such obvious evidence.
As the day wears on and the teasing subsides into comfortable conversation, you find yourself relaxing again, the initial embarrassment replaced by a warm glow of affection for the man who proudly wears your marks like a badge of honor.
When Lando finally returns from his swim, dripping water and smiling at you, you can't help but reach out to trace the scratches on his back.
"Sorry about these," you whisper as he leans in to kiss you.
"Don't be," he murmurs against your lips. "I'm thinking about getting them tattooed on. What do you think?"
You laugh, swatting his arm playfully as his friends groan at his cheesiness. But as you look into his eyes, you see something genuine beneath the teasing, a promise of more nights like the last one, more mornings like this one and perhaps a future that extends far beyond this perfect holiday.
genre: smut, affair, erotic literature, tiniest bits of angst, nanny!reader, daddy!max, secrecy that will likely annoy you bc it sure as hell annoyed me, dark subjects
word count: 11.5k
wrath (noun) — extreme anger.
nsfw warning under the cut!
18+…unprotected sex, oral sex (m!receiving), riding, doggy style, deep throat
inspired by red sex (re-strung) [rakhi singh] !
cherry here!...guys, guys, GUYS. after a year (my bad lol), we fucking made IT! i can’t believe we are on our last sin and that this is all coming to a enddd :( i cannot thank you enough for sticking by me through it all :) these stories will forever burn in my heart as i hope it does in yours too, HA! there’s gotta be at least ONE that’ll do just that, pls don’t try to deny it ;) and for the very last time, for fucks sake I’M FREE—welcome to the twisted world of wrath!
Perhaps you’ll die like this.
Beneath his scrutiny. Blue gaze glued onto you like it belongs, dark brows bemused and brooding with skepticism. It only takes him half a second to recognize that you found amusement in it all, picking up on it the first time your lips spiked into a cunning smile.
“I know you.”
His words sound nothing like a confession, neither a lie, but more so—a fact.
“Do you?”
There’s something sly in the way you spoke, the way you moved as you shook his hand, lingering for a moment that made his head spin. Did insanity taste this way? Like one is about to reach an all time high before cruelly falling into the great abyss? God, even your mere scent had him twisted in knots of familiarity. But he doesn’t dwell on it, no, not now.
Max blinks, forces himself out of this bubble, and shakes his head sheepishly. “I-I-I’m sorry, I probably have you mixed up with someone else.”
Kelly chuckles beside him. Here he goes, so very like him to try and spook off the new nanny. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a bit jet lagged, is all.” Moving on, the brunette jumps up, clapping her hands excitedly. “You can’t even begin to imagine how happy I am now that you’re here. You’re about to change my life.”
“I mean—that is the point.” Your eyes flicker with something undetectable. “I’m looking forward to meeting the girls.”
“Right!” she exclaims, as if she had momentarily forgotten the true purpose for you being here. “If you want to go ahead and set your things down, I’ll run up quickly and grab them. I’m pretty certain Lily is awake by now, and Penelope is playing with her dolls.”
“Fine with me.”
She turns her head, clearly elated. “Sweetheart, do you mind showing her where she’ll be staying from now on?”
The Dutchman shifts. “Sure.”
It isn’t until you two set off in the opposite direction that he feels the same curiosity as before. It nudges him all the way to your room, kicks him as he opens the door, and pushes him to finally speak up again when you enter first. “Look, it’s not my intention to creep you out or anything, but—I feel like I know you…”
A giggle slips past you as you barely lift your head to look at him, dropping a duffel bag onto the Queen sized bed. “You’re a funny man, Mr. Verstappen.” Sitting down on the cushiony mattress, you peer up this time, soft and not at all guarded as a minute ago. “Did you know that we each have roughly about seven doppelgängers somewhere out in the world?”
His mouth slants. “First of all, just call me Max. And second of all, what does that have to do with anything?”
A shrug.“That you could’ve just met someone who looks a whole lot like me,” you claim like a matter-of-fact. “After all, I’ve definitely met guys who look like you: tall, blond, blue eyes.”
“That sounds rather generic,” he adds with a small chuckle. “Come on, just tell me.”
Pink lips press down into a fine line while your hands rest on each side of yours. “Well, I really don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve never met.”
“We must’ve.”
“How are you so certain?”
It’s rather foolish to admit out loud that he doesn’t actually have a clear idea as to how you two could possibly know one another, so he chooses to not say anything. The silence engulfs you both, clings awkwardly as the sun begins to dim from the window close by.
The blue glow—it was past six at this point—paints the high point of your cheekbones as you stand. “Forgive me for crossing the line or whatnot, but…” Tsk. “You lack a whole lot of trust.”
He stays still.
You nod. “I mean—it makes sense, I’m not judging you for it. A stranger moves into your million dollar home almost overnight in order to take care of your two kids, and you’re doing what every other parent would rightfully do. Ask questions, that is.”
Is that what he’s doing?
He winces apologetically. “I’d greatly appreciate it if we kept this between us. I really don’t need another reason for Kelly and I to argue.” He scoffs lightheartedly. “She already thinks I’m against this whole arrangement as it is.”
“Well..are you?” you challenge with a teasing smile.
Max scratches his temple. “I’d like to think not, but that wouldn’t quite make me the honest man I claim to be,” he jokes, voice thick in his rich accent. “You seem like a nice girl, don’t get me wrong, but I sort of thought her and I would’ve figured this all out together.”
The sound of a baby crying rings from upstairs, making the blue eyed man perk up. He shifts against his feet for a moment, but not long after, the crying stops. He visibly relaxes after that.
“If you were to ask me, I’d say she already has it figured out,” you point out. “Looking after a newborn isn’t the simplest of things to do, especially when your partner is gone half of the time.” Pause. “She deserves the help, don’t you think?”
A wave of shame flashes across his features completely, allowing him to focus on the fact that you were right. The majority of Kelly’s pregnancy, he was traveling for work, he barely made it on time the day of her labor, and not long after, he was off racing again. None of that could’ve been as easy as she made it out to be, and she has made her decision on hiring you for help. Believing that they could’ve done this on their own—on her own—was a huge misconception on his behalf, and he sees that now.
The Dutchman tilts his head in an upward motion with a curved smile. “I see why she likes you so much already.”
-
Nice tattoo.
The sound of his groggy morning voice makes you look up from your bowl of cereal, so sweet, you can already feel your teeth rotting. It just so happens to be Penelope’s recent hyperfixation. You hum against your spoon. “P insisted on a hibiscus,” you share, glancing over your shoulder to where the pink and orange glitter tattoo hugs your skin. “Cool, eh?”
He grabs a plate, then the milk, pouring it with a yawn. “Got any real ones?”
“Not really my thing,” you respond, circling the piece of metal around the soggy marshmallows that have long melted. “Ink poisons the blood stream.”
Max snorts. “You actually believe such lies?”
“Guess so.” Pushing your chair back, you make your way to the sink quietly, wash your plate, and dry your hands. “Is it okay if I take the car out to the store? Need to restock on a couple of things.”
He blinks, finding it nearly comical how you can end a conversation, just like that without batting an eye. He nods. “Of course.”
“Thanks.”
By now, it’s been five months of you being here, and yet, he doesn’t know a single thing about you. You never seemed to talk about yourself, always kept a wary distance towards any personal questions, like you could sense them before he could properly ask. It was quite theatrical, he must admit, but he can’t help but itch with curiosity. Which is why he doesn’t find his offer weird, of course. He’s only trying to get to know you.
“You know what? Let me go with you.” He grabs the keys to his car. “I’ll drive.”
But the drive is tense for him, not for you. While he turns on his blinker with a frozen jaw, you cheerfully make silly faces over at Lily who was awoken when he hit a large pothole. Lucky the tire didn’t pop. Max taps a finger against the steering wheel.
“She loves you.”
“Mmm—sure hope so,” you joke with a chuckle, scooping her small hand against yours. “We’ve spent quite a lot of time together, I’d be horrified if she didn’t.”
He softens when Lily attempts to talk, though everything is more of a babble. “Don’t worry. You’re on the top of her list of Favorite People. Last weekend, when you were out with your friends, she lost her mind. For the longest time, Kelly and I couldn’t get her to stop crying.”
“You could have called. I would’ve canceled my plans.”
“Oh, it’s alright,” he hums out. “I mean, we’re her parents. You’re just the nanny.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. He doesn’t miss the way you flinch as if you’ve been pinched angrily. But equally enough, in a split second, whatever offense was drawn onto your face was long gone, replaced with a tight smile.
“You know, next time either of you need help trying to calm her down—call me.” You click your tongue. “It’s a bit sadistic having her cry it out, don’t you think?”
The absolute nerve.
The moment he parks the car in between the white lines, you’re quick to unbuckle yourself, then Lily. Carefully, you hoist her into her baby sling and walk up to the entrance, pulling a shopping cart along the way. He barely even has a fair chance to register what just happened.
He knows that what he said was wrong. Degrading, even. But you weren’t any better. Either way, just to be safe, he gives you your personal space, wanders until it’s time to pay. The older lady at the register coos at the five month old as soon as she spots her. “What a beautiful baby girl, look at those eyes!” When she looks up at you and Max, her gaze lightens up far more. “You two must be proud parents.”
“Oh, she’s not the mo—”
“I’m not her mom,” you correct her warmly, swiping the credit card. “I’m only a nanny.”
He recoils with guilt. “T-T-Thank you.”
If the drive there was the slightest bit awkward, now it was far beyond humiliating, especially now that Lily sleeps and there’s no more common ground tying you together.
“Penelope has been asking me to teach her how to rollerskate,” you say after a minute or so.
Max hums gently, not trying to intimidate you. “Yeah, she’s been begging us for a while now, but neither Kelly nor I know how.” A beat. “It’s a good thing you do, though.”
And all is well.
You smile, catching his gaze past the small mirror as he finally reaches the driveway.
-
Ever since becoming a Dad, traveling for work has gotten a whole lot harder. It’s a challenge in a world of its own.
“What do you mean you’re not home?”
Kelly winces, her face close to the screen. The background is blurred, the noise is rather loud, and all he wanted to do was see his daughter. “I’ve already told you, I’m at a birthday dinner.”
“At two in the morning?”
She shrugs. “Is it two? Jesus. Guess I haven’t noticed.” Someone close by chants her name like a slur, evidently drunk. She laughs, responds back in Portuguese, way too quick for him to understand, and before he knows it, the line goes dead.
“Unbelievable,” Max mutters beneath his breath. And it’s late, he really should be resting, saving up the very little energy he has left, but something within him is urging him to make the call. So he does.
You don’t pick up straight away. Not by the first ring, nor the second or third, but close to when the voicemail message is about to start. When you do, the first thing he hears are sniffles, then the sound of you clearing your throat.
Hello?
There’s a crack to it, which causes him to sit up straight against his place on the cold carpet. “What’s wrong?” he shoots fiercely on high alert. His insides are screaming, his heart is pounding, and he’s already picturing the worst. Was it Lily? Was it Penelope? “Talk to m—”
“I think I might’ve broken my leg.”
This definitely was not what he was expecting. “O-Oh. Okay then.” Static. “Well, are you alright? What happened?”
So you begin to tell him: how you were on your way to fetch Lily’s stuffed elephant—you had forgotten it outside—but that you missed a couple steps and landed with the harsh reality that you should’ve just left it alone, it’s not like she was asking for it anyways.
“This is so fucking stupid,” you sob before going quiet. He figures you’re probably busy focusing on the fact that you just cursed in front of him, and for some odd reason, he finds your panic endearing. “I don’t even know why I’m crying, I just know that I am.” A hiccup. “But enough about me—did you need something?”
He seems to have forgotten, tongue numb. He feels bad that you’re going through all this trouble alone. Sure, you’re being paid to do so, but it’s inhumane to have you suffering all by yourself when Kelly could have been there to at least give you a hand. Suddenly, the thought of his girlfriend irritates him.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. Although…”
On the other side, you release a wet laugh. “My very best. I’m doing my very best, thank you for asking.” There’s a silence that follows, one where he can’t even distinguish any breathing, and for a second, he thinks he might’ve lost a signal. “I think I’m just a little stressed. Overstimulated.”
“Hey—”
“I’m not even blaming the girls for it, God no. But it just gets a bit too much at times. I reek of spit up. I can’t get this glitter to wash off no matter how hard I scrub. And my undereyes are darker than the actual pits of Hell.”
He’s heard this could happen. Baby blues, that is. Only, he never thought someone as independent as you could ever get it. He’s seen you with the girls, and you always seemed to have things under control. Always woke up with an easy grin, ruled the day with activities that made P forget she was studying for her upcoming exam, and all while feeding Lily homemade apple sauce you spent making the night before. How could he have been so selfish to overlook your distress?
“I shouldn’t be complaining to you about my job—which I love! I love my job, I swear I do!” you yelp. “Just—forget I said anything, yeah? I just needed someone to talk to…”
“And I just needed to hear your voice.”
What. The. Fuck.
In record speed, he facepalms, eyes screwed shut in a manner that makes his skin tight and raw. Why would he say that outloud? It’s not like he planned it anyways, it just sort of slipped out before he could stop. And whether he’s twisting with humiliation or not, you laugh it off.
“That’s very nice of you to say,” you mumble. “Almost makes me feel bad for lying to you.”
And just as before, he spikes up on edge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, yeah. I feel bad for crying to you,” you respond with a soft chuckle. “Do you realize how humbling it is to sob to your boss over the phone? It’s a total nightmare, I tell you.”
“No, you never said crying, you said lying—”
The static scratches his ear viciously. “Crap. I hate to be rude, but I gotta go—Lily just woke up.” He hears the way you jog up the stairs speedily. “Call back tomorrow and I’ll make sure the girls are awake for you to see, alright?”
You hang up.
And he doesn’t know whether he’s reading into the situation too much, it wasn’t like he could see you or anything like that, but he never once heard any kind of wince that indicated pain.
Almost as if the fall never happened.
Which leaves him to wonder, when neither Kelly or him are around—who's watching their kids?
-
His phone buzzes the next day in the middle of an ongoing conversation. Lando’s filling him in on his recent endeavors and he wasn’t paying much attention to begin with.
“Maxie!” Penelope shouts as soon as he picks up. “I lost another tooth!”
“Wow, P, that’s great,” Max responds, smiling at the sound of her squeaky voice. His thumb slides over to FaceTime, to which she answers eagerly, showing off the small gap in between her baby teeth. He laughs. “Awesome.”
“That must be a couple euros, don’t you think?”
“Just about.” A beat. “Hey, where’s your sister?” Right on queue, Lily appears, dressed in all pink and a small hat over her head. She giggles as soon as she spots him. “There she is!”
It’s a dialogue he doesn’t understand, but he lets her speak it anyways, nodding up and down as if she’s holding a real conversation with him. Though, as soon as she slips the phone past Penelope’s grip and into her mouth, you’re quick to intervene.
“Alright, I think that’s enough,” you say with a small giggle, waving at him.“Thought I’d call you first. Just in case you forgot later on during the day.”
Max shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have, but that was a sweet gesture on your behalf, thank you.”
The entire interaction catches Lando’s attention, making him peer over, just enough to see, but not be seen. His eyes widen, mouthing—that’s your nanny? Max has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
“We were just about to go on a walk.” Lily’s tiny fingers tangle in between your hair, pulling down on it before you wince and gently free yourself. “Got the stroller ready and everything.”
“I’ll be on my rollerskates!” Penelope cheers, out of view, but he can hear all the ruckus.
You laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. “Pray for me.”
Already am, the young Brit whispers from his chair, theatrically pressing his hands together, watercolor eyes glimmering with a look only he seems to get whenever there’s a pretty girl around. Max aims a cold glare, making him snicker and continue scrolling through his phone, already accepting that their chat was over.
Hearing a click, he looks back towards his own screen just in time, noticing Lily is strapped in with an eager look in her eyes. He makes sure to snap a screenshot. “Please make sure Penelope doesn’t go off too far ahead. She has a tendency of doing so.”
All three of you exit the house, rays of sunshine causing you to squint for a second before placing a pair of sunglasses over the bridge of your nose. You hum in agreement. “She knows what not to do, trust me,” you respond, steps starting to pick up as Penelope glides besides you. “You see: I threatened to take away her dessert if she didn’t follow instructions.”
The Dutchman lets out a loud chuckle, and what he doesn’t see is Lando furrow his brows with a sense of surprise because never—ever—has he heard Max laugh quite like this. As if his worries don’t exist. As if he’s truly happy. Something unstrained.
Flirtatious, one might even say.
“You Clever Girl,” he says with a slick grin. “That’ll get her to listen—why haven’t I thought of that before?”
You nod, full with grace. “Most things slide past you, Max, that’s why.”
He squints, the image slightly pixelated, but it's quick to clear back up again. “Why’d Kelly not join you all?”
“She’s still asleep!” the young girl shouts over your shoulder, long hair blowing against the wind.
“Are you serious?”
You wince. “She got back home a bit late yesterday,” you fill him in. “She was at a—”
“Birthday party. Yes, I know, she told me.”
A flicker of secrecy shoots past your eyes as you nod slowly, almost unsure. “Right. Some kind of party is what she had said this morning before going off to bed.” Lily squeals. “Word of advice, Max?” Another loud sound. “You ought to start paying closer attention to things.”
With a slight frown, and as instinct, he turns around, spotting Lando sneak a peek over his shoulder, listening into something that has nothing to do with him. He shoots up against his seat, eyes narrowed with accusation. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The McLaren driver yawns, feigning boredom. “Nothing at all, why do you ask?”
“Go. Away.”
“Fine,” Lando mutters, deep beneath his breath and finally walks away, shoulders slumped.
Max shakes his head, eyes suddenly tired and heavy. He can tell you want to laugh at the encounter, but decide not to when he groans and runs a large hand across his face, tussling his hair along the way. “He eavesdrops as if his life depends on it, that boy.”
“Let him live,” you joke harmlessly. “He’s quite cute.”
“And taken,” he adds with a soft shrug. “Has been for the past few months, though, he fails to remember from time to time.”
“Aww,” you ponder. “What a shame.”
Before he could help it, an upcoming question blossomed over him, all of a sudden. He tries to convince himself that it’s nothing but an innocent curiosity, no more beyond that, but he also doesn’t really know that with complete certainty. “Do you, um…have a boyfriend?”
“I wouldn’t have been complimenting him if I did,” you retort. “I’m not a homewrecker.”
“I never thought of you as one,” he shoots out quickly. “I was simply wondering.”
“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me about my personal life,” you sing, fixing your sunglasses when they tempt to slide down. The sound of wheels clicking reminds him that Penelope was close by, too. But why should he be worried about being heard? He isn’t saying anything wrong.
“Where’s the trouble in being curious?” he lets out sheepishly, feeling a warmth run up his neck.
Shoes crunch against the dirt as you continue to push the stroller. A trickle of sweat drips down your own neck as you quickly dry it off with the hem of your shirt. He’s quick to pull his gaze away for that one.
“Curiosity isn’t really the problem,” you say flatly. “It’s thinking you’re entitled to answers.”
He blinks, taken aback by your sudden bluntness. Just when he thinks he’s getting to you, something just always seems to happen, reminding him that you weren’t an easy character to unlock, although he still hasn’t figured out why.
“I shouldn’t have asked, you’re right,” he mumbles, not denying what you hold over him. Maybe he does think he deserves to know. Just a tad bit. Is that really the worst thing? “It’s just that…well. You never talk about your private life. What do you like to do during your days off, whether you have siblings or not, you know? That kind of thing.”
“Is that a requirement I should fulfill in order to keep this job?” you ask. “Please. Enlighten me.”
Christ, when did things start to spiral here? Everything was going fine just a second ago. He swallows nervously. “I-It’s not, I was just trying to unde—”
Ow!
The sound of Penelope’s cries quickly followed, loud and painful. Coming to a halt, you put the phone down, running out of frame. The call is starting to break up, but was it all a part of his delirious imagination when he heard Penelope sob out—
You pushed me over on purpose!
“Here. Let me see, P,” you say, ignoring her words. “You’re fine. You will be, at least. We just need to get you back home and sanati—”
And again. Just like the night before—the call falls through.
Blue eyes reflect back against the pitch black screen, breaths shallow with confusion. A cough is what ultimately gets him to look up, and against the door frame, Lando still stands, tall and firm, like he never really left.
The Brit clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re nanny…she’s hot.” A hazardous pause. “But bloody creepy, mate.”
Max overflows with worry, fingers drumming against his lap.
“So it’s not just me who thinks so, right?”
-
This couldn’t be going any worse.
“We can’t just fire her because you’ve got a ‘gut feeling’—which by the way—isn’t a real thing, Max!” Kelly screams, skin pink with frustration over this constant back and forth. It’s exhausting, truly, fighting all the goddamn time, and always about the exact same thing: you. She pushes her hair back. “You’re just looking for any sort of reason to get rid of her at this point, aren’t you?”
“It’s not that!” he argues back like a bull with its horns. “It’s just…she’s just…an eerie girl, is all!”
She shoots a deadpan expression. “I happen to like that so-called ‘eerie girl’.”
“Pft, no, you don—”
“Yes! I do!” she hisses sharply, eyes dark with threat. “She’s good at her job. The girls love her. She’s the only one I talk to when you’re not around. What more could I want?” She’s frantic already, hands shaking with rage and hair messy. “She’s the perfect nanny!”
His voice gets stuck in his throat. Jammed. “Then explain Penelope’s fall, huh? I heard her that day. She said she was pushed over on purpose!”
“What little kid doesn’t blame others for their own mistakes?” Kelly retorts. “Plus, P is fine, is she not? She was rollerskating, Max. She’s a beginner. Accidents happen all the time!”
“Listen,” he spits out, closing the distance between them both, causing his girlfriend to flinch. “Just because you won’t look after the wellbeing of your daughter doesn’t mean I won’t be looking out after mine.”
The very little warmth that was left in her eyes slowly gave out in that very moment. And he didn’t even feel sorry about it.
“Vá para o inferno.”
With that, pushes past him. Leaving him standing there, alone in their shared bedroom.
-
It takes him a while to go back downstairs after that, but when he finally does, he finds you sprawled down on the floor, coloring next to Penelope. Lily lays on her tummy closeby, itching and kicking to grab a crayon, but fails poorly. You push her stuffed animal to her, watching as she squirms, biting down on its head.
“Purple or green?”
“Yellow,” Penelope answers instead, but still not tearing her gaze away from her part of the page. “Make it pastel.”
You nod, but more so to yourself. The RedBull driver doesn’t make a noise, barely even breathes properly, but it doesn’t matter. Lily has already seen him.
Pushing up against her chubby arms, the baby attempts to crawl to him, but gives up when he makes the move towards her. Max smiles fondly, picking her up into his arms and hovering over you and Penelope who continue as if nothing.
Make sure to not miss the bumblebee, you hum. It’s so tiny, you can barely even see it.
I see it, alright, she says with a giggle on the horizon. Actually, can you show me where it is again?
“How about some ice cream?” Max proposes, benign. “My treat.”
“Can you pass me the orange?”
“P…” he tries again. “Don’t you want any?”
“No, thank you,” she finally answers, blinking up at him once before looking back down.
His brows furrow with concern. “Why not? You love ice cream.”
“I just don’t want any right now, thank you,” she answers, this time much more harshly.
In an instant, his piercing blue eyes dart towards where you lay. “What’d you tell her?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Ignoring you despite asking, the Dutchman squats down, leveled with the young girl and Lily perched atop of his lap. You continue on your side, scribbling. “What’s wrong, Penelope?”
He watches as her eyes begin to water, how her chin starts to wobble. His heart drops at the sight, reaching for her as an instinct, only to get pushed away. “Why don’t you and Lily just go by yourselves? She’s your real daughter, anyway.”
“What?” he croaks, shrinking back. “That’s not true—”
But she doesn’t give him a chance to reach the end of his sentence, just feverishly stands and runs off in the direction of her room. He was about to follow after her if it weren’t for you clearing your throat.
“Just…leave her alone. For the time being, at least.”
Irritation spikes within him as he hears you talk. Still. Coloring. As. If. Nothing. His teeth grind together. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell me what I can and cannot do.”
“It's not that you can or can’t,” you sing once before connecting your eyes to his, not daring to be the first one to look away now that you have him. “It's just that you shouldn’t.”
“What the fuck did you tell her?” he accuses with a trace of venom.
“I already told you, I didn’t say anything, it’s what she heard. Which was everything,” you defend. “In case you haven’t noticed, the walls around here are paper thin.”
“Oh God,” the Dutchman groans, placing Lily back down on her stomach. He fixes himself on the floor as well, head between his hands. “Fucking hell.”
“Should the flowers be teal?”
He looks up, face full with disgust. “Are you really asking me that right now?”
You shrug. “You’re worried over nothing. She’s six. She’ll get over it before you know it.”
“Yeah, but she shouldn’t have to because I shouldn’t have said what I said in the first place.” His shoulders droop as if he’s carrying a bag of rocks. “I was angry, I never meant to imply that Penelope was some nobody to me—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” you hiss—correct—and bring your finger up against his lips. “Thin walls.” He freezes beneath your touch, soft and slender. You don’t linger, though, just drag your hand down and go back to what you were doing. Max’s pulse must’ve stopped in between those very seconds. “How else could you have expected her to react?”
“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t go up and check on her—”
“I already said, it's best you don’t,” you advise when he attempts to get up. “Let me do it.”
“No, really, I should be the one to ta—”
But you’re already standing, leaving him with no other option than to look up at you like some golden statue. It doesn’t help that you stick your hip out, a lazy hand laid over your waistline. “Have a little bit of faith in me, okay? I’ll smooth things over for you.”
And that you do.
But later, even when you finally get Penelope to come out for ice cream—Max drives, of course, and one would have thought nothing happened if they were to take a fast glance, overlooking her bloodshot eyes—he can’t help the uneasy feeling of it all.
That he knows you heard what he said about you too: so why didn’t you say anything about it?
And that, somehow, makes a chill run down his spine.
-
It happens two weeks later. He was back home for a few days.
Kelly has gone out with her sister, Penelope was at a sleepover, and Lily was taking a fast nap. He finds you outside, bare feet dipped inside the pool, and a cigarette lit in between your fingers. He nearly laughs at the sight, slightly surprised. Amused.
“Let me get this straight: you believe that ink poisons the blood stream, and yet—you smoke?”
Looking up at the sound of Max’s voice, your lips curve in an upward motion, disconnecting from the white stick. “That must make me a hypocrite then, right?”
“Hardly,” he hums. “It makes you human.”
You laugh, inhaling deeply before exhaling a large grey cloud. The sun has gone down a bit, but he can still see it. How it expands through the air and disintegrates into all sorts of directions. The baby monitor rests on top of your lap.
“Was I not one before?” you ask with a hint of mockery. He ignores you, focuses on the way you hold the blunt loosely. You wave him off. “Kelly said I could as long as it was nowhere near the baby. Fair deal, I suppose.”
“You’re quite the class act,” he comments carefully, gaze lingering with wariness. The silence hangs heavy and as thick as thieves. The sound of you kicking your legs against the warm water ripples a couple of times before you let out a cough. “Hey. Can I say something without you getting offended?”
“That would depend,” you respond. “How bad are you planning on hurting my ego?”
Max takes his time, weighing his words on the tip of his tongue before inching closer to where you sit. An arms length, really, but he was almost certain that he was beginning to taste the tobacco himself. His tall frame over yours is enough to make you look up, raising a neat brow, patiently waiting for him to speak.
“Everyone thinks you’re great. Kelly swears you’re her right-hand person. Penelope is obsessed over the fact that you know how to bake her favorite kinds of sweet treats. And Lily? Well. She’s only a baby. She loves just about anyone.” He pauses. “But tell me why…”
I just don’t see it.
You stare back blankly, taking another hit as he continues with a soft shake of his head. “From the very start, I didn’t buy it. Nope, never did. There were a few times I got close—so damn close—but somehow, you always either did or said something that reminded me why I couldn’t fully trust you.”
“I’m not responsible for that, Max,” you point out, plain and simple. “I could only do so much.”
“Of course,” he agrees. “But why don’t we start off with the truth?”
A small scoff erupts from you, almost mixed with something of a snort, like you found this entire interaction a complete waste of time. “Which is?”
Max narrows his eyes. “That we know each other, don’t we?”
“Jesus, this again?” you groan, tearing your gaze and rubbing your eyes sore. “Must I learn Dutch and explain to you once more that we don’t?” Reaching towards your neck, you begin to massage it as it starts to cramp from holding it up for so long. “What’s with you and insisting that we do?”
“Did we go to school together at one point? Were you a friend of Victoria’s?” he questions desperately. “I don’t understand—”
“You’re crazy,” you say, standing up to your full height and staring up at him with an eye twitching. “What is it about your past that makes you worried someone will come back and get even with you?”
His lips twitch.
An unsettling smile forms as you wag a steady finger up at him, like an owner training its dog. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”
Max flinches. “I’m not—”
“What is it?” you push eagerly with bright eyes. “What did you do?” The wind blows against your hair, kicking it towards your face, forcing you to squint before you push it away. “I promise I won’t tell. I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”
“This isn’t about me,” he finalizes with a threatening tone. “This is about you, and what you’re hiding.” The Dutchman reaches for your wrist, the one that holds onto the dying cigarette, and tugs you close enough to learn that you have a tiny mole beneath your left brow. It’s faint, but it’s there. “We’ve met before, and you know it.”
“Do I?” you taunt with a smug grin.
His blood boils as he rips away from you. “Stop saying shit like that!” he exclaims. “You know it, and I just—I just c-can’t seem to remember for the life in me!” His breathing pattern shifts. “When Kelly first introduced us—that day in the kitchen—you knew that I had recognized you, and you made it your job to throw me off. You. Played. Coy. You got the girls to adore you…so why can’t you just tell me what I did to you and why you’re here?”
There’s a way about you, something that makes his heartbeat quicken. How it drums harshly. He hears it. And he bets you can too.
With knitted brows and round eyes, you blink.
Pure. Corrupt. Innocent. Malicious.
And it sure as hell confuses the fuck out of him.
“You’re really starting to scare me, Max,” you whisper beneath your breath, nose pink.
Have you been sleeping enough?
-
The following morning, as he’s brushing his teeth, he comes to a shameful realization: he owes you an apology.
His flight had been unbearable the night before, he was exhausted beyond belief, and he took it out on you and blamed you for things that sounded outright absurd the more he replayed the events from a few hours ago. The way you looked at him with uneasiness, as if you truly figured he would have drowned you if it really came down to it. He was twisting with guilt the second you peered up from the stove, holding out a plate of pancakes.
“Eat them while they’re nice and warm,” you cheer like a ray of sunshine. “There’s maple on the table, but be careful. Lily spilled it, so it might still be a bit sticky.”
He blinks, partially out of barely waking up but also from how shocked he was with you acting as if nothing had occurred. Perhaps it didn’t. “Have you eaten?” he asks awkwardly, sitting down on an open chair.
You shake your head. “I was about to, though.”
He nods. “Where is everyone?”
“Well, Penelope left for school a few minutes ago, and Kelly took Lily to her check up.” Grabbing a plate, you serve yourself breakfast before claiming a seat next to him. “Can you hand me the bowl of fruit, please?”
This entire conversation was offputting. “Sure,” he responds, giving it to you with a tight smile. “I wish I would've woken up earlier and gone with them.”
“Mmm, yeah. But you arrived so late yesterday that Kelly thought it was best to just let you sleep in.” The fork clinks against your plate as you jam it into a slice of mango. “I’m sure they won’t be out for too long.”
The RedBull driver grimaces as his mind begins to race with humiliation. “Okay, can I just start off by saying that I’m sorry about—”
A soft sigh escapes past your berry tinted lips. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“Yes, I do.” He aligns himself to you, leaving you with no other choice than to look at him, seeing how serious he was taking this apology of his. “I shouldn’t have lashed out on you the way that I did, and for that, I’m sorry. I-I-I think I’ve just been away for too long, a-a-and I was partially delirious, I think, so I spoke utter nonsense that had no significant meaning. I was rude to have argued that you weren’t a good enough addition to this family, of course you are, are you kidding me?”
Blush feathers onto your cheeks with his compliment. “Thank you for saying that, but you really don’t have to. I figured your words weren’t meant to hurt my feelings.”
The tension on his face fades away once you confess to that, making him flash a sheepish look. “From now on, I’m on your team, just like everybody else.”
“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” you tease, bumping your knee against him as a silent truce.
He flinches at the most minimal touch of yours and gulps, already pulling away and sitting straight. “Let’s get along.”
“Haven’t we?” you question with a sense of confusion. “I mean…I thought we were?”
“Right. But I want to get to know you better.”
“What else is there to know?” you mutter, frowning. “I’m not quite as interesting as you might think.”
“That simply can’t be true,” Max notes with a funny look in his eyes, like he doesn’t believe you at all. “You’ve barely shared anything with us about your personal affairs.”
“I’m considerate enough to know what not to bore you with it,” you state. “It doesn’t matter, anyways.”
“It does to me,” he confesses in a soft whisper that makes your eyes narrow suspiciously and your lips part. “For the sake of knowing who’s living in my home.” This comes across as more of a lighthearted joke. “Have you always lived in Monaco?”
“Oh. Um. No?”
The Dutchman keeps a chuckle to himself. “You don’t sound too sure.”
“No,” you clarify. “I haven’t.”
He nods. “What was your life before this job?”
A moment passes by. “I used to work as a paralegal at a law firm.”
“Did you?” he asks with genuine interest now. “Did you like it?”
“At the time. Yeah.”
“But then?”
“I quit and became a nanny,” you respond back with a lame shrug.
Max hums in deep thought. “Would you ever leave and go back?”
“That’s a good question. But no. I don't think so. Living behind a screen isn’t really for me.”
“But changing diapers is?”
A gentle laugh echoes as you toss your head back and grip your chair to hold yourself from sliding off. “Must be!” His own lips twitch with a tempting smile and his gaze follows to where you cut your pancake into smaller pieces. “Must be…” you repeat.
“Do you think I’m a good dad?”
The dining room comes to an uncomfortable silence. You hadn’t expected this question of his, but now he had asked, and now you were staring at him as if he handed you a gun. “Who am I to determine whether you are or aren’t?”
“You can be honest,” he reassures you. “I won’t get mad.”
And it takes a long time for you to finally answer, but when you do, you don’t hold back.
“You’re halfway there.”
With that, you decide you’re done eating, walking your plate over to the sink and beginning to wash the porcelain dish as delicately as possible. You’ve already scratched too many.
Max’s stomach churns with the words that seem to live in the forefront of his mind. Soap slides down your arms before you rinse and dry off. “Why is that?” he can’t help but ask, blue eyes swirling with peculiar interest. “There must be some sort of explanation to it.”
“You said I could be honest?”
“Right.”
A slow grin stretches across your pretty face. “Yet you never said I could be brutal.”
His breath hitches. “So be it—be brutal with me.”
A steady beat. “You do love Lily and Penelope, that much is true. The only problem here is that you love them in theory. In pixelated photos. In static filled phone calls. In promises. But Max—children don’t live in theory. They live in moments.”
And you’re not in most of theirs.
His mouth runs dry as you continue. “Look—everything I know about love is not much—but I do know that it’s a feeling. Not something that can be scheduled. It’s in the way you’re able to recognize Lily’s cries. Is it because she’s hungry? Tired, perhaps? Is she looking for Kelly?”
Is she looking for you?
His palms begin to sweat.
“The reason as to why you even asked this question in the first place is quite simple—you doubt yourself. You know that what you’ve been giving them is mediocre care, but how long is that going to cut it? It’s easier to tell yourself that that’ll be enough, but soon they’ll grow up—and soon they’ll see for themselves…that you were never truly there.”
A droplet hits the sink.
Slowly, you face him, eyes calm, but there remains a heavy burden that seems to drag him down with you. “But hey. You’re making millions annually. That must suffice, no?”
Max swallows a rough patch, and it costs him. It travels like a piece of cardboard, but what else was he supposed to do? I mean, he asked for your perception, and how can he admit that it knocked him to the ground so fast? You knew how to do it, too. With your tone as sweet as honey, but as real as the fear in his eyes. Was he really living out his best years on track rather than being with his family?
“Funny, isn’t it?” you speak. “The things you forget, and the people who don’t?”
And for the first time—he sees it. He truly, truly sees it.
All the hatred in your eyes.
It flickers by so fast that he physically has to pinch himself to believe that it was ever even there in the first place. The way it flashes cruelly, similar to a lightning strike that was meant to hit him. It’s impossible to ignore now that he has a name for it.
Wrath.
Not the kind that disappears after a month or so. No. Rather the kind that lingers for years, the kind that engraves itself into your bones. This isn’t a simple strip of anger that fades, it’s one that roots deep in pain. As if you’ve been personally wronged in a way that would haunt you until your very last breath. It accuses him of something. Punishes.
He notices now how the girl standing in front of him isn’t a friendly face from his past. She’s an upcoming storm, with secrets that lay beneath her skin. And yet? No sense of fight or flight kicks in.
“You’re not crazy, Max,” you whisper, eyes sharp. “We do know each other…”
Max’s blue gaze flashes. His mind races.
He knew it. He knew it. He fucking knew it.
“But I won’t be the one to admit from where,” you say, breaking away with a deceiving smile.
And you know what? That might be what ends up making you lose your mind.
-
It’s a figment of his imagination at this point. He hears your voice when you’re not around, he sees your shadow at every corner, and he’s not even in the same country as you.
Blinking up at the ceiling—when really, he should be doing his warm ups—Max plays with a purple stress ball, squeezing hard and loosening his grip, then repeats the same pattern. His brain hurts from simply trying to remember—where do I know her from? Roads, there’s millions, but when did you cross paths?
And so begins his insanity.
“Do you recognize her?”
Pierre and Carlos squint at his screen, finding the sweet image of both Penelope and Lily next to you on a hammock. Kelly took it, sent it, and that’s what he decides to pull up when he spots his former teammates talking about wedding rings and adoption.
I think that’s a great idea, was the last thing the Spaniard is able to say before being cut short. Max doesn’t really know what exactly he was referring to, but he neither bothered asking.
“You know what? I think I do—”
“She looks familiar—”
He blinks feverishly at the confirmation coming from both of them. “Y-Y-You do?”
“Sure thing,” Carlos begins, brown eyes squinting at the picture one more time before nodding with certainty. “Who can forget such a pretty face?”
His fists tighten. “Alright then, where do you know her from?”
“The Christmas party, right?” Pierre chirps from his place. “I wanna say, twenty-sixteen, perhaps seventeen?”
“Seventeen,” Carlos confirms. “She was there that night.”
“Who is she?” Max pushes adamantly.
“You’re nanny, duh,” Pierre says with a lighthearted tone. “How’d she end up working for you, anyway?”
“Probably trusted her since they already knew each other,” Carlos butts in. “Jeez. Networking really does help, does it not?”
“I hadn’t recognized her!” the RedBull driver defends “All I know is that Kelly found a ‘good match' and hired her without consulting me first. Following day, she shows up at my doorstep and is learning how to french braid just because Penelope said so.”
“Well. Now you know,” Carlos responded, losing interest in the topic by now. “Hey, who wants a coffee?”
“I do—”
Banging his fist against the back of Pierre’s chair, Max lets out a frantic groan. “This tells me nothing! You two recall her looks—great, that’s wonderful, really—but who is she?”
“I’m not sure I’m following—”
“How did she get into that party? Was she a friend of someone's? A girlfriend? A—”
“So what if she was? Why do you care so much?”
“I care because—” Max says, voice filled with vexation. “She’s driving me crazy.”
Pierre’s lips twitch with amusement. “Woah. I didn’t know you had it that way…”
His implication makes him wither, makes him flinch. He clears his throat rather rudely. “I don’t have it any kind of way. She’s just…odd. She keeps saying and doing things that make me not want to leave the girls with her.”
“But Kelly’s there too—”
“Only, she hasn’t been,” the Dutchman quips. “She’s been acting weird as well, never home, so who can I trust with my daughter when I’m not around?”
They feel bad for him, he can see it in their eyes, slowly forming along with knitted brows. They exchange a look before Carlos releases a heavy breath. “Listen, I only remember her face because I had asked for her number, but I quickly backed off as soon as she said she was seventeen.”
Pierre nods. “I ran into her in the men's restroom, actually. She barely even looked up at me when she said—”
The line to the ladies room was too long to wait for, you mumbled, wiping away your tears.
The thought of you crying makes his chest tighten. “W-W-Why was she—”
“She never really got around to explaining. I can’t fully blame her. I was only a stranger.”
Max shut his eyes, shaking his head with confusion as he clicks his phone off. “Fine. So some jerk ruined her night eight years ago—what does that have to do with her coming back?”
“Well. Isn’t it obvious by now?”
The jerk is clearly you.
-
When he walks in through the door in the late hours of December eighth, he has nothing left to give but confrontation, and the only good thing about this was that Kelly had taken the girls to visit her parents in Brazil.
But you’ll join us in a couple of days, right? she had asked when he dropped them off at the airport.
Of course.
She nodded, curled hair tucked behind her ear as she took the chance to kiss him. You won’t last too long being alone. The nanny leaves tonight to Paris with her friends.
He forced his face to not react. Is she now?
A steady laugh almost escapes when she tilts her head back and quirks a sharp brow. Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re going to miss her.
What could he possibly have responded with? The truth? Nobody ever likes the truth, least of all, him. He hates it that he can hear you packing, the wheels squeak as you move throughout your room. He despises the fact that you won't be around, and not simply for the matter of taking care of Lily and Penelope anymore.
It more so had to do with the yearning question of: what now?
Walking towards the front door and putting your things aside with a flush colored face, he can tell that you’re surprised to see him here. Standing tall and ever so questionable. Your lips turn into something of a smile, almost as if you were expecting for this to be a prank.
“Do my eyes deceive me,” you tease with humor. “What are you doing here, I thought you were in Brazil?”
Max shrugs, playing coy. “Why hadn’t you told me you were going to Paris?”
You look taken aback, truly, shocked to hear his own wonder said out loud. “I figured Kelly would have. Does this come to a complete surprise to you?”
“Right. Well. Sort of,” he complains, dodging your stare now, looking down at your luggages as they seem to wait rather impatiently. A sudden urge came through, the need to burn them, simply so you wouldn’t walk past those doors, but honest to God, there wouldn’t be an ounce of care in you if he were to do just that. “I just wish you would have told me.”
“Do I owe it to you to make you the first to know?”
A moment lingers by. He doesn’t say much in between it, barely even blinks, but he’s looking at you now. Straight at you like nothing but his questions exist. Perhaps, that's really all there is.
“I know now.”
You align yourself straight with a playful expression, hands resting over your hip as if you’re ready to challenge him. Which is what you’re about to do, he’s perfectly well aware. “Are you having trouble explaining yourself in words, Mr. Verstappen?”
His jaw twitches once. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I really don’t see what the big deal would have been.” He shakes his head adamantly. “You were there that night. At Carlos’ farewell dinner, weren’t you?”
You quirk a brow smugly. “Well then, I recall something different—was it not Pierre’s welcome dinner?”
Max is really, really, really trying his best at keeping his composure, but he is not a God and there is only so much more that he can take. This was starting to feel like a bad idea. Having this conversation with you, that is. It could only ever end with something regrettable, why would he ever allow himself to be optimistic and think otherwise?
“To whatever it may have been,” he hisses. “You. Were. There.”
And finally, you accept it, smiling so…satisfied.
“I was there. I was there that night, you’re right.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” he whispers to himself, pacing around, nearly fidgeting. He stops right in front of you, looking you dead in the eye. “And eight years ago…I did something to you?”
“Nearly nine.”
The Dutchman doubles down. “Nearly nine, what?”
“In a few days,” you say with a gentle tone. “It’ll be nine years.”
He’s full of despair at this point, brows furrowed and pinched up all at once. His blue eyes have darkened into something impure, but what else could have been so beautiful to a girl like you?
You smile, reaching to brush his hair back. You feel him get tense, like a strained muscle of some sort, but he never once steps away. No. Instead, he finds himself leaning into your touch like some deprived sicko.
This is a humiliation ritual, he begins to think to himself as a cruel realization when his heart punches his chest hard, almost as if its intention was for him to lurch over with pain. But has it not always felt this way with you?
“Max,” you purr, softly rubbing your thumb against his temple now. “I’ll tell you what—”
“What?” he questions rapidly, desperate for quite literally anything you’re willing to give to him.
A slow smirk. “How about you tell me what it is that you think you did that night, and I’ll let you know if you get it right, huh? How does that sound?”
He’s well aware that you’re treating him like a dog. With rules you know he’s going to follow anyways, and with a firm voice that lets him know who’s in control.
It’s you—despite living in his home, despite making a living wage under his payroll, despite watching his daughters when he’s away for months on end—it’s only ever been you in control.
And so, his confessions begin.
“It was so long ago,” he mumbles, opening his mouth like it was already looking for yours. Pressing your hands to his chest now, you keep him place but still close. He blinks, tamed by that action alone. “H-H-How could I possibly remember?”
“Think,” you demand. “Look, I’ll even help jog up your memory. I’m thoughtful that way..”
And you kiss him.
Yes, you kiss him like a dirty soul that is intending to hang onto him until he can no longer stand on his own two feet. It’s so vicious, he can feel your fingerprints color his skin all over, as if warning him: This. This. This. This will stick to you because I said so.
His large hands grab at your sides desperately, like he’s trying to stay afloat. The sudden fiction makes you smile against his lips before tugging him towards the living room. He’s a mess, tripping over his own two feet, whimpering when you pull his hair as if directing him onto the right path.
He groans when he falls down against the couch with a harsh thud, blinking up to where you hover over him before claiming a seat on his lap, gaze dark and tempting. He shudders beneath your body at the mere sight. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t seem to re—”
“Would it help if I sucked your cock?”
Max blinks, dazed, before you climb off, already getting on your knees and unzipping his jeans. “Wait a minute, wait a minute—” But he’s just as good as gone the second your mouth wraps around his girth. “Oh God.”
Mmm, you moan at the taste of him, fluttering your lashes as you pump the rest of him with your hands. An upward motion that makes his eyes squeeze shut in a way that has him seeing colors. You giggle, stirring vibrations that certainly didn’t help his situation.
“Do you remember me now?” you whisper as you pull away, enjoying his demise.
As some weak attempt, his hands reach for the back of your head, holding you in place and keeping you from moving, but that doesn’t stop your tongue from licking a stripe down the base, eyes crinkling with amusement when he tenses up.
“I hooked up with a girl that night!” he practically pants out like a cloudy revelation he hopes is nothing but right. “In a bathroom stall, I wanna say…” Pressing a kiss down to his pink tip, you nod sleepily and he feels his insides burst with surprise. “That was you?”
“Nope,” you sing, finally pushing his hands away and sucking him back in, canine teeth scratching him every time you bop your head.
A loud hiss escapes once before clenching his jaw, but keeps his eyes on you. The way your cheeks hollow, the way you inhale like it costs you to keep up, just as much as him. And yet, he doesn’t quite reason how someone could look so holy while committing such a filthy act?
His inner thoughts come to a sudden halt when he feels your clammy hands press down against his thighs as you lean forward, deepthroating him.
Fuck, he croaks, mouth hung open in a silent O as his blue orbs connect with yours, filled with infatuation that surely sticks to your pink tongue. Breathing hard, you gag around his length for a minute before pulling away with a loud gasp, a string of saliva stretching as far as you go with a cheeky smile. Your hand continues to pump fast, mocking his moans like a record player.
“You’re so pretty when you’re ruined,” you praise, nodding along with him as his climax seems to build up rather rapidly. The Dutchman opens his mouth to speak, but falls short when you spit on his face, making him flinch before blinking up like a lost bunny, shocked. You giggle sweetly, jerking him off in one last hasty manner before he comes, thick ropes splurting and his groans echo. You smile, satisfied, pushing back against your heels, taking in the image of him gasping for air. “Christ,” you scoff. “If I had known you were this easy to break, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”
Max winces, avoiding your gaze as he rubs his eyes, thinking surely: This must be a dream, right? A nightmare, maybe? There was really no way of him not feeling embarrassed about what just occurred.
“If you hate me so much…then why are you doing all of this?” he asks with difficulty.
“Me?” you challenge with a frisky grin that stretches from ear to ear. “I said that?”
“You don’t have to.” His blue eyes falter into something frail, nearly grey. “I just…know.”
A beat.
Sighing—like he owes you a favor—you rise up to your feet and climb onto his thick lap, pushing your skirt up and sliding your panties to the side. He freezes when he feels your wet core slide against his cock, painfully hard. His stomach churns with anticipation.
“Well…” you start, gently cradling his face with one hand, and slipping him into your slippery hole with the other. “It’s because I hate you, that I’m also fucking you, Maxie.”
Taking everything there is to take, your breath hitches and his brain short circuits. You roll your hips as a lazy warning before resting your hands on his broad shoulders, bouncing. “W-What?” he stutters, holding you close when you arch your back with pleasure, mouth agape. “What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t get it,” you breathe out, a thin layer of sweat pasting your hair down against your face. Your cheeks are red, your lips are plump and pink, and he can feel his cock twitch inside of you. You frown dramatically. “I always thought you’d be a better fuck than this.”
It’s as if you had the intention of bruising his ego, and if so, you’ve achieved it. It strikes him without any given mercy, and it’s only until then, that he feels you awake something within him.
Fisting his grip on you even harder, the Dutchman rips you off of him, causing you to squeal before fixing you on all four on the coffee table right in front of you. It’s the perfect height too, right where he can slip back in and at an angle that makes his head roll back and your sounds break.
“How’s that?” he asks, feeling your core tighten. Looking back at you, he takes the time to admire the white ring that forms, the way it begins to slither down and in between your thighs. Max grunts, scooping it up on his index finger before licking it clean. The taste brings him to shame, feeling it slide down his throat like some delicious nectar. “So sweet…”
“Harder,” you instruct, glancing over your shoulder with a teasing smile that makes his heart stop for a minute. “Give it to me harder, Max.” A whimper. “I wanna feel how sorry you are.”
And although he has no clue as to what he’s apologizing for, he does it anyway. Thrust in deeper. Much more ruthless. He watches as your sweaty palms slips against the glass. Catches your reflection, beautiful features twisted with pleasure. A knot forms in the pit of his stomach, and surely you sense it too, because not long after, you start to push your ass back, looking for more.
“Oh, Maxie,” you whimper. “You feel so good inside of me.”
His visions blurs.
“And—and I feel so good around you…don’t I?”
“The best,” he assures you quickly, focused on his movements. “How could you not? You’re so w-warm and—tiny.”
You hum. “And you’re a good man, right?”
“Mhm!” He nods to himself feverishly, getting light headed at one point. “Ngh—mhm!”
“Well then—why would a good man ruin some else’s life?”
“F-Fuck!” he groans one last time before finishing deep inside of you. His breathing patterns struggle to align again as he looks up, finding you to already be staring back at him. He blinks when you glare, standing up and pulling your skirt back down. “I, uh, did what now?”
Your gaze flickers when he fixes his jeans before marching back to him, pushing him unexpectedly and causing him to stumble stupidly. “How could you?” you accuse with fury laced in your voice. “How?”
His eyes widen, startled, and lifted his arms up in defense. “I-I-I don’t understand!”
Tears threaten to spill as you stare up at him. “That night—nine years ago—we did meet. We did.” A beat. “I was visiting my brother at his new internship, don’t you remember?”
Max freezes. “You…”
“Yeah,” you hiss, hitting his chest repeatedly before he grabs your hands, fighting back when you dig your nails into him. “Me, you fucking jerk!”
He winces in pain, letting go of you as his skin begins to burn and numb up in one go. “I didn’t mean to!”
“Really?” you taunt, inching closer to him and cocking your head to the side. “You didn’t mean to?”
“I was only seventeen!” he tries to reason, flinching when your eye twitches. “I was just a teenager…”
“Ha!” you laugh out, sounding slightly deranged. Pushing your knotted hair back, you purse your lips before nodding towards him. “You thought you were the only one, or…”
Max recoils, memories flashing back to a time where he was new to the sport and didn’t know a lot of people. The other drivers, well, they didn’t count, and it was hard meeting anyone. At least, that’s what he thought.
He gulps. “When you’re y-y-young, you do dumb shit, alright?” Taking steady steps backwards, he finds that the distance between you both never decreases, and suddenly everything feels far too claustrophobic. “It was an accident.” He flinches. “And…I get why you’re mad at me. I do, I promise you that I do! But… I can’t change what happened eight years ago—”
“Nine.”
He nods robotically in agreement. “Nine. Nine years ago.”
Guilt tricks him back to you the second you drop down onto the floor, sobbing out like an injured puppy. In the most delicate manner, he levels down next to you and wraps his arms around like some safety net.
I’m sorry.
And just like that—you stop crying.
“Don’t be!” you cheer, pulling away and smiling warmly. “You did nothing wrong!” Max blinks. Wiping away at your wet cheeks, you shrug him off like it’s no big deal. “Seriosuly, Max, we’re good.”
His brows knit. “But your brother—”
“Holy shit, you really can’t remember a single thing from your past, can you?” you tease, giggling. “You’ve got the wrong person, mate.”
“But—”
“You’re thinking of Clarice and Nathaniel!”
“But I thought you—”
“How many people’s lives did you fuck up that night, Max?” you joke, leaning in to peck his cheek. “Help me up?” With his brain completely numb, he lends you a hand, assisting you. You pat his head as some form of gratitude before making your way back to the main entrance to where your luggage still awaits.
In a hurry, he jumps up and makes a beeline for you, pulling you by the wrist and forcing you to face him. He’s no longer looking remorseful, he’s no longer being gentle, no, now—now he’s enraged.
“Who the fuck are you?” he accuses, blue eyes dark with instability. “Huh? What do you want from me?”
You smile back softly. “Well, I want a boy, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
His face drops in panic and the realization starts to settle.
“You can’t get pregnant,” he says, body running cold.
“Why not?” you ask with a subtle frown that makes him read right through you. “It’s science, isn’t it?”
“Don’t feed me with that kind of bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit, Max,” you laugh out, breaking free from him and grabbing your suitcases. “Has no one ever told you the story of the Birds and the Bees?”
“I’ll pay you—”
“Tempting.”
“To have an abortion—”
Your eyes sharpen. “Super tempting.”
He releases a heavy breath, evidently agitated. “But you have to promise me that you’ll get it done right.”
“You’re quite the gentleman,” you say, letting out a sarcastic yawn. “And I appreciate the offer—sure, but I don't think it’ll be necessary.” Watching as you reach for the doorknob once again, the Dutchman rushes to keep it closed, forcing you to stay. You scoff, turning to face him. “Move.”
“You can’t do this to me,” he whispers, almost as if he were scared of the walls listening in on him. He swallows, blue eyes written with despair. “I have a family…”
“So what?”
“So—” he declares weakly. “You just…can’t.”
With your brows narrowed, you nod slowly, clicking your fingers. “You know what? You caught me in a good mood, and I’m feeling quite generous right now.” You beam. “I’ll give you another chance.”
He stares back blankly.
You hum. “Just tell me what you did to me nine years ago at that Christmas party, and I’ll do what you want me to do. I won’t run to the tabloids—I sure as hell won’t tell Kelly—and you’ll never see or hear from me again. Sounds fair?”
Max opens his lips, then snaps them back shut pathetically.
“I don’t know…” he mumbles beneath his breath, avoiding your gaze. “I honestly have no idea…”
Your eyes glimmer.
“No worries,” you answer back, voice clipped and bittersweet. Leaning close, you press your lips down onto his and smile when he melts against them like he couldn’t help it. You giggle, pulling away. “No worries at all,” you whisper into his ear, sensing a shiver from him when you do.
One fateful beat.
“You’ll have no choice but to remember me this time.”
summary : your boyfriend lets you try to ride him after sharing a joint, even though he already knows it's gonna end with him making all the effort
wc : 3,7k
warnings : smut!! p in v, dom!charles, high sex, riding, doggy, a LOT of dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, degrading language and charles being a little shit
a/n : here it is!! I had a lot of fun writing this one ngl, and i’m pretty proud of it! it was cool seeing how many of you wanted to read it so soon and that’s the only reason I ignored my schedule and chose to listen to y’all and post it before the fic that was supposed to go first. I hope you guys like it, let me know what you think!
Charles Leclerc was a focused man.
When you drive at the speed he does every weekend you kinda have to be. When you live your life at 200 km/h, jumping from two interviews to the gym and then to film more content, you have to keep your eye on the ball if you want to stay sane.
Victories, podiums, getting as many points as you can every single weekend, on and off the track. Points in the car, points with the media, with the fans...
That's exactly why he's so fond of breaks.
Not breaks in the calendar, since, between modelling and training, he also has to work during those. What he actually enjoys are the real breaks he gets from his world. Which aren't nearly as many nor as long as he would want.
They consist normally of just passing moments, like going out for dinner with his family or walking Leo around the monegasque mountains where the paparazzi can't find him. Moments in which he's either alone or with people he trusts.
And, specially, moments that don't require him to be alert. Because money can buy many things, but peace of mind isn't one of them.
At least, not if you take the traditional meaning.
What money can buy, however, is the closest thing to having his brain turned off that Charles can find.
Weed.
It also can buy a big TV, a comfortable bed and the takeout dinner you and him had just shared in his room before lighting the joint you were now peacefully smoking from.
Your head was resting on his shoulder, eyes closed as you took another puff before your boyfriend stole it from you.
He knew he wasn't technically allowed to get high in any way. If the press found out about this, his PR team would have an absolute field day.
Luckily for him, you were the only one that knew about this little moments. And you sure as hell weren't planning on telling anyone.
When the smoke left his lips, you looked up at him with a smile that he immediately noticed.
"What?" He said in a lazy voice, glancing down at you.
The high little giggle that came out of you was completely involuntary. "Nothing."
Charles smirked, his green eyes softening as he looked down at you. The glow from the TV screen lit up his sharp features, making him look even more unfairly beautiful.
He took a slow drag from the joint and exhaled through his nose, smoke curling into the air like lazy ribbons. Without breaking eye contact, he passed it back to you.
One hand still hovered over the TV controller, his other hand absently stroking your hair in that way he always did when high and content.
"You're always giggly when you're high." He murmured in that deep accent of his.
"M'not high, who do you take me for?" You joked, taking the joint.
Charles snorted at your reply; a rare, unfiltered laugh slipping out.
He watched you take the joint with amusement, your cheeks puffing slightly as you inhaled.
"Ah oui, totally not high." He teased in mock seriousness. "That's why you're giggling like Leo when I scratch his belly."
He reached over and gently tapped your nose with his free hand, and then without warning, he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth: soft, warm... lingering just a second too long.
And when he was going to pull away, you moved your free hand to his neck, pulling him into another kiss.
Charles let out a quiet, surprised hum against your lips, instantly melting into it.
His free hand dropped the controller completely, forgotten on the bed. He cupped your jaw gently with his warm palm, thumb brushing your cheekbone while his other arm curled around you to pull you closer.
The joint burned low between your fingers as your boyfriend kissed you slow and sweet; all lazy affection and that soft monegasque warmth.
High or not... this was perfect.
He nipped playfully at your bottom lip before diving back in for another kiss, deeper this time, and you slowly moved to his lap.
Charles' breath hitched as you settled onto his thighs, your weight warm and familiar against him, and he instinctively wrapped both arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.
His lips found yours again, hungry now; kissing deeper, messier. One hand slid up to tangle in your hair while the other traced slow circles on your lower back through the fabric.
You pulled away, smirking, and took another drag of the joint.
Charles exhaled sharply when you pulled away, his lips still slightly parted, the sudden loss of your kiss leaving a weird little void.
He watched you take that slow drag from the joint, smoke curling around your face in the dim glow of the TV. His eyes followed every movement; the way your lips wrapped around it, how relaxed and beautiful you looked high and smirking at him like that.
You moved your free hand to his hair, pulling him towards you, and leaned closer to his lips as the smoke stayed in your mouth.
Charles froze for half a second, eyes flicking to your lips and the thin wisp of smoke still clinging between them.
You were dangerous like this. High, bold, and full of mischief.
And he fucking loved it.
With zero hesitation, driven by pure instinct and the quiet throb of want in his chest, he closed the gap again. When he slightly opened his mouth just next to yours, you exhaled the smoke into him.
The warm rush of it hit Charles' lips and filled his mouth, sweet, herbal and yours.
He didn't flinch. Didn't pull back. Instead, he kissed you through it, letting the shared smoke mingle between your mouths in a slow, hazy exchange.
It was messy. Intimate in a way that made your stomach flip.
When he finally broke for air, his cheeks were slightly flushed under that cool guy facade... and there was a dazed little smile playing on his lips.
You took advantage of the space to take your t-shirt off, making his eyes darken slightly as they swept over you; bare skin glowing in the TV light.
He didn't say anything at first, just looked like he was memorizing every curve. Then his hands moved on instinct; warm palms sliding up your sides, gentle but firm.
He leaned in again slowly... not for another kiss right away, but to press a trail of soft kisses down from your jaw... along your collarbone... and lower...
You gasped when he got to your breasts, making him smirk against your skin.
He took his time; soft kisses on the swell of each tit, then slow, teasing brushes of his lips over the sensitive skin. His hands cradled you gently as he worshipped every inch with his warm mouth and careful fingers.
When he finally closed his lips around a nipple; kissing first, then softly sucking, the effect was immediate.
You instinctively arched into him, letting your head fall back with a quiet moan as he kept going; soft kisses and gentle nips around one nipple while his thumb brushed over the other.
He loved how responsive you were when high, how every little touch made you melt.
He switched to the other side then, paying equal attention; soft suction that turned into gentle bites, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath hitch again.
Charles felt your fingers tangle in his hair, finally, and a low hum of approval vibrated from his chest.
He liked that. Loved it, actually.
Encouraged by the silent plea, he increased the pressure just slightly; more focused suction on one nipple while his hand cupped and teased the other.
And then, without warning, he slid one hand down your stomach.
His palm glided downward; warm, calloused from steering wheels, and so careful.
His fingers hovered just above the waistband of your panties now, teasing.
He kissed his way back up to your neck; soft nips along the column of it, before whispering against your skin. "Je t'aime comme ça..." (I love you like this...)
"Like what...?"
"Comme ça..." He repeated quietly, voice low and rough around the edges. "Relaxed. Happy. High."
He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead before adding with that quiet accent; "And all mine right now."
Then he kissed you again, slow and deep this time; not hungry or messy like before, but tender... loving.
Your hands moved to the waistband of his sweatpants as you kissed him back, making his breath hitch. His hips twitched slightly on instinct, pressing up into you without meaning to.
He was already hard. So hard.
But he let you take the lead this time; no rushing, no demanding. Without saying anything, he lifted his hips slightly to help you pull them down further... silently giving you permission.
When you pulled his sweats and boxers down, Charles smirked into the kiss. He knew this game.
He broke the kiss just enough to whisper against your lips. "You always get tired halfway."
You rolled your eyes, not wanting to give in. "I won't."
Charles chuckled, low and warm against your lips, not entirely convinced. He loved how determined you sounded, the way you were sitting on his lap like a woman on a mission, all soft skin and fire in your eyes.
But he also knew the truth: high as hell, muscles loose... by minute two of riding him? You'd probably melt into his chest with a sleepy sigh.
Still... he wasn't about to argue.
Instead, he kissed you again, deeper this time, and slid one hand up to cup the back of your neck while the other trailed down your spine. Encouraging and guiding.
His large hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your soft skin as he lifted you just enough; not to sit down on him, just to feel the tip of his cock tease your entrance.
"Mm?" He hummed against your lips, eyes half-lidded and dark with lust. "Y'wanna ride me good, baby?"
You nodded, and he lowered you slowly, letting just the head slide inside before pausing, drawing it out. His thumb traced lazy circles on your hip while the other hand stayed at the back of your head, keeping you close.
"S'gonna be a bumpy ride." He murmured with that shit-eating grin, breath hot against your lips. "And you always get tired."
"I won't this time." You replied, finally sinking down on him.
A low groan vibrated in his chest as you took him in; tight, wet and perfect.
"Mm, that's what you always say..." He breathed, hands tightening on your hips as you began to move, already feeling the familiar rhythm that made his head spin. "And then about five minutes in, you're all 'Charles, I can't—please!'"
You ignored him and kept moving, making him bite back a smile as he watched you bounce on his dick with that determined expression on your face. His hands moved to your breasts, squeezing them gently as he started to thrust up into you, meeting your bounces.
"That's it, ride my dick." He whispered, pinching your hard nipples between his fingers. "Keep fucking me like y'mean it, baby. Maybe this time you won't get tired."
One hand slid from your tits down to your ass, giving it a light smack before pulling you down harder onto him.
He kept talking that shit; low, dirty french murmurs against your neck, lips and ears. His other hand moved between your legs to rub your clit in slow circles, knowing it wouldn't be long before you were a panting, shaking mess on his lap. "C'est ça, ma chérie. Fuck yourself on my cock."
You moaned again. God, he was good with his fingers.
"I know." He smirked against your lips, loving the way your voice cracked when you were high. He pressed his thumb harder against your clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles that made your hips stutter.
"Already getting tired, hm? Moving slower..." He teased, thrusting sharply up into you. "Told you... give it two minutes and you're tapping out."
"I'm not..." You wimpered, still moving.
"Right." He hummed sarcastically, smacking your bouncing breasts. "Keep telling yourself that, love. Your pussy's already squeezing my dick like you're gonna come." He thrust again, hitting that spot inside you that made you louder.
"Ah!"
"See?" He kissed you roughly, biting your lip. "You're fucking soaked and sloppy on my dick. And you're slowing down." He started to fuck up into you harder; knowing it wouldn't take long now. "Give up, princess."
"N-no..." You shook your head, trying to move faster.
He watched you try to pick up the pace; your tits bouncing messily, your face flushed. He spread his legs wider, giving you more leverage to bounce on his dick. But he knew your high body, and it got lazy quickly during sex.
"Mentally compromised." He breathed out, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. "You're high as fuck and trying to prove a point. It's adorable."
His fingers found your clit again, rubbing faster now. "But look at you, already leaning forward, hands on my chest for balance." He smacked your ass, hard enough to sting.
You moaned at the smack, making his smile widen.
"Love that sound." He murmured, gripping your ass where he'd just smacked you to soothe the sting. "But your legs are shaking, baby." He watched your knees buckle slightly as you tried to keep bouncing, your movements becoming sloppy and erratic.
"Told you... five minutes max." He grabbed your hips, stopping your movements entirely. "Tap out."
But you stubbornly kept moving, trying to prove yourself.
He let you keep going, barely. Your movements were pathetic now, just tiny little rises and falls, like you were too lazy to commit. Your head lolled against his shoulder, eyes half-closed, lips parted.
"That's it." He cooed, amused as hell. "Fight it for another thirty seconds."
He felt your movements get even slower, your pussy barely sliding up and down his dick now. He knew you were almost there, completely stoned-out and fucking worthless on his lap.
"Look at you." He whispered, his voice thick with desire. "So fucking high and stupid." He pinched your nipple hard enough to make you whimper.
You tried to keep moving, but could only rub yourself instead of bouncing.
"Stop fucking trying." He commanded, his voice firm but gentle, slapping your ass again for emphasis. "You're just humping me now... look at you, grinding your little pussy on my cock like a slut."
You whined, trying to hump him faster. But since you weren't actually moving up and down on his length, you were only overstimulating yourself.
"Oh my god." He laughed, low and rough. "You're gonna make yourself come just from humping my dick."
He watched with dark amusement as you desperately ground your clit against his pelvic bone, chasing friction you weren't getting properly.
You were just rubbing yourself raw, your little brain too fogged to realize you weren't actually fucking him anymore as you kept humping his cock like a horny puppy.
His hands moved to your waist, holding you still.
"No, princess. Tap out."
You whined, your head dropping to hide against his shoulder as your hips kept trying to search for any kind of friction
"You're a fucking mess." He murmured, one hand moving to hold your head against his shoulder while the other slapped your ass again, harder this time. "Stop fucking humping me, you're not even getting any dick this way. Tap out, baby."
You whined again at the slap, one of your hands finally moving to his shoulder, tapping twice.
He didn't stop you from continuing to grind; you'd earned the right to rub your clit raw on his cock since you'd tapped out, but he was in control now.
"That's my good girl. Let me take over."
He took your hips in a firm grip, stopping your movements entirely. "You're so fucking high you can't even bounce properly anymore." He laughed, dark and low. "You're just humping my cock like a dog in heat." He slapped your pussy again, this time harder.
"Hands and knees." He said, pushing you down gently but firmly. "Keep your face buried in the pillow, you're too fucking high to argue anyway." He grabbed your hips roughly, pulling them up higher. "This is how we're gonna fuck now."
He pinned your arms back behind you, holding your wrists together in one of his large hands.
You were completely at his mercy now, ass elevated, face buried in the pillow, and unable to control a fucking thing.
"Mhm, much better." He purred, giving your ass a good hard smack that made you cry out into the pillow.
He pushed back inside you in one smooth thrust, feeling you still soaking wet from your desperate humping.
"Fucking ruin of a ride." He grunted, already snapping his hips forward.
"Hmph!"
"Shh, shh..." Charles soothed, thrusting deep and rough, pinning your wrists tighter behind you as he fucked into you with hard, deep strokes that made your thighs shake uselessly against the mattress. "You tapped out, remember? Now y'take it."
You moaned against the pillow, closing your eyes at the feeling.
"That's it, baby, just feel it." He kept a brutal pace, his other hand coming down to spank your ass intermittently as he fucked you.
His fingers dug into your hips bruisingly as he held you in place to take each deep thrust.
Your brain just... checked out. Your moans became mindless, your hips stopped trying to move with him, just flopping uselessly instead. No coordination, no effort; just letting him use you.
"That's my girl." He whispered, his voice dripping with dark affection. "No thinking. Just a fucking hole for my cock."
He kept your wrists pinned tight behind your back, effectively trapping you in that submissive, mindless headspace. Every deep thrust forced little broken noises out of your throat, muffled by the pillow. You were completely liquid beneath him; limp, pliant, and utterly fucked out.
"Mhm..." He groaned, loving the sound of your mindless whimpers. "You're totally gone, aren't you? Just a little slut for me to fuck into the mattress." He spanked you hard enough that your legs jiggled uselessly against the bed.
You still nodded against the pillow, letting him use you. God, you fucking loved when he got like this...
"Yeah, I know." He cooed condescendingly, watching your face smushed into the pillow. "Can't even speak properly, can you?"
He slowed his thrusts down just enough to be torturous, grinding his hips deep instead of pounding you.
"Just nodding your head like a dumb little puppy. You're so fucking fried!"
You whined again, making him smile.
"Shh, I know." He mocked gently, pressing his chest against your back to keep you completely pinned. "Your brain is all mushy. Too much weed, too much dick, y'can't function, can you?"
He spanked your ass again, watching the flesh ripple. "Poor baby. Completely useless."
Your moans pitched up into high, desperate whines, your brain turning to absolute mush under the brutal rhythm as he picked up the pace.
He was pounding you into the mattress now, using your pinned wrists as leverage to fuck you deeper and harder, leaving you zero room to think or move.
"That's it." He gritted out, watching your body just bounce helplessly with every thrust. "Fucking take it."
Your legs began twitching uncoordinatedly against the mattress, your inner muscles clenching and releasing sporadically around his dick.
You were completely overwhelmed, overstimulated by the rough sex, the degrading words and the position trapping you.
"Come on, little stoner." He taunted, feeling you on the edge. "Come on my dick like a good girl, show me how dumb y'are." He spanked your pussy hard, right where you were being stretched open on his cock.
Your orgasm hit you like a truck, your back arching as you screamed into the pillow, your entire body convulsing helplessly. You were completely out of it; mindless, senseless, just a shaking, twitching mess on the end of his dick as you came hard enough to see stars.
He didn't let up, kept fucking you through your orgasm, dragging it out until you were sobbing into the pillow, your body trembling. "That's it, give it to me." He grunted, feeling your pussy clenching around him on its own. "Fucking wreck."
He felt his own climax building, his thrusts becoming erratic and deep. You were still twitching from your orgasm, completely limp and useless, your face still buried in the pillow, arms pinned uselessly behind your back.
"Going to fill you up, princess." He warned, his voice strained. "You're too fucking gone to even understand what I'm saying, aren't you?"
You really were far too gone. The only thing you could feel was the absolute pleasure still running through your veins.
"Yeah, you're not even listening." He groaned, feeling your pussy still clenching weakly around him. "Just a dumb fucked out slut... fuck- that's it.."
With a final thrust, he buried himself balls deep inside you and came hard, his warm cum releasing inside you in thick and sticky ropes.
He stayed there, his cock pulsing as he filled you up completely. He kept your wrists pinned, keeping your face pressed into the pillow as he caught his breath, his body tense with aftershocks.
Slowly, he began to pull out, and you could feel his cum dripping down your thighs.
He watched his seed slowly leak out of you, mixing with your arousal and running down your legs. He smirked to himself, loving the sight of his mark on you. With a final pat to your ass, he released your wrists, letting you collapse forward completely onto the mattress.
You closed your eyes, trying to catch your breath.
He laid down beside you, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly, your eyes squeezed shut in utter exhaustion.
"You're gone, princess." He whispered, brushing your messy hair away from your sweaty face. "Totally gone."
in which a certain (annoying) Italian warms your cold heart, and other parts of your body. Relieving pressure in more ways than one.
⋆⭒˚pairing: Kimi Antonelli x you
⋆˚࿔ warnings: angsty, fluffy, smut, slow burn, porn w enormous plot. russtappen and landoscar involved. Implied mental abuse, daddy issues, alcohol, implied panic/anxiety attack. Kimi is a shameless flirt, max is his father and wingman. Reader is a virgin. Horrible italian translations. Oral sex (f recieving) choking, hair-pulling, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, unprotected sex.
˙⋆✮ wc: 8.9k
I’m so not normal about Kimi, it’s becoming unhealthy.
A cold-hearted woman of ice. The media’s favorite way to describe you. You couldn’t blame them though. You never showed up at after parties, you answered questions with few words and your tone always seemed to be laced with a certain coldness.
If anything it seemed like you wanted to be anywhere but the track, but you knew that nothing was farther from the truth. The track was exactly where you wanted to be, it was where you were born to be.
Nothing made you feel more alive than the sharp turns, high speeds, and the rush of an overtake. You worked hard to be on that track, women had only been allowed into the F1 since a couple of years ago, and even though you weren’t the only woman on the track you felt like you had a certain reputation to uphold.
The FIA was strict, interviewers and paparazzi were shameless and you wanted to give them nothing they could unnecessarily critique you for, no media attention, just racing.
You felt the disdain of many other racers on the track towards your attitude, and you’d had many conversations with Mekies where he’d ‘asked’ you to improve your attitude. If it wasn’t for your skill he would have certainly dropped you by now.
One man however did understand you, and to your comfort that was your teammate Max. You didn’t even need to confide in him about your reasons, he just understood. A simple nod, a simple look, that was all it took. He led most interviews for you or he would steal you away when reporters came running.
You were eternally grateful for that. Besides a teammate Max had become a great friend to you, maybe even your only teammate on the track, but that all changed when the 2025 season began.
Kimi Antonelli.
The new child prodigy of Mercedes, Toto’s new golden boy. You didn’t have a problem with him, per se, but suddenly Max was around a lot less leaving you alone with interviewers prying about strategy and penalties. Luckily the child prodigy took away a lot of the attention from you.
He was 19, only a year younger than you but you still saw him as a child, maybe to distract yourself from the pure talent that he possessed, or his sudden wins during the 2026 season. He overtook with annoying ease.
He climbed up the ranks higher than you ever did, fueled with pure determination and the will to show his team, to show everybody what he was capable of. The ‘new’ Max Verstappen, as the media started to call him.
Whilst your team started failing, Max’ engine completely giving up in Monaco and your engine stalling during the race, too, Kimi seemed to be allergic to losing. Curse you, Bono.
Still you somehow managed to get on the podium, mostly due to George’s penalties. You coldly congratulated both Hamilton and Antonelli, the way you always did. As the champagne sprayed around the podium Kimi made a move and started approaching you, you saw Hamilton mumble something to him.
Over the loud roars of the audience you weren’t quite sure what he said, but Kimi shrugged his shoulders and moved towards you anyways. He stuck out his hand, and smiled at you. Genuinely smiled at you.Not the fake smile the other drivers would put on to avoid criticism from the media.
You hesitated, but stuck out your hand slowly, he grabbed it and shook it. “Congratulations!” he screamed over the loud music and cheers from the crowd, his thick italian accent had the corners of your mouth threatening to lift.
This was the first time you’d ever had a podium with the Italian, his hospitality was unlike other drivers. Where they’d glare, sneer and grimace, he smiled, cheered and sprayed everyone with his champagne. The sparkle in his eye was unmistakable.
Lewis’ eyes on the other hand were as wide as pancakes. You almost chuckled, and eventually you did. Kimi was jumping all over the podium, cheering loudly and head to toe covered in sticky champagne. It was way too hard not to laugh.
It was the first time you actually decided to ‘join in’ on a celebration, the first time you audibly laughed on a podium. You cracked open your bottle and caught Kimi right as he turned around towards you.
“Not fair! I’m empty!” He laughed as he tried to get you with his last few drops of champagne. Somehow he managed to steal away your bottle and he almost chased you all around the podium with it.
It was pathetic, and it was the happiest you’d felt in a while.
Lewis stood beside you two, staring in absolute disbelief as the girl who’d been a stone cold Medusa to him and the rest of the grid for the past two years, suddenly seemed to melt next to the rookie. And best believe the media caught that, too.
“Antonelli melts the ice queen!” The headlines were inescapable, but you’d never seen Merkies so happy. And rewatching that podium later, you realized you’d never seen yourself so happy, either.
Then your phone buzzed. The atmosphere in the hotel was tense and cold. You picked up your phone. Dad. It read. Shit. That was another thing you and Max could bond over, horrible fathers.
“You could’ve had at least P2, pick up the pace next time.” It stung like a wasp, but not as much as the other fifty times he’s said something like that.
“The engine stalled, I tried my best.” You replied. His response came shortly after. “Your best is not enough, and never let me see you like that on a podium ever again unless you finally win a championship.” You rolled your eyes and tried your best not to tear up.
“Sorry.” You threw your phone across the hotel bed after hitting ‘send’ not interested in whatever bullshit he’d think about your position or your celebration. But he was right, though. Wasn’t he?
Even though the media was remotely positive about your podium moment with Kimi, it felt like the shield you’d been building up all this time had started to crack.
You couldn’t let that happen, above all what mattered the most was winning. No stupid celebrations, no fraternization, only the points behind your name. Right?
Your phone buzzed again.
You tried to ignore it, but curiosity got the better of you. You braced yourself for whatever insults your father was going to throw at your face as you turned over the screen. It was…
“Kimi?” You whispered, like the hotel walls were listening. How did he even get your number?
“Hello it’s Kimi!” The message read, he was still typing. “Will you come celebrate with us tonight?” He was referencing the notorious after parties after each race weekend.
You weren’t going, you never went. You had nothing to celebrate, you weren’t P1, you hadn’t won.
“Don’t think so.” You tried keeping nonchalant, even though you knew that wouldn’t work on him after this afternoon. “Why not? You got podium!” You tried not to smile at his sweetness.
You had to come up with a lie, fast. “I just started a movie, gotta finish it now.” You typed back, closing the messaging app thinking he’d get the hint and get off your back.
“Which one?” The notification popped up on your screen just as you closed the app. Damn he was fast.
“The Fast and The Furious.” You answered with the first movie that came to mind, maybe you shouldn’t have gone with a racing film. “Oh like us!” He typed back.
Like us.
You never knew a simple phrase could make you feel so conflicted. Us? What did he mean by us?
“Will you be here next time?” You thought for a second. Your fingers hesitated above your phone's keyboard.
“Maybe.” You stated, a simple, short answer. Leaving just enough room for ambiguity. Not a yes, but not quite a no, even though you knew it was a no.
He simply replied with a thumbs up and that was the last of that. You then decided to actually watch the Fast and the Furious, you wanted nothing to do with social media at the moment, nor were you feeling like racing in the sim.
The week went by fast, training in the gym, training in the sim, free practice on friday. Barcelona was hot, almost unbearably so. The kind of heat that was wet, seeping into your skin and leaving as sweat. The sun was bright and piercing through your skull, you could only squint as you entered your car, off to qualifications.
You set a nice enough time in Q1, enough to go off to Q2. You sped up, suddenly you picked up pace, your car flowed smoothly over the burning asphalt, you were quick to overtake Sainz and another driver on the track. You’d just made it into Q3.
The sun was burning, your car was heating up fast, not just in temperature but on the track, too. Somehow you picked up pace fast, you passed Piastri, you passed Max, Leclerc took to the wall. Norris lost his focus, he took a turn way too wide, you intercepted.
At the end of it all you placed in third position, just behind Russel and Antonelli. You felt a rush like no other, this was one of the best qualifications you had had in a long time, you felt alive. So alive. Markies cheered you on as you got out of the car, as did Max.
But from behind them all came someone else, Kimi. “Well done!” He shook your hand. “You were almost faster than me!” His smile was horribly infectious. You tried keeping casual and professional. “Almost is not enough.” You shrugged.
“But it’s still great, no?” He smiled and finally let go of your hand. You shrugged again. His face was covered in droplets of sweat, carefully running down his cheeks and disappearing under the neckline of his racing suit. “Maybe, huh?” He playfully mocked, hitting you with his elbow.
You couldn't help it and almost broke out laughing, luckily you just smiled instead. “Yes, maybe.” He winked at you before walking away to Bono and Toto. You froze in place for a second. Why did he just wink at you? And why did it make you feel even warmer than you already did in the scorching Spanish sun?
Kimi was gonna be a bigger problem than you thought.
A little while later, you and Max were analyzing your performances during a walk around the outskirts of the city. “You really put down a nice time today.” He complimented you, you smiled and told him the same. You saw the slight hint of disappointment in his eyes. You knew he wasn’t that happy with the team anymore.
“The car just doesn’t feel like it used to, you know?” He stared off into the setting sun, you silently nodded. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you decided to ask him about the Monaco after party.
He started going on and on about Lando giving Oscar a hurricane shot, Lance bitching and moaning about who knows what and Carlos attempting to become the server and dropping a whole tray of glasses in the process. You laughed so hard you swore you would die.
“You really ought to come to one of them these days, you work so hard, you deserve a break, too.” He nudged your shoulder, you looked away from him focusing your gaze on two cats near the bushes, one seemed to want to play with the other, but he wouldn’t come out of the bush.
“Yeah, maybe.” You murmured. “Wait, was Kimi even allowed to drink though? He’s only nineteen.” You quickly changed the subject, mostly out of genuine curiosity.
“Kimi? Oh I don’t know, he wasn’t there.” Max said it so casually, but that sentence made something go off in your brain. Kimi wasn’t there? Kimi didn’t go? But he invited you, did he not go because you didn’t go? You started quietly overanalyzing every interaction you’d had with him up until this point.
Looks, smiles, winks, texts. Max noticed you’d gone quiet and asked you if something was up. You shook your head, “No, just…” You stopped, “just thinking.” From the corner of your eye you saw Max sporting a big grin.
“What are you smiling like that for? I haven’t seen you this happy since George put in a pink sock with his whites.” You both laughed at the memory, but Max shook his head. “No just, you and Kimi.” You stopped dead in your tracks. Max walked forward and then turned around to face you.
“What do you mean me and Kimi?” He’d said it so casually, you and Kimi, like you were a pair, like how one would say Ben and Jerry’s, Batman and Robin, or Mickey and Minnie. “Oh well you know… just how his eyes seem to be glued to you ever since his debut.” You rolled your eyes and walked past him, bumping his shoulder.
“Whatever, Verstappen! You don’t know what you’re on about.” You turned around with a smug smile, knowing it annoyed him when you called him by his last name. “Just to remind you, I'm the one who’s been spending a lot of time with him, if anyone knows anything, it’s definitely me.”
You grumbled something before walking on. “Come on! Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?” He yelled trying to catch up to you. I mean, you did notice, at least lately. But was it true he’s had his eye on you for over a year now?
“Well..” You started before shaking your head, “It's nothing, nevermind.” You had never seen Max Verstappen be any faster than when he ran up to you at that moment. “No! Tell me!” And you had never seen him this excited either.
“It’s nothing really… just…” Max was dying from anticipation. “You said Kimi didn’t go to the after party, but he texted me that night in Monaco to check if I was going. And now that you told me he didn’t go, it does make me think about why he would even ask me, unless he didn’t go because I didn’t go. But that’s crazy right?”
Max was quiet for a moment, before bursting out in a cheer. “Yes! My favorite teammate and my grid son! This is such a magical moment!” You could only stare at him in disappointment and disbelief before bursting out laughing, too.
“Im sorry-” You managed between laughs, “Your grid son?” Max proudly smiled and nodded at you before going back to laughing. “I can assure you your favorite teammate and your grid son aren’t going to be anything.” You assured him after you two managed to compose yourselves.
“And I can assure you you are so wrong. You will come to the next after party and I am going to personally prove it.” You mouthed blah blah blah at him which only caused him to double down. “I’ll only come to the party if I get P1 tomorrow, so good luck.”
“Then I guess we have to get you P1.” He smirked, you tried to argue but he had to cut your walk short due to a call from Merkies.
You slowly made your way back to your hotel, along the same route you’d come from. You passed the same tall buildings, the waves near the boardwalk, the butterflies fluttering along the beautiful greenery. One thing you absolutely loved about the Grand Prix’ was the fact you got to travel all over the world, even if it’s just for a week.
You loved tasting every country's delicacies, sightseeing when possible, and the beautiful nature. You especially loved going around Europe, specifically the mediterranean areas, Spain, France, and of course Italy.
Along your walk you passed the same area of trees and bushes as before. The cats were still there, but now the second cat had finally come out of the bushes. Their tails were intertwined as the one cat started pawing at the other. You smiled to yourself.
You had gotten the best sleep you had in a while, and after an early morning of inspecting the track and getting ready in the paddocks, it was time to race.
After lots of laps of keeping pace, blocking Lando, sadly having Hamilton pass you after a bad pit stop and almost overheating in the Spanish sun, you were currently in P3 with Hamilton in front of you, and Kimi up ahead.
You smirked to yourself, ‘Told you I wasn’t going to get to P1’ you thought, imagining you were talking to Max, but then. Lap 43, Kimi’s engine suddenly gave out, forced DNF. You were now P2.
The nerves were starting to build up, you rarely ever got to P2 in a race, you rarely ever kept P2. Hamilton decided to take a pit stop in lap 46 and to your luck somehow their pit crew messed up incredibly badly, making his stop last almost seven seconds. He would never catch up now.
You still had Lando breathing down your neck with a gap of two seconds, and you still had to make a pit stop. Markies was yapping in your ear about strategy, the feeling was overwhelming, god is this what it was like being a race winner?
Then, Alonso. A crash at turn 8, a safety car, a free pit stop.
A chance to win.
After a free pit stop of exactly two seconds you got back into the lead, you stayed in the lead, and you finished in the lead.
The audience cheered like never before, maybe it was just the euphoria of winning your first race, maybe it was the sound of your hard work finally paying off, or maybe it was the annoying sound of your teammate coming up from behind you.
“A deal is a deal!” He hugged you before letting you celebrate with Markies and the team.
Later, when you stood on the podium and sprayed Lando and Russel with champagne, finally laughing with the grid for once, you felt… bad? Kimi was nowhere to be found and it felt unfair to celebrate with him having to DNF, if he didn’t you probably wouldn’t have won. You owe him.
The reporters were all over you, asking how it felt to finally have a victory, wanting you to talk about being a woman on the grid. One of them dared to ask you if you thought this was just a lucky moment. Deep down you did feel that way, but you simply told the reporter, “no comment.” and moved along.
You looked around for Kimi but he still seemed to be missing. “Boo!” Someone grabbed your shoulders from behind, causing you to jump and yelp, your heartbeat going a million miles a minute. Then you realized you recognized the voice, the accent.
You turned around. Kimi. “You think it’s funny giving me a heart attack?” you playfully shoved him as he laughed his ass off, how can someone be this happy after their car just gave up? “You won!” He shook you by the shoulders, the glimmer in his eyes ever so prevalent.
“I told you you could be faster than me!” He beamed, even on a bad day the man was like a walking ball of sunshine. “I wasn’t actually faster than you, Kimi, you would have won if it wasn’t for your engine.” Kimi shrugged, “Maybe.” He teased you, giving you another wink.
You sarcastically rolled your eyes, the smile on your face giving you away. “Does this mean you will be at the after party tonight?” He questioned, you saw Max standing behind him, grinning from ear to ear and holding both his thumbs up. “Lucky for you I have no choice, but trust me I am not excited for it.”
Kimi’s bright smile was immediately replaced with a sad frown. “Why not? We will celebrate! Celebrations are fun, no?” You brushed him off, moving your gaze to the engineers in the paddocks. “I just don’t think the grid would be too happy to celebrate me.” Kimi moved to be in your line of sight again, god this boy really does not give up. “Nonsense! Allora, you just need to show them you can celebrate, too! Like with me! We will have fun, trust me!”
We.
“Well, only because I already promised Max.” You sighed, you were almost a hundred percent sure Max put a spell on the other drivers to get you to P1. Kimi cheered. “Bellisimo! I cannot wait to see you there!’’ He was about to walk off when you stopped him.
“Are you gonna be there this time, Kimi?” His face went red like a tomato, realizing he’d been caught. He tried to play it off, “Oh what’s that Toto? To the pit? Right now? Okay!” He hurried off after pretending Toto was calling him, you just stood there, shaking your head.
“Told you.” Max came up from behind you.
“Oh fuck off, Verstappen.”
A little while later you’d taken a shower, the sticky champagne finally washing off of your body. You had to admit you were beyond nervous to attend the party, you barely got along with anybody on the grid except for Max and, well, now Kimi.
They never liked you, but that was nobody’s fault but your own. Maybe if you had been nicer.. but that simply wasn’t an option. At least that’s what your father always said. “They’re your competition, not your friends.” You sighed to yourself.
You wished it could have been different, you’re twenty for God’s sake and still you had no friends, no social life, barely any ambition. All your life you had to remain focused on the track, focused on being the best, focused on being a champion.
And where has it gotten you? You were a lonely girl, sitting in a hotel, off to a party full of people who hated you, to celebrate a win you didn’t deserve.
Your breathing started picking up, your heartbeat became irrationally fast, you stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror. The tears started welling up in your eyes, something else built up inside of you, too. Anger? Disgust? Sadness? Or everything all at once?
Whatever it was, it was overwhelming all of your senses. You clutched the towel draped around your body. Your other hand grabbed the bathroom sink trying to stabilize yourself. Your breathing only quickened, no matter how much you tried to control it, the tears came shortly thereafter.
Your knees wobbled, your body felt like it was giving up on itself. You felt like giving up on yourself.
brr-ing, brr-ing!
Your phone buzzed on the counter, vibrating so hard it might fall off, but that could’ve been your imagination. You tried composing yourself, and reached to pick up the phone with shaking hands.
“Fuck..” You whispered, of course it had to be Kimi It would have been fine if he texted but he just had to call. You ignored the call and let it go to voicemail, but he called again. And again. After the fourth time you were so frustrated you almost forgot you were about to lose your shit.
You clicked ‘answer’ and before you could yell, “Are you okay?” His voice spoke over the phone, he sounded genuinely concerned. It only made you feel worse. Trying not to cry you told him you were fine, and why he asked.
“You seem like the kind of person to pick up after one call.” Fuck, he read you like a book because, yeah, you are that kind of person. How did he know that? You dismissed his worries and asked why he called. “Oh I wanted to know what you were wearing.”
You hadn’t even thought about that yet, you hadn’t even stepped out of the bathroom yet! “Oh well it’s starting in like.. an hour?” You were now even more panicked than before, your hair was still wet, hell your body was still wet!
“I will help! Tell me what you’ve brought.” You walked Kimi through the select few outfits you packed in your suitcase, honestly you didn’t even know why you agreed to let him help you, you probably could have done it by yourself. You always did everything by yourself.
“You have no dresses?” He said after a while, you put your phone on speaker on the floor next to you while you frantically pulled everything out of your suitcase. “Im a Formula One driver, Kimi. Where and when would i need a dress?” He was quiet for a little bit.
“So from what I hear you have nothing, correct?” He asked you, you grumbled whilst looking at the mess of clothes and shoes on the floor. A few bland shirts, two pairs of jeans, and one pair of comfy, off-track shoes. “I guess, yeah.” You murmured.
“Okay! I will be there in twenty minutes! Do your makeup or something, see you soon!” He hurriedly spoke, and before you could question him or protest, he had already hung up. This dude was unbelievable, but you knew that even if you texted him now he wasn’t turning around.
You silently obeyed for some reason, and did a bit of makeup whilst drying and semi-styling your hair. Kimi arrived in twelve minutes with a knock on your hotel room door, how the fuck did he even know your room number? You opened the door anyway.
He stood there with the biggest smile on his face, exposing his vampire-like canines, he was slightly hyperventilating. “Okay first of all, did you run up the stairs, and how did you even know my room number?” He passed you to go inside before you could even finish the sentence. “Yes I did, and Max told me.”
Always at the scene of the crime, that man, ugh. “Are you finished?” He was rocking back and forth on his heels, clasping his hands together whilst looking around at the mess in your room. “Surprisingly, with the short amount of time you gave me, I am.” You were so happy you put on a pair of jeans and a shirt just before he came in.
“Okay! Allora, I am going to take you to get clothes!” He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you out of the hotel room. “Woah Kimi wait! What do you mean?” You released yourself from his grip, grabbing your hotel keycard, and some other necessities. “I mean, you have no clothing, we have like forty minutes until the party starts, and I have George’s car!” He beamed, almost speedwalking down the hallway.
“God, there’s really no arguing with you, is there?” You took a print, trying to catch up to him. He shook his head with a bright smile. “Now come! We have time, but not a lot.”
“Where are we even gonna go?” You finally caught up to him, he shrugged. “We are in Barcelona! We go anywhere.”
After a few stores, and about half an hour, you finally managed to find something. A cute top, a classy short skirt, nothing like you ever owned before, but you loved it. Along with the outfit, you somehow also got new shoes, new jewelry, another top, some other pants…
To be fair, you had never in your life before gone shopping. Your father never approved, a waste of money, a waste of time. Kimi seemed to love seeing you try on different items of clothing, though. “Okay but this is definitely the one you will wear tonight!” He said as you stepped out of the dressing room in a navy blue halter top.
“Are you sure? I’ve never worn something like this before.” You doubted yourself, seeing yourself go from a baggy shirt to a tight top felt unreal. “Definitely, you look amazing!” He cheered you on. That warm feeling you felt after the race had come back again.
The store owner allowed you to keep on the clothing you would wear to the party, it saved you time from changing so you thanked him. As you went to pay for the ridiculous amount of items you’d just gotten, Kimi ‘accidentally’ pushed you away and pulled out his own card instead.
“Kimi!” You gasped, “Why did you do that! Oh my god, no, I’m paying you back!” You immediately pulled out your phone, “What’s your venmo?” He just blankly stared at you, “No no, I take you shopping, so I pay.” He pushed away your phone.
“You two are so cute, you know?” The cashier gushed as she packed up your clothing. You and Kimi both looked at each other, looked away and immediately got red in the face. “No uh, we aren’t like… together…” You softly spoke, almost in a whisper, almost as if you wish that wasn’t true.
The cashier stopped packing your clothes to look you two up and down, she then smiled to herself as she continued. “Oh! I still have to change.” Kimi gasped as he ran out to his car, he came back with a change of clothing in his arm, you couldn’t quite see what it was as he ran off to the changing rooms.
“Thank you, have a nice evening!” You told the cashier as you took the bags and waited for Kimi who came out of the changing room a few seconds later wearing… “A navy blue dress shirt, really Kimi?” He just smiled as he took the bags from your arms and carried them to the car.
“Was this all just a cheap ploy to get me to match outfits with you?” He stayed silent and simply hummed as he loaded your purchases into the back of George’s Mercedes. “You’re unbelievable, but thank you, I really appreciate what you did for me.” You thanked him as he opened the car door for you, you sat down and he did too. “No thanks! You are a winner, you deserve it.” He started the car.
You had to admit he looked really good in navy blue, the shirt was tight in all the right places, showing off his surprisingly toned biceps. He even undid the first two buttons of his shirt, allowing you to peek in but still letting a lot be left to your imagination. Your mind drifted away, shamelessly staring. And Kimi definitely noticed.
Your gaze then turned to the display screen of the car. “Wait shit– Kimi we have to be there in like two minutes!” You started stressing, checking your phone to see if the time on the display was right. “No worries! We do this for a living, no?” He looked over and smirked at you, whilst keeping eye contact he hit the gas.
He remained eye contact as he sped down the highway, the speedometer quickly shot from 0 to 60. You knew this was wrong, you knew his eyes should be on the road, but you would be lying if you said this wasn’t extremely attractive. He grinned as he took his eyes off of you to take a left turn. Surprisingly you only ended up a minute late, fifty-nine seconds late to be precise.
“See?” He said with a smug smile. He was impossible. After he opened the door and let you out of the car, you two were almost instantly approached by George. “Kimi! Since when did I allow you to use my car? I had to catch a ride with Max! Max!” George was frantically going on and on about Kimi’s disrespect, but you could see he wasn’t listening to any of it.
“George, my friend! Calm down, let’s have a drink okay?” He led George inside, guiding him by the small of his back, luckily for you Max was just getting out of his car too. “You had to ride with George, huh?” Max shrugged, “It’s fine, he says I drive like a maniac, I think he’s a pussy.” You both laughed at that.
“But you came with someone too, huh?” He nudged your shoulder, you could only look away and smile as you tried moving past the subject at hand. “And uhm, don’t get me wrong but, I don’t think I have ever seen you even look at a top like that.” He stated, eyebrows raised and pointing at the navy blue halter top. “Yeah uh, he got it for me, along with like.. another few hundred euros worth of clothing.”
You mumbled the last part, hoping Max didn’t hear. “I’m sorry WHAT?” Max’ jaw almost fell to the floor. “I wanted to pay myself! He wouldn’t let me!” You frantically tried to explain, but he wasn’t having any of it. “My grid son! He’s doing so well, simply lovely!” You wanted to argue but Max had already grabbed your arm to drag you inside.
The place was moderately fancy, high ceilings, greek decor, but with the lights off it looked like something completely different. Neon strobes of light beamed throughout the area, you could only make out the faces of a few fellow drivers once the lights hit them, and besides that there were about a hundred more people you didn’t recognize.
Max led you down a few steps of stairs, dragging you along the sweaty bodies on the dance floor and letting you go once you had arrived at the bar. “What are you having?” He almost had to yell over the loud music coming from the DJ stand. “Uhm, disaronno and coke?” You hesitated. Max’ face looked pleasantly surprised, he nodded and walked away to the bar.
You just stood there, arms leaning on the counter, looking at the people you saw every weekend on the grid dancing, laughing, flirting. Lando had his arms wrapped around some blonde girl, Oscar stood behind them, still and disinterested. You were snapped out of your thoughts by a tap on your shoulder. Lewis Hamilton.
“You did well today!” He grabbed and shook your hand, but you shook your head. “If it wasn’t for your horrible pit stop, I wouldn’t have even come close to winning.” You admitted with a half smile, he lifted his shoulders. “That might be true, but you still defended against Russel and Lando for like twenty laps, that’s impressive, you should be proud!” Hearing someone like Lewis telling you to be proud, it moved something in you.
The man you couldn’t help but idolize since the start of your career, the man who had seven championships to his name, he told you to be proud of yourself. He told you you did good, and that mattered more than any approval you could have ever gotten from your father.
You smiled, praying he would not notice the tears starting to form in your eyes. “Thank you Lewis, it really means a lot coming from you.” Lewis smiled, too. “You are better like this, more open, you seem happier, keep it up.” He patted your shoulder before reuniting with his teammate across the area. You almost broke down right then and there.
But before you could, Max handed you your drink, he himself held something that piqued your interest. “Max, why is your drink piss-colored?” You couldn’t contain yourself and bursted out laughing at the suspiciously translucent drink Max held in his hand. “It’s vodka Red-Bull! Not piss! It’s actually lovely!” You eyed him up and down with a sarcastic look of disappointment.
He shoved the drink in your face, turning the straw to your lips. “Taste! It’s good I swear.” You hesitated, you didn’t want to drink too much, your father would–
Your father.
It was then you realized, your father wasn’t in Barcelona, your father hadn’t congratulated you on your win, your father had never told you to be proud. The respect you had just received from Lewis was more and greater than anything you had ever received from your father.
You grabbed Max’ drink and took the biggest sip you could, and then another until he pulled the straw away from you, “Hey you’ve got your own!” He pointed at the mixture in your still shaky hand. “True!” You exclaimed, before finishing it in three big gulps. Your face contorted at the bitter taste of sweet marzipan and coke sliding down your throat.
“And now I don’t! Let’s do shots!” You moved past Max, making your way to the bartender, he grabbed you by the shoulder. “Woah, woah, slow down cowboy.” You looked back with a smug grin. “I thought we were going to celebrate my win? Backing down now?”
That triggered something in him, and before you could even blink he was already at the bar ordering two shots of something clear that tasted like pure acetone going down. “Ugh, what the fuck was that!” You both laughed before he told you it was bacardi. “Let’s get another!” You dragged his arm to the bar.
And another turned into another, eventually Kimi, George, Carlos and somehow Oscar joined you too. You and Kimi clinked your glasses together, loudly cheering before interlocking your arms and taking the other’s shot. George and Max did the same, Carlos was the most hyped and Oscar sat silently in the corner of your guy’s booth with his own entire bottle.
You sat in between Max and Kimi, George sat next to Max and Carlos was on Kimi’s other side. Somewhere during the night, Kimi’s arm had found its place draped over your shoulder. “I'm sorry, you let your engineers do your homework?” You were laughing so hard it ached, and Kimi did too. He nodded proudly, work smarter not harder he said.
“Oscar! Do you want to sit with us?” George yelled over to the man on the chair in the corner. He didn’t even reply, just took another swig of the bottle in his hand, before shaking his head. “What’s his issue?” George asked, half-sarcastically, Max just pointed at Lando and the blonde, everyone nodded. Everyone except you, but you couldn’t be bothered to ask what was up.
“I really like your necklace!” You whisper-yelled in Kimi’s ear over the ever-so-loud music. He removed his arm from your shoulder, which involuntarily made you a little sad, but he then went to unclip it from the back of his neck. “You want to try it on, yes?” You tried telling him no but his hands were already around your neck. His surprisingly soft skin brushed against your warm neck, it made you jump a little.
“Allora! It looks great on you!” It was a lot looser on you then it was on him, you played with the whale tail pendant a little and thanked him. He went back to putting his arm around your shoulder, and you all went back to chatting and drinking. That was until you heard a few beats to a song you could recognize anywhere. “Oh I love this song!” You squealed, Max shot Kimi an expectant look, and he immediately picked up on it. “You want to dance?” You nodded frantically.
As you tried to stand up, you almost fell down, Kimi and Carlos helped you back up and you dragged Kimi by his arm to the dance floor. “It’s simply lovely, right George?” Max sipped on his drink and George grumbled something, but quickly shut up when Max put his arm around his shoulder, too.
You led Kimi to the middle of the dance floor, you’d never been a very good dancer but somehow the swaying of your hips and the movement of your arms felt like second nature. You moved your arms to be around Kimi’s neck, his hips moved exactly in sync with yours, his hands placed on your waist.
Your gaze locked onto his brown eyes, their sparkle ever so prevalent. His face was lit up by the various flashes of strobe lighting, red, green, blue. Like always, his tongue was grazing his lips and teeth, his mouth curled up into a daring smirk. His gaze was locked onto you, too.
You moved a little closer, as did he, so did you, as did he. You could feel his breath on your skin, even though the hot mess of sweat and air from around you. His bottom lip almost grazed your top one, mere nanometers apart, you wanted to close that gap.
BANG
Your heads whipped around to where the loud sound came from, and you were met with quite a sight. Lando on the floor, Carlos with a raised fist and Oscar with balled fists and an angry stare beside him.
“What the fuck?” You gasped, Max let go of George and ran over to try and calm Carlos down before he could swing again, but Carlos wasn’t having any of it. “I think I'm gonna be sick.” You held your hand up to your mouth, suddenly the combination of chaos and strobe lighting made your throat up.
“Uh okay, okay. Allora, come with me.” Kim held out his hand for you to grab and you did. He led you away from the chaos, past Max and Carlos arguing and Lando’s bloody nose. You ended up on a balcony on the second floor.
You breathed in the warm air, in through the nose, out through the mouth.Your hands rested on the balcony’s balustrade, your eyes closed, letting the small bits of wind cool you down. Kimi came standing next to you.
He placed his hands on the balustrade next to yours. “Are you feeling better?” The tone of his voice was so sweet, it almost sickened you. “Why are you so nice to me?” You asked him, but it must’ve been the liquid courage, because a question like that would have never crossed your mind sober.
He looked surprised, “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re nice, and pretty and I like you.” He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from the drink he brought. He likes you? “Why do you like me?” You were genuinely confused, which confused Kimi, too.
“What is not to like? Amore, you are great! You are determined, focused, you are funny, you are ambitious, and again very pretty.” You looked away, he was nice, too nice. You chipped and picked at the white marble of the balcony’s balustrade. You’d never had someone care about you this much.
“Besides Max, you are the only person to ever be truly nice to me.” You shook your head and looked at your hands, rolling pieces of debris between your fingers. Kimi moved closer to you. “Just hard to believe, you know?” You continued, with full conviction this was something most people could relate to.
“I don’t know.” He spoke honestly, you looked up and met his eyes. The sparkle was vague, you stayed quiet. He placed his hand on top of yours, his thumb rubbing on your skin slowly. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, you reached for it and checked the notification.
‘Pure luck.’ Who else could it be but your father, ruining your night, your win. Kimi looked over and saw the message, too. “Who is that? Why would they say that?” He tried peeking more, but you already turned over your phone, nearly slamming it on the balustrade.
“It's nothing, Kimi.” You tried skipping over it but if Kimi Antonelli was one thing, it was definitely determined. After prying and pressing for a few more seconds, truly no prying and pressing at all, you gave in. Maybe you just wanted someone to listen to you for once.
“It’s my father, he just wants me to, you know, be the best.” You told him. “Well he’s not doing it well.” The Italian bluntly stated. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.
“Ever since I was young, he’s been pushing me to be the best, somewhere I believe he always wanted a son, not a daughter. It would have made his life so much easier, he says every time. Just luck, I'm not that good, I need to push harder, be faster. You know, if I had the choice, I don't even know if I would've become a driver.” Your voice was shaky.
He was quiet. He squeezed your hand, his soft voice and smooth accent made something settle inside you. “Kimi, do you remember the first time you lost? Ever?” He slowly shook his head. “I do, he never lets me forget.” Your eyes started to sting.
Kimi turned you around to face him openly, and with a second's hesitation he pulled you in for a hug, deep, warm, slow. He embraced you and held you like you could disappear at any moment. "I'm sorry." He said it so sincerely, a slight crack in his voice, a twitch in his hold.
“Kimi?” Your voice was slightly muffled with your face being pressed into his chest. “Yes?” He let go of you, just a little, just enough to hear you. “I like you too.” You smiled at him with tented brows, his eyes looked watery, the spark was back.
“Are you sure?” He asked, half-joking, you upped the ante. “Maybe.” You jokingly shrugged, he burst out laughing, still holding onto you, you laughed with him, to the point your ribs hurt, to the point your abs couldn’t take it anymore.
His hand moved up to your cheek, it was soft, but rough in the right places. His face moved closer again, like on the dance floor. You moved in, too, it felt like your body was on autopilot, like it just knew what to do. And then your lips finally met his.
His lips tasted sweet, they were soft, pillowy. Seconds felt like a lifetime, he pulled away and kissed you again, and again. First just his lips, then he got brave, he opened his mouth and you followed, slowly letting your tongues move along one another. He moved into you more and more, like there was an invisible void he tried to fill.
Breathless, the only way to describe yourself after he pulled away.
It wasn’t before long until you both sat in the backseat of an uber, on your way back to the hotel desperately trying to keep your hands off of each other. For the driver’s sake.
The walk up the hotel’s stairs was nothing short of messy, you both stumbled up the stairs, your hands locked in his hair, and his travelling all over your body, gripping your waist tight. Your lips were stuck together like magnets, the taste of his tongue was sickenly sweet.
You blamed the alcohol for your reckless behavior, but truly you just loved feeling free, so free for the first time in your life. You were making your own decisions, chasing your own desires and damn did it feel good.
He pushed open the door to his room, surprisingly it was kept pretty neat but the fitted sheets were soon crumpled by your bodies crashing down onto the bed. He was laying on top of you, one knee in between your legs, hands slowly undoing your new shirt.
The soft cotton strap slowly moved along your neck as it came loose, he broke your kiss as he moved the shirt up over your head, leaving you exposed in just a bra. You were a little embarrassed, you had never done anything like this with anyone before, and on top of that you’d chosen today to wear the ugliest bra you owned.
Kimi didn’t seem to care, though, as he made quick work of taking your bra off, too. His swiftness and obvious experience scared you a little. No it wasn’t scary, it was thrilling.
“You are so beautiful, amore.” His eyes were full of admiration, that same sparkle shining only brighter, he slowly moved a hand up to your breast and started playing with it. Squeezing, massaging and eventually licking.
You whimpered, you moaned, you couldn’t even fathom the sounds leaving your mouth. You hands pulled at his curls, he looked up to you and you tugged at his shirt. He smirked as he understood your request and moved his button up out of the way.
The man was built. Like incredibly so, obviously he had to have a nice physique, being a driver and all but you never expected him to be this toned.
He hesitated for a second, his hands were frozen mid air as he reached for your body. “What do you want to do?” He asked. A question so simple but still stirring something inside of you. What did you want to do? He was so considerate, so sweet. You knew a question like this was what would be considered the bare minimum.
But to someone who had never been offered even the bare minimum Kimi was like an angel sent from heaven.
“I want..” You stopped, you thought, you considered. “I want you, I want everything.” That’s all you had to say, the look in his eyes, the surprise of your words activated something inside of him. Something pure, something raw.
He almost ripped your bottoms off, taking your underwear off, too. You were left naked on the bed, and before long he was bare too. You almost gasped at the sight of him, people often made jokes online about how it was a tick for him to reach for his crotch when nervous and that it must be big.
They’d never know how right they were. He was big, and thick too. A few large veins ran up from the bottom to the tip. He noticed your staring, and tried comforting you. “I’ll be gentle, prometto.”
And gentle he was. After spending a good amount of time kissing, licking and biting you all over, leaving marks everywhere he moved between your thighs. He licked a long striped all the way up to your pussy. He circled your clit with his tongue.
You felt him make shapes, licking you all over. You gripped the sheets and moaned so much your throat hurt, this new sensation was nothing like you ever experienced before, not even with your own fingers.
Kimi was way too talented, and after a few minutes you felt something build up inside of you. You weren’t quite sure what it was but you knew you didn’t want him to stop. You whimpered as the feeling only got stronger and stronger. Like a firework something burst inside of you, you felt it from the tips of your toes to your ears, almost getting goosebumps.
“Was it good?” He looked up from in between your legs, his mouth was covered in your juices, and much like on the podium his tongue was out, licking up the remaining cum leaking from your pussy.
“I, think so, yeah.” You almost whispered, still catching your breath. He smirked and took two of his fingers, slowly wetting them in between your folds and pushing them inside, “Good.” He ate you out again, and again. Your head was full of pleasure, your body weak from the overwhelming orgasms he was giving you.
After number.. you lost count. You pulled his head away from your pussy, “Can I please feel you now?” His eyes went wide, shocked at how nicely you asked him. God you turned him on so bad. He stuttered a little before just simply nodding.
He lifted you up and against the headboard of the bed, spreading your legs again. “I hope I prepared you enough.” He slowly moved towards you, hesitating a little before nudging your entrance with his tip, coating it in your slick. “Just do it, please Kimi.”
The way you said his name so sweetly, so desperately, like you needed it, like you needed him. How could he ever refuse?
“You drive me crazy, amore.” He slowly pushed himself inside of you, letting out a low and broken moan. You reassured him you were okay, and he started moving inside of you. You held onto him by his neck, placing kisses and bites all over. His head was by your ear.
He was incredibly vocal. Moaning and whimpering in your ear as he thrusted harder and harder, his hips slamming against you. He moaned some unintelligible Italian stuff as well, something “così perfetto” and “Sei bellissima, amore.” Whatever he said it sounded hot, and that’s all that mattered.
You were left like that all night, with him slamming inside of you at relentless speed, the man’s stamina was unbeatable. From missionary to doggy, grabbing and pulling you by the hair, slapping your ass. Prone bone, with his sweaty body slicking and rubbing against you holding you by the neck.
His lips were always by your ear, licking and moaning. You lost count of how many times he made you cum, hell you lost count of how many times he came.
“You’re so beautiful, so pretty, a-ah.. I’ve wanted this for so long.. wanted you.. needed you amore.”
His words of praise drove you crazy, and it seemed like the night would never end, his necklace was still around your neck, the cold metal feeling like home against your skin. But all good things must come to an end.
The morning came, the sunlight pierced through the curtains of the hotel room, waking you up unwillingly. Your head was killing you, for a second you didn’t even know where you were. Then you realized why you actually woke up.
Your phone buzzed like crazy beside you on the floor, you picked it up. Headlines, news stories, messages from Merkies, Max, your father even. Your eyes were unfocused, your head pounded like crazy, you tried reading any of it but gave up, you scrolled the news articles Merkies sent you. It was a picture of you and Kimi, kissing on the balustrade.
summary: You're inexperienced and open up that secret to Lando. From the moment you admit that you want his fingers and dick inside of you he is on a mission to make it worth it. He'd only let himself have you if he can make you ruin the sheets.
fem!Reader x Lando Norris (4.2k)
Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI, first time, fingering, squirting (the actual Kinktober prompt for this), inexperienced reader, reader can blush, bit of angst about being inexperienced, awkwardness, idiots in love, friends-to-lovers, overstimulation, I'm really proud of this one aaaah
"Wait, you're the same age as me, this gorgeous and still a virgin? And you're telling me it's not by choice?" Lando looked at you exasperated in his big hoodie and sweatpants. You were sitting on his couch with him after trying out Split Fiction together. Somehow the conversation had turned from this game to the last game of the same developer 'It takes two', then to the topic of marriage and then to the fact you'd never gotten remotely close enough for that with anyone. You'd become friends only in recent months and you always waited longer with that piece of information. But in this case it would be even more devastating to see him react badly, because you couldn't deny the crush you had on him that you wished you could just get past already.
"Yup. Never even been asked out on a date." His jaw went slack, incredibly offended on your behalf.
"But you're, like, such a pretty girl?" You shrugged, "I also don't take shit. Maybe that energy scares them off."
He mustered you neutrally, "Love, that's never held most men back from trying."
You shrugged, "Meh. Maybe I'm just not meant to be with someone currently and the universe is protecting me."
He frowned a little at that, "You really think that?"
You looked at your hands in your lap, "I mean with how most men have treated my friends I'm almost a bit glad?"
You saw him nod in your peripheral vision, "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You deserve someone who will appreciate you and doesn't just, I don't know, see you as some sort of decoration."
You have him a thin-lipped thankful smile, "Yeah. Either that or nothing."
He pulled his knees to his chest in the silence, "You afraid of staying single forever?"
You mustered him, "I mean, not really. I'm really happy alone most of the time. Just sometimes wish I had someone when shit hits the fan." He nodded like he understood. Your mouth opened, then closed, then you said it, "But it does kinda fuck with my head that nobody's ever even tried to kiss me. Makes me feel like something's wrong with me."
There was shock and then a pang of pain in his eyes for a split second, then a frown of worry, "Nothing's wrong with you. Nothing. I promise."
You nodded with your eyes back on your fidgeting hands.
He sighed, "That's actually bloody infuriating to hear. Sure, you have a knack for bullying men around you but nobody's ever stopped and thought 'hey, let me ask that one to hang out'? Fuckin' mental."
You huffed with a smile, "I don't even get asked if I have a partner or anything, so like, people don't even seem to vaguely think about it. But then again, I've never been someone that is at a lot of social events."
His jaw tensed, "Yeah, I see how that messes with your head."
You nodded, "Everyone wants to be wanted."
He moved a bit closer, arm snaking around your waist, head landing on your shoulder, "You're an angel. Don't let men's collective stupidity get to you."
You chuckled, "I'm sure the right person will be worth it."
He peeked up at you, then nodded. You leaned your head on his, smushing down his curls.
Curiosity won out in his head, "D'you have a crush on anyone currently? You know, like, what kinda things do you like in people?"
You sighed, "Yeah. I haven't had one in a while. The current one, uh, I don't know. Gentle, chaotic, cute. I definitely prefer men radiating neurodivergent energy. But soft and careful. You know? Like, will dance in the living room at 2am but will take care of me appropriately when I'm sick." He nodded.
"Like someone that'll just excitedly pick you up when he has too much energy but also curls up with you?"
You huffed with a smile, "Yeah. Chaos gremlin soft boy. Golden Retriever and orange cat vibes mixed together."
He chuckled, "Sounds awfully familiar."
You nodded, staying silent. He didn't have to know. He was not the only one fitting that bill.
"But like, please don't have a crush on Fewtrell, yeah?" You snorted at that, "Don't worry, he's not my type. He's a little too...self-curated. Not quite that chaotic in the ADHD sense."
Lan subconsciously pushed his curls closer against your neck, "Also not single."
You chuckled, "Yeah, I don't really crush on taken men. Not my style unless it's a celebrity crush."
There was a silence in the room. Not awkward, but also not relaxed.
"Hypothetically..." The Brit threw into the silence after a while, "...would you date someone like me? Only hypothetically, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."
You nodded, "Probably."
He wiggled a bit, clearly giddy about what he was about to say, "So...have you ever thought about it?"
You peeked down at him on your shoulder with his eyes closed and a smile on his face, "Sure."
He frowned confused and looked back up at you, "Wait, really? I was just joking."
You shrugged with your free shoulder, "I assess most people I'm close with."
"Oh? So how did I do in my assessment?" You huffed with a smile, "Pretty alright. Minus points for dropping out and being a bit too handsy when overly excited."
He giggled, "Fair points."
There was a contemplative silence.
"You definitely deserve someone less stupid than me." He was grinning saying it.
"I hate to say it, but I don't want my partner to be smarter than me. Like a specialist in some thing I know nothing about? Sure. Smarter in general knowledge? No."
He chuckled, "You hate pretentious men."
You laid your head back down on his, sighing a "Yeah."
Both of you were soaking in the comfortable little cuddle you had.
"I would date you, probably. You're a good egg." He mumbled a bit sleepy from the warmth. Your heart dropped. "Really?"
His face came up, a small frown on it, "Yeah, I mean..." His eyes nervously darted around, "You're kind of... it, you know? Why do you think I'm so bloody shocked about you being treated so oddly?"
You averted his eyes, "I don't know. I thought maybe you also... found me weird."
There was a breathy, confused, "What?" Then a "Is that what you think people think about you?"
You looked at his deeply concerned face and opened your mouth but you didn't know how to answer that so you opted for intense nodding.
He gently grabbed your face, making you look at him, "Hey, look at me. You are NOT weird. You are pretty, smart and chaotic and cute and soft, but not weird. Never weird. Okay?" You looked down and nodded.
"You're an angel. You're kissable. You're worthy of nice dates and being someone's wife." You were still averting your eyes, "Okay."
He took his hands off your face. Somehow that felt like a little stab to the heart. Part of you hoped that he'd do something to prove his words right.
He grabbed your hands in his, "...I'd prove it to you if you'd let me."
Your eyes shot up. "Not that I... fuck, I mean not that I'm just trying to prove your mind wrong out of pity. That's not...That's not my– I'm not saying that because of–" He wasn't finding the words. You frowned and angled your head sideways. "I don't want you to think that I'm just saying that to make you feel better. I mean it. You're the last person I'd want to play with. You're too fucking precious for that. I–" He sighed, "I give up on trying to say this correctly."
You gave him a soft, almost teasing smile, "You sure? Feels an awful lot like just doing it because the opportunity arose?" He heavily shook his head, "No. Nonono. I already thought you were cute before this. I promise. I just thought I'd overstep a line if I... I mean I'm not necessarily having the best reputation. I thought you'd reject me or I'd ruin a friendship that you cared about. I don't wanna be that guy... that makes you feel like he's only friends with you because he wanted to fuck you. I want to be friends if you only want to be friends. That's okay too. I promise."
He almost fell over his own words trying to explain himself so you wouldn't take anything the wrong way.
"Like, we don't– You don't have to say yes. I just– I just thought maybe– maybe you feel similar. We, uh, we can forget about the entire situation if you want. Yeah? Sometimes my mouth is just quicker than my brain."
You whispered, "I was just teasing, Lan. I was even smiling saying it, c'mon."
He blinked, then burst out, "You make me nervous, alright? So nervous. I feel like I have to think about anything I say three times before I say it so I don't look like an absolute idiot in front of you. You're so...I don't know, delicate? I don't wanna... I– especially now that I know you've never– I don't wanna ruin anything for you. You deserve the best from me and–"
"Lan... Lan..." You grabbed his chin to interrupt him.
He shut up and gave you confused puppy eyes, "I'm the one that's supposed to be nervous like that, not you."
"You're not... upset?" He asked carefully and you frowned, "No, why would I be? My crush just told me he thinks I'm precious and cute." The realization hit him, both of you blushing. "Oh, I'm stupid, wow." A self-deprecating smile formed on his face.
You chuckled at that as he mentally found his footing again, "Fortunately you seem to be into that."
Now you were laughing, "Your specialt–" You were cut off by his face softly melting against yours like a puzzle piece.
His hands were gently holding you, more firm than he usually was when he casually touched you. Gently you were pushed to lay down with him, his hand on your jaw softly directing you in what to do and where to move. His tongue slipped into your mouth and he was patiently showing-by-doing. You were both panting, humming and sighing into each other's mouths. He let up from you, forehead against yours, "See? Nothing wrong with you."
You giggled at that, "Yeah."
He pushed a soft kiss onto your swollen lips, "Lemongrass lip balm is a new one." Now you were laughing.
He took the opportunity of your head falling back to press kisses along your jawline, then behind your ear, "Can I make a mark?" His soft voice was in your ear with a sense of familiarity. "Mhm."
You felt the sensitive skin of your neck being gently pressured as he drew circles in your hair with his thumb.
You sighed and relaxed your body, "I like it." He hummed in response, still not done. His other hand grabbed yours off his neck and softly pinned it down, squeezing you fingers softly in a reassuring manner. He let go of you, whispering a chills-inducingly soft, "Mine."
"Yours, huh?" You raised a brow and he pushed himself up to meet your eyes. A slightly nervous smile and lip-bite was directed at you.
"Damn, I really do make you nervous." You giggled and hid your grin behind a hoodie paw.
"You do." He smiled feeling caught and gave you a peck on your cheek.
You attentively looked at his lovey dovey eyes that were directed down at you, "What's on your mind right now? What d'you wanna do?"
He made an innocent face, "Kinda wanna kiss you dizzy."
You were still hiding behind the sweater paw, "That's it?"
There was a playful glint in his eyes, "Why? D'you wanna do something else?"
Your cheeks heated up, "Nope. Not at all."
He dove back to your neck, pressing kisses into it, "Talk to me, baby."
You sighed, "Have you ever thought about it?" You felt the smile against your neck, "Many times."
"In– In what way?" One of his hands firmly grabbed into your waist, "D'you mean what I imagined or in which context?"
You answered breathy and almost inaudible, "Both."
He whispered, "Tell me if you did first."
"Yes." You could feel the big grin and then heard a "Not so innocent, huh?"
He pressed more kisses into your skin, "I've thought about you in that orange dress from the beach afterparty you came to an abnormal amount of times when getting off."
Your body tensed at that, "Yeah?"
"Yeah. And that one picture you posted where you're wearing my merch hoodie." He softly bit you. "And that one time you wore that red swim suit. God, dunno how I survived that day."
He littered your collarbone with kisses, then murmured a, "What's been going through your pretty head?"
He went in for another hickey, this time grabbing you closer firmly. You hummed, "Just imagined what you'd feel like." His hips softly rolled against yours and you felt what you had done to him. It made you nervous, but it made you confident a bit more than it made you nervous. "Just you inside of me. Gosh, your big fingers or your dick honestly." He pressed himself against you with a hum that sounded like purring.
"Bloody hell, I wanna ruin you until you squirt all over my bed." He forcefully grabbed into your hips, listening to your gasp.
"Don't deserve you if I can't make you do that." He sounded possessive, strained, needy.
"Please." You whimpered, hand in his hair as he kissed across your cheek to your mouth.
He looked at you intently, cheeks flushed and lips pink, "You sure?"
You nodded, "Just don't disappoint me." You both grinned at each other before he grabbed you off the couch and into his bedroom.
With your legs still around his waist you got rid of your hoodie. His eyes suddenly forgetting where your face was. You giggled, "Don't run into something."
He bit his lip with a grin looking up, "My bad, they're just really..." He squeezed your thighs he was holding.
"Meh, I could do with less of them." You shrugged as he set you both down in the bed.
"They're fucking nice though." He took his hoodie off. His face clearly thrown off by how you kept looking at his eyes. You didn't care much for how his body looked, you liked HIM, his stupid cute face and the way he talked.
"Are you...more of a visual or sensory person?" He asked leaning back down to you.
"Sensory, I'm pretty sure. At least I don't really care for the visuals in anything porn-related." You shrugged.
He nodded, "Alright. Do you like when I do this?" He traced your skin above the hem of your sweatpants and your muscles reacted. "Mhm."
"If you feel more comfortable at any point closing your eyes, do it, yeah? I know this feels awkward the first few times." He mumbled after kissing you behind your ear.
"You're so gentle." You sighed and he huffed, "Of course, you're precious."
His mouth left marks on your collarbone before he captured your lips again, making you go dizzy.
You could feel how badly he wanted his body between your thighs as he pressed his whole body against you.
"Lan, please." He huffed with a soft grin, "You okay with me taking your clothes off?" You nodded at his endeared facial expression. You trusted him. More deeply than you expected.
He was so gentle with his fingers going under the hem of your sweatpants and panties. Eyes focused on not hurting or scratching you.
You could watch him process you visually like a gift being unwrapped. He looked, nervous? Excited, in love, definitely horny, but also nervous.
He swallowed, "Fuck, you're gorgeous." He crawled to lay down next to you. Kissing you as his hand wandered around your lower abdomen and inner thighs.
You whined a little impatiently and he chuckled into the kiss before his hand started massaging your clit. A gasp escaping you.
"Tell me if something feels bad or painful, yeah?" He murmured as you melted into the pillow. He listened to the way you were breathing, watched the way your face and body reacted.
"Relax, baby. 's that good?" He muttered as you were starting to shake a little. "Mhm."
"You okay if I put my fingers inside of you?" You whined in response and he huffed amused and accomplished as he started gently pushing two fingers into you.
He curled them inside of you, trying to figure out where you needed him most. The heel of his hand pushing against your clit with each movement.
"I don't–" You sighed, "–come from penetration."
He kissed your cheek, "Got it, but let me at least see if I can prove you wrong."
You chuckled, before softly moaning at what he'd just done. He pressed the same spot again, your jaw became slack. "Don't underestimate these hands, baby."
Your soft spot was so deep inside of you, toys made for it probably had a weird time reaching it right and you yourself definitely couldn't. But he and his giant hands definitely could.
"That feels so good." He kept doing it, watching your arch your back and tense your muscles.
"Gooorgeuous. My god you're pretty when you stretch your body out like that."
"Please, Lan." You whimpered and he kissed your cheek, movements becoming faster as you started panting and whimpering for him.
"C'mon, need you all soaked." He spurred you on before you started breathing uncontrollably deep, squeezing his fingers inside of you.
"Pretty girl. Let me make sure you're comfortable with me." He pressed a third finger into you, massaging you open.
"So soft." You whispered and he gave you a kiss.
"Always, baby. You need to be comfortable."
"That felt so good." You mumbled.
"If you're patient I'll manage to hit that spot the way you want." You squirmed and had him chuckle.
"And once you do?" You asked breathy with your eyes closed.
"Depends on what you'll want, hm?" He nuzzled your face before his fingers left you and he grabbed something out of his nightstand. No surprises there.
"Out of curiosity." He was still busy with protection, "How wide can you spread your legs?"
You peeked your eyes open at him with a smirk before demonstrating it to him, "Jesus Christ, bloody hell."
"You're certainly going to hell for sending me to heaven." You joked and he snorted.
He crawled between your legs, grabbing a throw pillow and pushing it beneath your lower back.
"Good lord, I could eat you up." He commented looking down at you. You chuckled before he grabbed your thighs the way he wanted them. "Relax, baby. I got you. Tell me if anything hurts."
He started pushing into you in gentle motions, drawing circles into your skin where he was holding you.
"That okay?" His voice was strained asking.
"Yeah." You sighed, having expected more pain instead of the slight stretch you were feeling. He leaned down to be face-to-face with you.
"And? Feels how you imagined?" He grinned and you opened your eyes with a soft laugh, "The man attached is gentler than I expected."
He huffed, kissing you softly, "Can I move or do you need a bit?" You nodded, "Need you to find that angle, huh?"
You were smirking at each other before he kissed you again and started softly moving with you.
His hands adjusting your angle, his hips adjusting themselves. Both of you panting at the sensations. If felt unfamiliar yet comfortable being connected with someone else.
Your body let out an uncontrolled moan before you caught up to the fact he'd found the right spot.
"Now, do you want me to be gentle or do you want me to show you what I've been thinking about?"
You giggled, "Both."
He smiled at you, "Alright, but don't feel guilty if you can't finish, yeah? I'll take care of that."
You nodded as he started more pointedly thrusting into you. He made you a whimpering mess for several minutes, your hands grabbing into his shoulders.
"You're everything I imagined." He murmured before whimpering himself. He slowly became a little rougher, soft moans spilling out of you, then him.
"You're doing great, baby." He cooed as he started pounding into you. You moaned in the neediest way you didn't even know you could.
"That's right, baby." He spurred you on as you clawed into his back.
"Don't stop." You whined and heard how much his movements where shacking you.
"I got you. Let go, I got you." He pressed out between pants. You felt like you were losing your mind, head squirming in the pillow, "I can't– oh my god, I–"
With a forced inhale your body locked up under his as he kept going.
"Just like that, baby." He got out before he himself stuttered in his movements.
"Just like that." He stilled inside of you, kissing you with a gentle intensity you didn't expect.
"I didn't think I could... do that?" You uttered still catching your breath. He was smiling, "Love proving you wrong about your own body."
You giggled at that, but then he became serious, "No seriously, let me see if I can make you squirt."
He seemed determined, you were a bit speechless.
"I need your permission to try. Might feel a bit...too much. But I meant it. I won't let myself have you if I can't make you do that."
"What if I can't?" You nervously bit your lip.
He gave you a soft smile, "I'll try another time."
"What're you gonna..." He smiled wider, "I mean I'll keep attacking your sweet spot. The overstimulation might feel like too much. It's a bit stressful on the body. Did you drink enough today?"
You blushed hard, "Uh, yeah."
"Can I try? You can tell me to stop. And if it doesn't work we can try with toys another time, yeah?" He was so eager, you didn't even want to say no. You felt safe.
"Okay."
"Alright, just relax. I need nothing from you other than you feeling good and relaxed and into it." He smiled and you mirrored him, cupping his face, getting kissed another time.
Not even five full minutes later you felt what he meant. He felt good inside of you. Hitting your soft spot just right, but your body hadn't quite calmed down from the last high. It felt simultaneously too much and like there was a pressure building inside of you.
"Relax baby, I know. You're safe, breathe." He repeated at the whiny moans you gave him.
"Breathe." He said with all the softness he could muster while still thrusting into you.
"Lan..." He looked at you with all the attention.
"Over– whelmed." You teared up.
He kissed the tears away, "Good overwhelmed?"
You nodded and he kept going.
The marks on his back turned a deeper red as he pounded into you. Your moans became loud and prolonged. Begging both him and your own body to finish you. You could hear how obnoxiously wet you were.
"C'mon baby. Relax, I know you can." He roughly got out.
Something inside of you snapped as he relentlessly pounded into your g-spot and your lungs made you hold your breath as you felt your body physically finish on him and the sheets. He fucked you through the waves of wetness attacking him before he groaned into your neck burying himself deep into you.
"Didn't expect you doing it that quickly." He chuckled. "Do I make you feel that safe?"
You normalized your breathing, "To be fair, I've never had a g-spot orgasm before today, much less three in a row. The statistics were with you." He snorted at that.
He was laying on you, thumb circling your hair, "My girl." You giggled, "Yeah."
He nervously licked his lips, "So, uh, date tomorrow?"
You laughed at that, "Lan. C'mon."
"Yeah, my bad, might be weird to be nervous asking that after I made you ruin my sheets." He paused, "And while I'm still inside of you."
You snorted, "You're such a boy."
"I heard you're into stupid ones." He grinned and kissed you before leaving your body.
After you had showered, you had put on your panties and his giant hoodie. Sitting back down on the couch with him. A fond look directed at you as he picked up a controller for round two.
"Eating out?" He mumbled and you raised a brow making him giggle uncontrollably. "That's not what I meant."
"Dumbass." You chuckled, "I could go for a pizza."
He grabbed you into the center of his crossed legs and you ordered together. The evening was spent leaned against him as he was leaned against the couch. Arms around you with a controller while you held your own.
Split Fiction, pizza and a new boyfriend. Sounded like a good way to spend your time.
Kinktober Masterlist
a/n: legitimately I don't know where these 4k words came from but I think this is the softest smut I've ever written and I need y'all to validate the fuck out of it, k thx bye!
Maybe you're crazy, or maybe Lando's crazy, but you're both pretty sure his teammate Oscar has a crush on both of you?
And fuck it, why not have a little bit of fun while you figure it out?
AKA - the fic in which you and Lando torture poor, sweet Oscar
Warnings: 18+ Content, PWP (some plot.... mostly porn...), dirty talk, praise, oral (m & f receiving), thigh riding, p in v, fairly light dom/sub themes, dom lando, sub oscar, switch reader, everybody's bisexual in this house, biting, unprotected sex (be safe pls guys lol), completely pathetic oscar piastri, not beta read..., katsreading classic shitty ending...
Word Count: 9k
Note: I'm sooooo sorry for teasing this fic for months. I have no explanation for why it took so long to write. It's a completely self-indulgent work of PORN. I hope u guys love it bc it's actually kinda my baby at this point. Seriously, this thing is 20 pages in a word doc. (15 of those pages are just straight up porn!!!!!!!!)
The first time Lando brings it up, you’re pretty sure he’s gone insane.
“You’re letting the rivalry stuff get to you head, Lan,” you say softly, stroking a stray curl out of his face.
You’re sat back on your living room sofa, watching-but-not-really-watching something on the TV, and Lando’s sprawled across you, legs tangled through yours as his head rests against your chest.
“I’m telling you, I’m right,” he insists, not bothering to look up. “Oscar has a crush on you.”
You laugh, completely unconvinced, but he continues. “I’ve caught him staring at you more than once, and not just in a normal way. Do you remember in the drivers’ room in Bahrain, when you bent down to tie your laces? I’m pretty sure he stopped breathing for a second. And in Austria, when you hugged me after quali he went bright red.”
He says it all in one long rush of words. When he’s done, you shake your head, fighting not to laugh again. “Babe, he was probably just zoned out. You know how boring work stuff can get! I feel like you’re thinking too far into this.”
He tilts his chin up, stubborn as always. “I know what I saw.”
The two of you laugh it off, though, because the thought of Oscar Piastri harbouring a quiet little crush on his teammate’s girlfriend is quite silly.
It’s so silly, that the thought doesn’t cross your mind again for weeks.
Until Silverstone, when Lando wins, and you find yourself screaming at the top of your lungs as he gets up onto the podium.
You’ve giggled at pictures of yourself like this before, looking up at the podium as Lando receives his trophy. You can never manage to hide that adoring look in your eyes, like nothing matters but him, and you can feel it shining through now while you clap and cheer until your voice is hoarse.
There’s something so special about seeing your boy standing where he belongs.
The British national anthem begins, and for just a second your attention flicks to the left, where Oscar stands in his own spot on the podium.
You expect him to be staring straight off into the crowd, or perhaps tilting his head back, shutting his eyes as the anthem plays. What you don’t expect is to find him staring straight at Lando, with a far too familiar look in his eyes. The same look you were giving Lando ten seconds ago.
You blink up at him, like maybe your eyes will focus, and see that Oscar’s not even on the podium and you were just making things up. This does not happen. Oscar remains on the podium, and his eyes remain fixed on your boyfriend.
The national anthem comes to an end, and Oscar finally manages to drag his eyes away from Lando.
When he looks down into the crowd, his gaze collides with yours, and there’s a flicker of awareness in his expression, as his cheeks pink ever so slightly. It’s over in a second, though, because then the champagne is out, and there’s no time to think about anything other than celebrations.
In the garage, Lando finally seeks you out, planting a firm kiss on your lips the second he can reach you.
He pulls away to speak to you, grin spreading across his cheeks, still completely high from his win. Usually, you’d let him yap at you for hours straight after a race, but right now? Something sparked in you, seeing the way Oscar stared up at your boyfriend. Something that certainly won’t be satiated by a peck on the lips.
You wrap a hand around Lando’s neck, pulling him back towards you.
You catch him a little bit off guard, but it doesn’t take him long to melt into you, his big hands firm at your waist, pressing you against him as he lets his tongue explore your mouth. He tastes like champagne and victory, and it’s taking every ounce of restraint in you not to tear all his clothes off and give him a real winner’s reward.
Especially when you can feel the solid outline of chest through his soaked shirt.
You’re actually pretty sure you could, without anyone noticing. It’s so chaotic in the paddock right now that nobody is paying the two of you a lick of attention.
(Plus, it’s not like it would be the first time you and Lando have had sex in public… though maybe his place of work still isn’t the best time to go for a round two..?)
Somehow, you manage to drag yourself away from the kiss moments before it becomes straight up pornographic.
Lando’s cheeks are flushed, and his lips are still parted. He tilts his head, a grin spreading across his cheeks.
“What was that for?” he asks, breath hot against your ear as he leans back in, in close enough for you to hear him.
You bite your lip, not fully sure if you should tell Lando the real answer. But you do.
“I think,” you reply, “Oscar might have a crush on you.”
“Yeah?” mutters Lando.
You nod.
“Because I think,” he replies, tilting his head to the left ever so slightly, “He might have a crush on both of us.”
You follow his eyeline to where Oscar stands across the room, looking away from the two of you. His ears flush pink as both of you stare.
*
It’s not an uncommon sight, to find you, Lando, and Oscar sat around in the McLaren motorhome after a race.
Most friends and family choose to return to their hotels at this point, to avoid hours of sitting around and waiting, but you like the quiet time with the boys, listening to them recapping the race in private before they’re dragged away to do media stuff.
Today is no different. Lando is sat back on the sofa, legs spread comfortably as he explains his mindset through turn one to Oscar. You’re slotted in beside him, one arm around his shoulders, stroking his neck lazily as he speaks.
Oscar listens carefully, clinging on to Lando’s every word—like he always does—but his voice wavers when he replies. Lando asks him a question about his tyres into turn one, and Oscar starts to answer, but you lean in just a little bit closer to Lando as he does, purely to see if he’ll react.
Your hand slips into Lando’s hair, brushing a stray curl from his forehead, and when he turns his head slightly you press a soft kiss right below his ear. It’s completely innocent, of course, but it certainly does something to Oscar, because he trips over his words right away.
You drag your eyes away from Lando, to watch as a flushed pink spreads from Oscar’s neck, kissing up his freckles until it settles at his cheeks.
Lando, cool as a cucumber, pretends not to notice that Oscar has essentially turned to a babbling pile of mush, and stretches his arm along the back of the sofa behind you, brushing his fingers over your shoulder before he responds.
“That’s interesting, mate. Think it’s one we could both work on, but I definitely think you managed it better there.” He says, though it appears to go in one ear and out the other.
The best reply Oscar can conjure up is a small nod paired with a large gulp. He attempts to continue, talking about his best lap time of the race, and the incident with the cars at the back towards the start of the race, but his voice shakes each time one of you shifts in your seat.
You try very hard not to laugh, because it is a little bit cruel, but you can’t help that you’re a bit like cats sometimes, playing with your prey before you pounce.
When a member of the media team appears at the door, clipboard in hand, and announces that it’s ‘Interview O’Clock,’ Lando sighs dramatically, and attempts to cling onto you a little bit longer.
You manage to stand from the sofa despite his attempts, leaning down to kiss him quickly before you go. Then, you turn to Oscar, bending down across the sofa, and press a light kiss to his cheek. It’s a perfectly friendly goodbye.
A perfectly friendly goodbye that manages to turn Oscar an even more neon shade of pink. He freezes for half a second as the blush spreads, before managing to mumble a soft “bye,” under his breath. Lando watches this with a smug grin, and his eyes briefly flick to yours as you walk out the door.
You smile back, pretending not to notice that Oscar still hasn’t managed to recover.
*
There’s two weeks until the next race, and somebody at McLaren decides that this means Monday night is a perfectly acceptable day of the week to go out drinking.
You’d love to be able to say that you weren’t expecting to end up six cocktails deep clinging to Lando’s bicep at the VIP table of a ridiculously exclusive club, but unfortunately you know yourself far too well for that, and you’re not sure you and Lando have ever managed to go for ‘just one casual drink’. What you might not have been able to predict, however, is that Oscar Piastri would decide to join you for the night.
Oscar Piastri, who gags at the smell of vodka and takes an hour to finish half a pint.
It’s that part of the night, where everyone is either drunk or politely excused themself an hour ago, where your skin is warm and sticky and your options are to dance or take a nap.
Most of the remaining team have chosen to take themselves to the dancefloor, but you, Lando, and Oscar remain sprawled out across the plush purple booth.
Lando’s arm is around your shoulders, fingers softly tracing lines up and down your bare skin. You’re a touchy couple on an average day, but a few drinks in? you couldn’t pay Lando to take his hands off you.
Oscar sits opposite you, stirring a deep golden drink as he avoids your gaze. His cheeks are once again flushed, partially from the alcohol, partially from the warmth of the room, and maybe a little bit from simply being around you and Lando. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to expose the sharp rise and fall of his collarbones as he breathes, and you don’t try to hide the way your eyes trace his freckles.
Lando leans in closer to you, his lips brushing against the edge of your jaw. You keep your eyes on Oscar but lean into his touch. The smell of Lando’s cologne always does something to you, and this many drinks in you’re melting like butter for him. When his hand runs up your thigh to rest at your hip, you don’t hesitate to turn to him.
The kiss starts out warm and familiar, almost like you’re whispering that you love each other over the music. It doesn’t stay like that though. Maybe it’s the music, or the drinks, or Oscar’s eyes on you, but something heats up the kiss.
Your hands wander up and down Lando’s arms, his back, his thighs as you kiss, desperate for more contact. You actually moan into his mouth when he grabs a handful of ass, like you’re starved of his touch or something, and didn’t literally fuck him six hours ago.
When you break for air, Lando’s grin is lazy as he looks at you in that way that tells you he’s got about thirty minutes of this left in him before he bends you over the nearest flat surface and makes you cum until you cry.
Part of you considers that this club could use a bit of entertainment, and maybe you should test it out? The rational part of you agrees that you’ll keep it to the bedroom tonight.
But not quite yet.
You glance across the table and catch Oscar’s expression. He’s caught somewhere between fascination and guilt, lips parted in a half gasp as he glances away, eyes never meeting yours.
He tries to act casual, fingers tapping the side of his glass as his eyes dart over to the bar then back to you and Lando. It’s almost endearing.
You tilt your head slightly, and Lando takes it as an invite to trace your jaw with his teeth, drawing a soft whimper—silent against the pounding club music—from your lips.
When his lips meet yours once more, his tongue is greedier as he nips at your bottom lip, hands tangling through your hair as he pulls your head back, granting him further access to your mouth. The burning heat of Oscar’s gaze only spurs you on, rocking your body against Lando’s as you continue to kiss.
It’s Lando who pulls away this time, with a low murmur of, “It’s time to go.”
As much as you love being a little bit of a brat sometimes, when Lando’s voice sounds like that, and you know exactly what’s waiting for you back at the hotel,you’re certainly not putting up a fight.
You follow Lando out of the booth, pausing to say goodbye before you go.
“Don’t stay out too late, Osc,” he shouts over the pounding music, slapping a hand against Oscar’s shoulder before finding your hand once again.
You run a hand up Oscar’s arm, giving the solid muscle a quick squeeze. “Goodnight, Oscar,” you say, in the sweetest voice you can produce, like you haven’t just sat and tortured the poor guy for an hour.
And then you leave him, flushed and tipsy, to his own thoughts.
*
When you get back to your hotel room, there’s not much talking.
Not until you’re naked, adjusting yourself above Lando’s dick.
“Fuck,” he whispers, as you grind down onto him him. “So pretty like this, baby.”
You steady your hands against his chest, tracing lines up his tanned skin. He’s still wearing his white shirt, but he’s unbuttoned it completely.
He sits up, trying to shrug off the shirt, but you catch his wrist before he can get it off.
“Leave it on, please?” You ask, words broken into a half-moan as you feel him shift in his seat again, pressing himself deep inside of you.
He raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up into a smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you reply, breathy, rocking your hips against him, chasing any friction you can find. “Looked so fucking good today, Lan. Couldn’t stop thinking about this all night.”
“Mm,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “Did you see the way Oscar was staring at us?”
You nod. “Couldn’t take his eyes off us.”
Lando thinks before he speaks again, rocking his hips up, forcing another moan out of you. “Do you think he’s picturing us now?”
And suddenly there’s an image in your head, of Oscar, all alone in his hotel room, whimpering as he finds his climax but it’s still not enough to satisfy him, not now that he’s had the thought of the two of you using him like a toy.
“I think he’s fucking his hand,” you reply, voice a soft whisper, “wishing he was here with us.”
And you feel the way Lando’s body responds to that—jaw clenching, hips snapping up into you, as he pictures the two of you having your way with his sweet teammate.
“I bet he’s never had a threesome,” he says once he’s able to form a sentence.
“We’d treat him so well,” you gasp, fully riding him now.
Lando pulls you down against him, his movements becoming far less patient and controlled. “We’d ruin him.”
You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, when you reply, “Maybe we should.”
His response is a soft hum, which he lets out right before lifting you off him like you weigh absolutely nothing. You gasp at the sudden feeling of emptiness, but it doesn’t last long, because then he’s flipping you onto your stomach and lining himself up with your entrance from behind.
“You’d love it, wouldn’t you baby?” He groans, as he pushes himself into you, not giving you that achingly slow moment to adjust this time, fucking in and out, hard.
He grabs a handful of your hair, yanking your head back as he pounds into you, the new angle allowing him to hit an even deeper spot than before.
You can barely find it in you to form the word, “Yes,” but you manage it, and it comes out a desperate, pleading sob. “I’d love it.”
“I know, my love.” He replies, planting a kiss at the base of your neck before dropping a hand to rub slow circles against your now-throbbing clit.
It’s devastating—the combination of Lando thrusting into you, so hard and so unrelenting, paired with his hand, so gentle as it guides you towards your orgasm. You don’t have to tell him when you’re close, because he already knows it, and he is too.
His hand speeds up, pace not faltering until jolts of pleasure are coursing through your veins and you’re seeing stars.
The feeling of you clenching around him as you moan out his name is just enough to push Lando over the edge too.
His thrusts slow to a deep, final stop, and he presses his fingers into your thighs hard as he reaches his climax.
He’s still for a moment, before he pulls out, just taking in the sight of you underneath him. When he does, you roll over, panting heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you lock eyes with Lando, he leans over to kiss you once again, softly this time.
Before his lips meet yours, you whisper, “You’d love it too.”
“Of course I would,” he replies. And that’s that decided.
*
Date night, a week and a half into summer break, you’re just on the verge of being tipsy as you and Lando make your way home—both of you agreeing to walk through the warm streets of Monaco rather than bothering to wait for a driver to pick you up.
Lando’s hand rests on your waist, always a steadying presence by your side. He leads you round a familiar corner, just a few streets away from your apartment.
And that’s when you see him.
Oscar, looking so perfectly sweet, lovely Oscar, in shorts and a dark hoodie, hair flopping down into his eyes as he walks right into you.
He notices you just a second after you notice him, but that second is enough for Lando to give your waist one tight, firm squeeze, a silent agreement between the two of you.
“Oscar!” You call out, arms extended wide for a hug. You relish in the pink tinge that stains his cheeks when you release him.
“Hello, mate,” adds Lando, slapping him on the back. “How’ve you been?”
“Yeah, alright,” he says, “Just resting up, you know how it is.”
“Course, I do, Osc,” Lando replies, and you’re sure Oscar’s blush deepens at the use of that nickname. “So you’re not busy, then?”
“Nah, not particularly.”
“Great!” smiles Lando “So you’ll come back to ours for a drink?”
Oscar blinks. “What, like, now?”
Lando grins. “Like, now.”
“Ah, you know, I should probably be getting home—”
You cut him off, running a hand up his bicep, doe-eyes blinking hard. “Come on, Oscar, it’s just one drink and we’ve missed you so much this week.”
He swallows, hard, then says, “alright. Just one.”
“Just one,” echoes Lando.
*
When you’ve returned your wine glasses to the kitchen, after the one drink Oscar agreed to, you settle back down on the sofa next to Oscar, who’s wedged between you and Lando.
Your short skirt shows off most of your bare legs when you’re sat like this, and Oscar stares straight ahead, blinking at your wall as he avoids looking at all the skin you’ve got on display.
Lando catches your eye, and you nod, one final yes.
“Babe,” he says, faux concern laced through his voice. “You have something on your lip. Come here.”
You lean forward across Oscar, enough so that the neckline of your shirt drops, exposing far more cleavage than before.
Lando leans forward too, and before you can register what he’s doing, he licks the corner of your mouth.
You laugh, head tilting towards Oscar, which leaves your neck exposed. Lando takes that chance to scatter open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to scrape his teeth along your pulse point.
You lock eyes with Oscar, a gasp of pleasure slipping from you, and he holds your gaze for a second, pupils blown wide. When he looks away, he’s blushing, hard.
You let the hand closest to him snake along his back, and he’s burning hot against your touch.
Oscar parts his lips, like he’s right on the cusp of saying something that’s on his mind. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shifts in his seat silently.
Lando stills against you, breath still warm against your neck as his lips curve up into a smile before he pulls away.
“Sorry, Oscar,” he says, sly grin only growing wider, “Are we bothering you?”
You can’t pull your eyes away from Oscar now, the way the flushed pink of his cheeks spreads right up to the tip of his ears, and right down below the collar of his shirt.
His eyes don’t meet yours or Lando’s when he replies, shakily, “No.”
You let your fingers trace down the curve of his spine, pausing as you find his shirt has ridden up ever so slightly, revealing a sliver of his back.
When your fingers, whisper soft, press against the warm skin, he inhales.
It’s tiny—so quiet—but it’s like music to your ears
“Lan?” You say, as casually as if you were about to ask him to add tomatoes to his shopping list.
“Hmm?” He replies, equally as casually.
“I think,” you continue, emphasising the I, “Oscar might like it,”
“Do you think so?” Lando asks, though the way he says it tells you it’s not really a question.
He turns his head, so he’s perfectly in line with Oscar’s throat.
“I think you’ve got a crush on my girlfriend, Osc.” He murmurs, breath soft against Oscar’s neck. You watch as his jaw clenches in response, eyes fixed ahead of him, desperately holding onto some shred of control.
Lando brings his hand up to Oscar’s face, cupping his cheek. He keeps his mouth so close to his neck that when he speaks again, voice sure and steady, his teeth graze the sensitive skin.
“Do you want to kiss my girlfriend?”
And that’s when you see Oscar lose the shred of control he’d been holding onto. His eyes snap down to meet Lando’s, and he nods silently, the movement so subtle you’re sure you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying such close attention to him.
Lando doesn’t miss it though.
Using the hand cupping Oscar’s cheek, he tilts his head towards you, an invitation you’re more than willing to accept.
Your fingers ghost against his face, finding Lando’s hand and settling over it as your lips meet Oscar’s.
The first thing you notice is how soft Oscar’s lips are. His lips part in a whisper of a gasp as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping just hard enough to sting.
Kissing Oscar feels just like kissing a girl usually does. He’s so pliant, so ready to let you take the lead, which you do, tongue pushing into his mouth, tasting the sweet wine from before.
You almost have to remind yourself not to reach for a handful of tit—though, judging by the way Oscar’s turning to mush at your touch, he’d probably quite like that.
You adjust your weight, knee brushing against Oscar’s leg, and he actually whimpers into your kiss, both of his hands now resting at your waist.
A smile curling at your lips, you pull away ever so slightly and take in the sight of him, cheeks already flushed pink, lips parted as he catches his breath. You lean in again, but don’t quite let him have another kiss yet.
“The thing is,” you whisper, lips brushing against his. “I think you might have a crush on my boyfriend, too.”
Oscar’s breath catches as you run your fingers through his hair, barely giving him a second to think before you’re gripping it, turning him to face Lando, who hasn’t stopped staring since you got your hands on his teammate.
“Do you want to kiss my boyfriend, Oscar?”
Lando doesn’t hesitate for even a second to take that invitation.
His mouth finds Oscar’s with a determination that flushes your cheeks pink, like he’s been picturing this moment just as much as you have. You bite your lip, not bothering to hide exactly how hot the image of the two of them kissing is to you.
Lando’s hand never leaves Oscar’s cheek, thumb pressing lightly into the hinge of his jaw as he deepens the kiss, and then, with a shift of his body and a firm tug, he’s pulling him closer, guiding him easily until he’s straddling his lap.
It’s so seamless, so natural, if you’d have blinked you might have missed the movement altogether.
You decide you love the way Oscar doesn’t resist at all. His body completely yields to Lando’s, knees resting against Lando’s thighs, hands still clumsily grasping your waist until one finally moves, uncertain, to Lando’s shoulder.
He lets Lando take complete control of the kiss, lets himself be tilted and pulled into exactly the position Lando wants him in; completely melts against him.
Then, a sound slips from Oscar’s throat. It’s small and broken, almost a whimper, and it makes Lando smile against his mouth, letting out a satisfied hum. You recognise that smile, because it’s one you’ve prompted on many occasions. It’s the smile that says, yeah, that’s right, I’m the one who makes you feel good.
And oh, how right he is.
Lando kisses Oscar like he owns him, like he’s known all along that this moment was waiting, and Oscar gives himself over to it so easily it almost makes you dizzy to watch, his body softening against Lando’s touch, knees tightening around his thighs as though he needs an anchor.
He’s probably never been kissed quite like this before. You certainly hadn’t, before Lando.
You’d once told him he ruined other men for you forever. Though you quickly took that back after your first threesome together, as it turned out he was quite capable of making other men very pleasant indeed.
Your gaze wanders down Oscar’s chest to his waist, where Lando’s hands hold him steady. The gasp that escapes you is completely involuntary, when you realise Lando can very nearly touch his fingers together around Oscar’s waist.
The size difference between the two boys is almost as erotic as the sight of them lapping up each other’s tongues. Oscar, so much bigger than Lando, yet looking so unreasonably tiny as he completely hands over control.
You decide you could stay and watch this forever, the two of them locked together, but then Lando finally breaks the kiss, dragging his mouth away just far enough to look at you over Oscar’s shoulder, eyes dark and shining with triumph. His lips curve, breathless but steady, and his voice is low when he says, “Look at us, having all the fun without my beautiful girl… Come here, Baby.”
Lando’s words are a command, not really a question, you know that, so you find yourself moving before your brain has fully processed his words, leaning into their burning space.
Lando’s hand is still firm against Oscar’s jaw, so it’s easy for him to guide the angle when you press closer, tilting Oscar’s face just enough to allow you access to him. The brush of your lips against his is different this time, wetter now from Lando’s kiss, his breath stuttering hot against your mouth as he struggles to process this fantasy of his coming to life.
This time, Lando doesn’t just watch as you kiss Oscar.
No, he drops his hand to your panties, completely exposed under your short skirt and presses hard against you, until the tiniest bit of friction sends a jolt of pleasure through you. At the same time, he grinds his hips up against Oscar, forcing soft whines out of both of you at once.
Lando continues his movements, revelling in the sight of you and Oscar moaning into each other’s mouths.
You’re just about to lose your patience with his barely-there touch, when Lando abruptly pulls Oscar off his lap, separating the two of you completely.
Oscar blinks at Lando dumbly, eyes glassy and hair a mess.
“On your knees,” says Lando.
Oscar follows his instruction obediently, dropping to his knees.
You’re not expecting Lando to drop down with him, so they both kneel at your feet, but you’re certainly not complaining when it happens.
You let Lando be in control here, like he always is, and so does Oscar.
Lando continues, “pull down her skirt.”
Oscar brings his hands up to the tiny thing, and does as he’s told, delicate hands working quickly to pull the tight fabric down your legs.
You lift your hips up to help him, and when they’re off his hands shoot right back up to pull down your little red thong—already soaked through from just kissing the two boys.
You can’t help but laugh at his eagerness, and your eyes lock with Lando’s as his lips quirk upwards.
“Look at you,” He purrs against Oscar’s ear. “So eager. Do you want to make her feel good?”
He nods, and you spread your legs for the two of them, revealing your soaked core.
Lando touches you first, fingers swiping achingly slowly from your entrance up to your clit. He brings the fingers to Oscar’s mouth, where he parts his lips obediently and sucks your wetness off Lando’s fingers.
“Doesn’t she taste perfect?” Lando asks.
Oscar just nods again.
“Go on,” he continues, “You can taste.”
It’s like Oscar is made to serve, like making you feel good is the only thing keeping him ticking, like he needs it more than oxygen.
The way he laps you up, two fingers fucking into you hard and perfectly deep.
You let your head drop back, eyes fluttering shut as he finds a steady pace, fingers curling up into you until he finds that spot that has your hips twitching up into him. He smiles against you at that, but doesn’t slow down, so eager to please.
Lando notices it too, the way he reacts to your pleasure, because a second later you hear his voice, low and calculated, murmuring words of encouragement for him.
“That’s it, Oscar. Good boy,” he says, and Oscar whines against you, the feeling of his stuttering breath almost enough to send you over the edge.
He pumps his fingers in and out again, but when his pace stutters for a moment, another whimper slipping from him, you notice it, and your eyes dart down to where he kneels.
There, you find Lando, palm pressed flat against Oscar’s cock as he continues to mutter words of encouragement for Oscar.
And that, the sight, the feeling of Oscar desperately moaning into you while he squirms under Lando’s touch is far too much for you to handle.
Your head drops back against the sofa once again, and you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the way Oscar’s tongue flicks against your clit, and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
And then you’re right there, waves of pleasure crashing over you, your hips pushing up against Oscar’s mouth, as his little noises of pleasure blend together with yours.
You fall back, catching your breath. You don’t open your eyes right away—instead, you give all your energy to your other senses. To the feeling of the two men kneeling at your feet, their shoulders brushing your knees as they move against one another. To the sounds Oscar is making, so perfectly desperate, as Lando strokes his cock.
Dragging an eye open, your gaze finds Lando, peppering open-mouthed kisses along Oscar’s jaw, left hand gripping the back of his neck just hard enough to make him gasp, while his right hand continues to work up and down his length, which is no longer concealed by layers of soft fabric.
You keep your eyes glued to them as Lando’s mouth finds Oscar’s again, licking into his mouth, teeth catching against his flushed lower lip as they kiss hungrily, and messily.
Just as Oscar begins to rock his hips up against Lando’s firm hand, he pulls away—from both the kiss and Oscar’s cock, a grin spreading across his cheeks.
“Desperate for it, aren’t you, Osc?”
If this embarrasses Oscar, he certainly doesn’t show it, simply nodding, wide-eyed, at Lando.
“Been picturing it for a long time?” Lando continues, tracing a finger down Oscar’s pale, exposed neck.
Again, Oscar nods. But this time, he allows a soft shade of pink to tint his cheeks.
“Did you touch yourself, thinking about us?”
Oscar hesitates, then chokes out, “Yes—Fuck. After that night at the club.”
Lando’s eye’s snap up to meet yours, and he drops his hand back down to Oscar’s cock.
“We pictured you, too, Osc. Talked about you while we fucked that night.”
Oscar doesn’t reply, simply drops his head to Lando’s shoulder and whines, melted to a puddle under Lando’s touch.
He pulls away again, to Oscar’s visible disappointment, though this time he guides the Australian to his feet, positioning him next to you on the sofa.
“Come here, baby.” He says, attention back on you now. He gestures for you to join him, kneeling on the floor in front of Oscar.
“How about you show Oscar just how badly you wanted him?” He says once you’re on the floor next to him, gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear.
You nod, taking Oscar’s length in one hand. It rests for a moment at the base of his cock, barely moving. He takes a deep breath, and it’s perfectly shaky.
Lando’s hand snakes across yours, interlocking your fingers, before he drags both of you up and down Oscar’s length.
Oscar’s head drops backwards immediately, a groan spilling from his lips as his hands cling to the edge of the sofa.
“That’s it, beautiful,” says Lando, and you’re not completely sure if he’s talking to you or Oscar, until he pulls his hand away from yours, and whispers, “You want to make Oscar feel good, don’t you?”
You nod, continuing to work Oscar’s cock while Lando stands up, unbuttoning his trousers.
Oscar makes the most perfect sounds when you’re stroking his dick, and you focus in on that while Lando rises to his feet and undresses himself, testing what makes him squirm.
You trace a gentle finger along his tip, gathering the drop of precum that has pooled there. Oscar manages to breathe out a soft, “Please,” at that, which only makes you grin harder.
You still your hand, and look up at him through your lashes. “Is that what you want, Oscar?”
He nods, jaw tense.
“You’re going to have to use your words, baby.”
Oscar squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenched, and shakily manages, “right there, please.”
“Good boy,” you reply, letting your fingers caress the soft skin again. His hips buck up as you move, and you settle into a rhythm again.
Lando is fully naked now, and you realise this as he lines his length up with your face.
You look up at him, still grinning.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,”
“Want something to do with that pretty little mouth of yours?”
You nod, because for some reason, despite being able to produce a whole string of commands for Oscar, when it comes to Lando your brain melts back down into putty.
He hums as you stick your tongue out, swirling it against his tip before taking in his whole length.
You know the size of him so well, know exactly what you can handle, so you don’t have to think as you bob your head up and down. You find a steady beat, hand moving up and down Oscar’s length as you take Lando’s.
You continue for a little while, until the three of you are a mess of spit and groans, and you’re pretty sure you could cum at least once from the pure eroticism of making the two drivers feel this good.
Your brain is short-circuiting in that way it often does when Lando’s dick is in your mouth, and you desperately want to just shut your eyes and let him use you.
He must notice the way your eyes flutter closed, hand still steadily working Oscar’s throbbing cock, because he threads his hand through your hair and seconds later is snapping his hips forward into you, finding a steady rhythm.
There’s something so perfect about the way the two men react to your movements—Lando, pushing your head down as far as he knows you can take it, muttering just how good you are for him, while Oscar fists his hand into the sofa, a whining, twitching mess. You feel completely in control of Oscar, yet you couldn’t feel less in charge with Lando.
But that’s what’s so perfect about your relationship with Lando, and why it works so well when you invite someone new to the bedroom. The two of you know each other’s bodies so perfectly, that it gets to be a game of discovering what the new person likes together.
When your jaw is beginning to ache, Lando slows his movements to a stop before he pulls away from you. A string of saliva connects you still, and you try to chase it, not quite ready to be done yet, but Lando stops you with a firm hand, turning you back to Oscar.
“Good girl,” he says, when you speed your hand up again, pumping up and down until Oscar is shaking, jolting with each movement, and you pull your hand away completely, leaving him twitching up against nothing.
Then Lando’s hands are on you, lifting you up onto the sofa, where Oscar sits trying to catch his breath.
“Think he’ll sit there like a good boy while I take care of you for a bit, baby?” Says Lando, voice low and hoarse.
You nod, immediately, and when you look up at Oscar, he’s nodding too.
“That’s right,” Lando continues. “Sit on your hands for me, Osc. No touching yourself for a bit, okay?”
He nods, cheeks flushed a brighter shade of red than you’ve ever seen them. Lando manhandles you into the position he wants you in—ass up, face down, resting on Oscar’s lap.
When you get your hands on Oscar’s thigh, he lets out the tiniest whimper, already tortured by not being able to touch himself. You begin to say something, to praise him, tell him what a good little toy he’s being for you two, but then Lando begins to tease at your entrance, and then you’re the one whimpering pathetically.
You’re not quite sure how you continue to be surprised by the sheer size of Lando, after so many years together, but when he bottoms out in one slow, delicious thrust, it has you crying out, weak at the knees, barely able to steady yourself over Oscar.
Lando gives you a second—just a second—to adjust, before rocking back into you.
“Fuck,” you whisper, “So perfect, Lando.”
Lando grunts, hips rolling hard against you, hitting your G-spot once more, forcing another choked half-moan from your lips.
And poor Oscar doesn’t know where to look, eyes darting between you—mouth dropped open into a silent ‘O’, eyes fluttering, barely open, rocking forwards into Oscar’s lap each time Lando’s hips snap against yours—and Lando, all toned, tanned skin, one hand digging bruises into your waist as the other tangles through your hair, fucking you hard and deep at this ridiculous angle that hits exactly the right spot.
Oscar shifts, hands still firmly tucked underneath him, his cock throbbing against his pale chest.
Lando yanks your hair back, ripping a moan out of you. The way Oscar’s dick twitches at the noise has you right there on the verge of another climax.
You clench around Lando, head falling forward to rest on Oscar’s thigh, and you’re not sure which of the two men groans louder.
“That’s it, Baby,” grunts Lando, “So fuckin’ close. You gonna come for me?”
You just about manage to hum in agreement, which is enough for him to drop the hand laced through your hair down to your clit, his skilled, practiced fingers rubbing quick, tiny circles that have you rocking back onto him.
Each brush of pressure sends a jolt of pleasure right up your spine until you’re dizzy and the only thoughts on your mind are Oscar’s strong thigh underneath you, and Lando’s warm, solid body behind you.
It feels like Lando is fucking into you even deeper than before, and it’s almost too much for you to handle, the feeling is too good. A moan threatens to rip from you, but you cut it off, teeth sinking, biting, into Oscar’s leg. And once again, he whimpers, hips bucking up into thin air, cock painfully strained.
Then you’re tumbling over the edge, vision blurring as tiny explosions go off in your stomach, Lando’s own thrusts becoming far more erratic as he brings himself to his climax.
“Gonna come, fuck—course I am, seeing you all over Oscar like this.”
You don’t have the words to tell Lando exactly how fucking hot this is for you, too, watching him play with his teammate like a toy, feeling him so deep inside you that you can barely breathe, but you do manage to turn your head to look at him. To catch a glimpse of him as he loses control, eyes squeezed tightly shut and jaw clenched, hard.
Warmth spreads through you, and that feeling, that fullness you can never get enough of is suddenly the only thing on in your brain, which is foggy and without thoughts once again.
You keep your face pressed into Oscar, as you whine out a pathetic, “Lando,”
“I know,” he says, soft and gentle as he pulls out of you.
You roll onto your back, searching for his face. He pulls you up against him, then slowly, as you catch your breath, tilts your head to look at Oscar.
Oscar, who is squirming, hands shoved underneath him, beautiful brown eyes watery as he tries to maintain control.
And holy fuck, the sight of Oscar like that, so pathetic, clears the fog in your brain. Enough that you think you might quite like to have a little bit more fun with him.
You stare at Oscar, who’s blinking at you dumbly, presumably waiting to be told exactly what he can and can’t do. Lando must interpret it this way too, because he lets out a light chuckle, and pats your shoulder.
“Got him all stupid,” he says.
“Exactly how I want him,” you reply, standing up so you’re towering over him despite your still shaking legs.
“Oscar,” you say sweetly, placing one hand on each of his shoulders, steadying yourself more than anything.
“You gonna sit nicely a little longer, while I get myself off on this big, strong thigh of yours?”
He swallows, hard. And you’re fairly sure you even hear Lando suck in a breath.
Oscar starts to nod, but, like he knows you’re going to tell him to use his words, manages to choke out a strangled, “Yes. Please.”
You let the grin spread across your face again and lower yourself onto his thigh.
And oh, you weren’t exaggerating when you called him big and strong. The muscles of his thigh tense as you settle on it, and it’s close enough to rock solid underneath you.
Oscar groans at the contact, at the feeling of you, so wet against him, still dripping with Lando’s cum.
Lando settles himself on the sofa next to you, and begins to stroke his cock lazily, like he’s got all the time in the world.
You rock your hips forward, the tiniest bit of friction enough to spark a moan from your lips.
Oscar’s hands fumble at the hem of your shirt, a silent request to get you just as naked as them, and you nod, letting him pull it up over your head. You have to pause your movements for a second, when your shirt covers your face, but once Oscar has managed to get it off you’re right back to it, hips rolling forward into him.
You use his shoulders to steady yourself, and find your fingers tracing the solid muscle at the base of his neck.
Formula one drivers and their necks.
You bring your lips down to his neck, and run your tongue along it. Oscar hisses in a breath, and you let your teeth nip at his sensitive skin just a little.
Somewhere next to you, Lando laughs.
“Knew you’d be all over his neck, baby.”
In silent agreement, you scatter a few more bruises along Oscar’s jaw.
His hands find your hips, and move you back and forth, speeding up until you’re moaning, loud, in his ear. You’re still so sensitive from your last orgasm, and Oscar is so desperate to make you feel good, you’re sure you’ll be close to another within seconds at this rate.
You toss your head back, unashamedly bucking your hips into him, squeezing your eyes tighter and tighter until the only thing in your brain is your next climax rapidly approaching.
The pads of your fingers press into his shoulders—hard, but you can barely spare a thought for any pain he might be in, and he certainly doesn’t complain as you fuck yourself against his thigh.
You’re sure you see stars, this time, as you come, panting hard, nails digging harsh marks into Oscar’s back.
You stay like that for a moment, heart racing, head tipped back.
As you let your head straighten, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, a pair of hands grips at your waist. They’re too big to be Oscar’s, you think, and far too familiar as they run up and down your bare skin.
“Hey,” comes Lando’s voice—soft, and gentle in that way it always is when you’re coming down from a climax. “Do you want to fuck Oscar like this?”
At that, you manage to pry your eyes open, breath still shallow and uneven.
You take in the way Lando still looks so relaxed, despite his arousal, and the casual sing-song to his voice when he asks you these questions designed to drive you mad.
Then, you shift your eyes across to where Oscar sits patiently underneath you. And the way he looks almost knocks the breath right back out of you.
His cheeks are flushed, the pale pink a stark contrast against the pale of his freckled cheeks, and his eyes are glassy, barely focused on you as you take him in. His lips part ever so slightly, and you think, for a moment, that he might speak.
But he doesn’t. He just continues to stare dumbly at you.
Then, finally, you let your eyes drop down.
Oscar’s cock is painfully hard against his chest, precum leaking from its tip. You trace a gentle line up its base, and he shudders, pleading doe-eyes snapping up to meet yours.
You feel yourself soften at the edges a little. Lando always loves to play with his food a little bit before he eats it, but you can’t help but take pity on Oscar.
“Is that what you need, baby?” you ask, fingers still feather-light against his tip. “Need me to take control? Ride you properly?”
He buries his face in your shoulder, voice barely a whimper, and nods.
You glance up at Lando, and his grip on your waist tightens, before lifting you. You adjust yourself above Oscar, then sink down onto him, a sharp gasp falling from you as you do.
Oscar bites his lip, humming out a half moan as he fumbles to keep you from moving for a second while he regulates his breathing.
“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, “we can go slow.”
Oscar nods, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your thigh when you grind against him. It’s a gentle, barely there movement, but it has him whining in your ear.
“Fuck,” he pants out, “feels good.”
Lando, sat so close next to him that their whole sides are pressed together, runs a hand down Oscar’s arm.
“Yeah?” he says, letting his thumb rub circles across Oscar’s bicep. “You love it?”
You roll your hips forward again, and Oscar whimpers. “Yes, Lando—” he inhales sharply. “Love it.”
Lando grins, settling himself back into the sofa and running a lazy hand over his cock, which is already getting hard again.
He’s far too comfortable like this – sprawled across his sofa, at his house, watching his girlfriend ride his teammate.
“Thought you would.” He replies, after a long pause. “Pictured how good you’d look under both of us. All needy and pathetic.”
This time it’s Oscar thrusting up into you, the soft moans from both of your mouths blending into one. He finds a steady rhythm—him, fucking up into you as you grind your hips against him, both drawing tiny little noises of pleasure from the other.
Oscar brings a hand up to your tits, eyes fixated on the way they bounce up and down as you ride him, the sight almost pornographic. He rolls a nipple between two fingers, harder than you’re expecting, and the moan it drags from you is a surprise to even you.
“Fuck,” says Lando—still thrusting up into his own hand—as Oscar brings his mouth to join his hand, tongue flat against your nipple, “We might have to keep him.”
“Fuck him in every position,” you reply immediately, voice breathy.
That has Oscar bringing his mouth back to yours, swallowing your moans as he presses his tongue into yours, hands completely unable to decide where to rest as they explore your naked body.
Lando chokes out another moan. When you look at him again, he says, “I want you to make him come.” It’s nearly enough to make you choke on thin air. “Wanna watch him fill you up, too,” he continues, voice hoarse, hand still pumping lazy strokes up and down his flushed cock.
Then he looks at Oscar. He doesn’t meet his eyes. Not until Lando’s hand grabs his jaw and tilts it towards himself.
“Does that turn you on, Osc?” He asks, and you clench around Oscar, forcing a deep groan out of him before he can reply.
“Yes, fuck, please. Gonna—” He interrupts himself with another sharp moan, hips snapping up into you harder, deeper, hitting that spot that makes you feel so good over and over.
Your nails dig into his shoulders again, and you bring your mouth right up to his ear, so your breath warms his cheek when you whisper, “Please, come for me baby.”
It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become uneven, his whimpers becoming louder and far more pathetic, and then he’s lacing his fingers through yours before his final, deep thrust.
There’s something so deeply intimate, about the spreading warmth of Oscar coming inside you, where Lando has already filled you up.
Oscar pants, as his cock throbs, and all you can do in response is press your mouth up against his cheek again and tell him how perfect he was for you.
“Made me feel so good, Oscar. Filled me up so nicely.”
He practically purrs in response, eyes half lidded, brain so clearly dazed and foggy, leaving him completely pliant. You wait a moment, before getting up, letting Oscar ride his high a little longer.
You wince at the emptiness when you do get up, but Oscar’s mouth simply drops open, face blank and seemingly completely devoid of thoughts.
You raise an eyebrow to Lando, who seems perfectly content to sit and fuck his own hand, as he watches you do whatever you want with Oscar.
You look back at his open mouth, and his soft pleading eyes.
Your thumb slips into his mouth far too easily, and when it does, it’s like it ignites something in Oscar’s brain. He sucks your finger, humming as he does.
And it’s a bit like looking in a mirror. You know exactly what he needs, because it’s exactly what you need when you get like this.
“Want something in your mouth?” you ask, voice oh so gentle now.
He nods, and you guide him to his knees in front of Lando, where you join him. Oscar drops his mouth open, blinking up at Lando, who doesn’t hesitate to fuck into it, earning a whine of thanks from Oscar.
Lando laces his fingers through Oscar’s hair and uses his mouth like a fuck toy, the only sounds filling the air the wet, hot grunts of pleasure from both men, and the soft sound of gagging as Oscar desperately tries to fit more of Lando’s impressive length down his throat.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been watching them like this, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, when Lando pulls away from Oscar,
But suddenly he’s fucking into your mouth, and Oscar can’t even bring himself to whine about his mouth being empty, because then Lando’s switching back and forth between the two of you, edging himself closer and closer to a second climax.
You can barely think, once again, so desperate to please Lando when he’s like this, so turned on by the feeling of choking on his cock, but both you and Oscar still far too sensitive to touch yourselves, reduced to existing just to make Lando feel good.
You’re sure Lando’s followed this train of thought too, because he’s not going to last long, muttering jumbled words of praise to both of you as his thrusts become more frantic.
“Gonna play nice?” he asks, breathily. “Gonna share?”
He doesn’t need to ask, not really, because he knows you’d both say yes to just about anything right now, but you’re both whimpering out pleas of yes, Lando, anything anyway as he strokes his cock above your faces.
When he finally fucks himself over the edge, warm come spills across your face, your eager tongue, your chest, and Oscar’s too.
And it’s sticky, and disgusting, and so erotic when Oscar starts to lap at your face like he’ll die if he doesn’t get to taste Lando again, waiting patiently for you to reciprocate. When you do, you let your tongue explore all the way back down his chest, not sparing a drop.
You share another kiss, as Lando watches, and it’s salty and hot. You run your hands along his thighs, and he gropes hungrily at your ass, neither of you quite ready to take your hands off the other yet, all three of you very aware that this won’t be the last time you fuck. Not even close.
*
You’re not quite sure how all three of you manage to fit in the shower, but you do, and whilst you’re in there Lando insists it’s entirely unfair that Oscar’s only had one orgasm, before sinking to his knees and sucking him off until he’s gripping onto you, and the bathroom wall, desperately willing his legs not to give in, even when faced with the totally, stupidly, ridiculously hot sight of Lando swallowing his come.
After that, the three of you, mostly clean and dry, return to the sofa.
“Reckon we’ll let you stay the night,” says Lando, swinging his feet over to rest on Oscar’s lap.
Oscar just laughs, a light, breathy noise, and replies, “Yeah, think you’d be pretty shit hosts if you didn’t.”
