summary: kimi is addicted to being between your legs. any place and any time. and no matter how many times you pretend it pisses you off, you're kinda obsessed with it too.
warnings: fluff, poor humour, established relationship, 18+ (minors dni), teasing, kimi basically being a munch, eating out, fingering, overstimulation (f. receiving), reader and kimi obsessed with it tbh // poorly proof read as usual
word count: 2.5k
a/n: based on this request! short and sweet bc i'm breaking out in chronic hives—so enjoy!
Kimi always rested his head on your lap. To the naked eye, it was a sweet thing. The way he cradled into your lap, finding peace on your soft skin, feeling your hand comb through his curls. Anyone would think it was pure bliss and that he was the luckiest man alive.
But no one knew the real truth. The sick, twisted reason he kept head on your lap.
Easy access.
To what?
Well... it wasn't that hard to put two and two together, was it?
Kimi, the sweet little golden boy of Formula One, was an incorrigible man.
No one knew him for what he really was. Or how he was.
Every free day, every free second he had. His driver's room, the bathroom, the kitchen counter, the balcony, the car, under the table... whether it was shorts, jeans, a skirt, or a dress you wore... his head was between your legs all the goddamn time.
It was 'only because of you' as he innocently claimed. A poor attempt at defence and shifting the blame. Like it was your fucking fault. Like you were the one who made him crazy. Like you were luring him in.
You swore to God you weren't.
Addiction wasn't even the right word for it.
Fuck, you had no idea what was.
Obsession? Dependency? Compulsion?
Devotion.
You had tried to intervene time and time again. Wearing the tightest jeans possible only for those beautiful fingers to hook them down, leaving a gentle burn against your skin in his trail. Pantyhose under the dresses and skirts? Apparently, they were pretty easy to rip into. 'Non-breakable' your fucking ass. You should’ve sued them for false advertisement.
You had even gone as far as blocking your schedule with the most insignificant events to get a little breather. But that inconsolable little shit always found you.
But the shameful truth rested with you, tucked away in your heart. Because you and Kimi both knew it—you loved it.
You loved his nose. You loved his mouth. And you loved that goddamn tongue.
That was your problem. That stupid tongue. It was always out. When Kimi needed to focus on something. When he needed to pose for a picture. In interviews. When he listened. When he talked.
It was always there. Teasing. Waiting. Reminding you of what was to come. What could make you cum.
Just like he was doing now. Standing a couple metres away from you in the garage as you talked to Carmen and he entertained George and Toto, built arms folded and chocolate brown eyes flickering to you for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes, tongue peeking out of his mouth.
"Is Kimi okay?" Carmen suddenly queried, making your throat dry as you snapped your eyes to her.
The heat almost instantly grew in your cheeks. "W-What do you mean?" You stuttered, fingers already fidgeting. No way... there was no way...
"He hasn't stopped looking our way, or your way, since you got here. Did you guys fight or something?" She asked, turning her head to you while she raised a brow.
You swallowed thickly, shaking your head. "No, no. We didn't fight," you laughed nervously. You were definitely about to get into one by the sheer smirk settled on his face. "Um... I think he just wants to go home," you reasoned poorly.
Carmen hummed, nodding in understanding. "George gets like that too. It's okay. Just a few more minutes."
You gave her a tight smile and nodded. Sure. You were certain George was nothing like Kimi. Because the gleam in his eye told you that you would either barely make it to the car or make it to the hotel room. Or worse... somewhere else.
Kimi vaguely listened to his boss talk, too preoccupied with the way you stood metres away from him in those jeans. God, those jeans. Clinging to you like they had specifically been made for you. You had no business looking this good all the goddamn time.
His lips quirked at the discreet press of your thighs together, making his eyes flicker up to your face, spotting the narrowed gaze of annoyance from miles away.
You always did that. Played the innocent, miffed girl. Like he was an inconvenience. But at the end of the day, it was always you screaming his name just the way he liked it, hips and legs shaking around him.
You loved it as much as he did.
The minutes had indeed passed by. Kimi's hand hung low over your waist as you both walked towards his car alongside Carmen and George. The conversation between you both was minimal. You could see the cogs in your boyfriend's brain turning, tongue peeking out of his mouth as his eyes flitted across the bare parking lot, observing the settling sun as the couple filled the air.
"Okay," Carmen started, small yawn falling from her mouth, eliciting an amused smile from George. "I'm ready to go. You guys text me when you reach the hotel, yeah?"
You smiled quietly, giving her a small nod. Would you even reach the hotel? "Of course," you assured, giving Kimi a nudge to not leave you hanging.
He pressed his grin down, arm moving to grab George's hand for a brief shake. "Drive safe, mate."
George nodded, giving the both of you a wave as they both headed towards their car, leaving the both of you alone for a moment.
Kimi unlocked the car with the quick press of a button, opening the passenger door for you. He watched you eye him suspiciously as you propped yourself into the car. Closing the door gently, his footsteps were light and fast towards the other side of the vehicle.
You sat in the passenger seat, all buckled. You took note of how Kimi made no effort to do the same as he sat down. Nor did he start the engine. Instead, his eyes move to the rear mirror. He waited. He watched. He listened.
For the sound of George's car turning on. For the movement of those tyres to peel out of the parking lot. For him to leave.
Somehow, you were waiting too. Carefully watching the taillights of George's car which had barely left the parking lot before Kimi was reaching over to undo your seatbelt. A sigh immediately left your mouth. "Kimi! Someone is going to catch us," you hissed, knowing damn well the churn in your stomach made all your excuses futile.
"We're the last ones here," he retorted, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans after unbuttoning them with ease. His tugs of the thick fabric are short and harsh as his lips fell to your neck; sinful tongue pressed against your burning skin.
Any other reprimand you had lined up had died in your throat, replaced by the curled gasps your lips had wrapped around. Your hips betrayed your mind, naturally lifting as he pulled your jeans down to your shoes, leaving his hands to roam your bare thighs.
His words were muffled and heaved. "Been waiting for this all day," he groaned, placing a messy kiss on your lips, savouring the taste of your lip balm briefly.
If you were in the right mind, you would've given him a blank look. He made it sound like you had starved him. Like he hadn't just made you see stars in the morning either.
But you weren't. You could barely think with his lips and hands on you. Kimi always seemed to have that effect on you. Even with the ebbs of orange sun settling away through the car windows, reminding you where you were... you couldn’t be ashamed of the heat unfurling in your stomach.
Kimi didn't take long to remove the barrier between him and all he wanted, making you draw a sharp breath as the cold air hit your pulsing cunt. His fingers pressed into your thighs, keeping them apart. A deep moan, unrestrained and reverent, fell from his lips. "My pretty, pretty girl," he praised.
He wasn't talking to you. Not exactly.
He smiled at the obvious clench of your pussy. A mirthful chuckle swirled deep from his chest. “Yeah... you missed me, didn't you, baby?"
Your cheeks flamed at the treachery of your body. As if it couldn't get any worse, a yelp escaped your lips as Kimi grabbed your legs, hooking one up against headrest and the other on the dashboard, pants, underwear, and shoes long gone. Everything about it was smooth... natural because he had done it a million times.
Kimi pulled his shirt off and leaned over the console, pupils dilated as he stared at the glistening mess right in front of him, heart hammering in his chest. Every fold primed with your slick, dripping out slowly.
You complained here and there. He had heard them all. "We're in public, Kimi," or "I'm trying to go to sleep, Kimi." All of them baseless and weak.
You just didn't get it. You hadn't tasted yourself like he had tasted you. Because if you had, you would understand why he couldn't stop.
Your head pressed harshly into the car window behind you. Fuck, it was awkward. It hurt. But nothing else mattered when Kimi's mouth attached itself onto your cunt. The wicked tongue flat against you, lapping up the disloyal arousal pouring out of you. He always knew how to use it well. Matching every curve to every crevice. Every flick and lick.
You squirmed against his face, hand inevitably reaching out to fist those beautiful brown curls. A strained cry escaped your throat as you pressed him further into you, feeing his groan vibrate through your body while his nose knocked against your clit.
"Fuckkkk," you whimpered, gasping for air already while you watched him.
His smirk was like a ghost imbedded into your cunt. Brief but present before he continued to drink you. You're sweet. Additively so. Sharp in a way that made him shudder. So homely it made him want to never pull away.
Your breath caught as his tongue moved to your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking firmly. With your brows mending, you writhed, feeling his grip on your ankles tighten. "Kimi," you gasped, eyes shutting intermittently.
He chuckled, barely taking a breath, lips coated and shining as he spoke. "You always act so annoyed," he stated, tone mocking. "But you're the one acting like this, belle. Hips moving for more. Tell me, baby. You love it, don't you?"
The pleasure rippled through you as you felt his teeth graze your clit, brown eyes staring at you expectantly, smug smirk carved into his face. You heaved, sweat littering your skin. You waited. He waited. The air thick as the game begun.
You could see it in his eyes. The thinning patience. Like a dog who had been told no. Except it was him doing it to himself. Waiting… standing by for your admission. For a greenlight.
You weren't sure what was. The pulse of your core. His desperation. Or the bold truth that had slapped you right in the face.
"Yes, Kimi. I love it."
And that's all Kimi wanted. All he needed before he put his tongue back on you and sucked and prodded every crevice in his vicinity. His chest warmed at the burn of his scalp as your fingers tugged at his curls. The way the heels of your feet dug into his bare shoulders. Everything about you bringing him closer and closer.
"Fuck, yes, Kimi," you cried out, hips rolling up against his tongue, making him hum between your puffy folds.
Kimi couldn't stop. Like his fingers had been glued to your ankles while the wetness seeped from your pussy. You just tasted so good. It made him whine. Whine while his tongue flattened over you, slurping all the juices before they could escape.
"Kimi, Kimi," you breathed harshly, pit of your stomach churning. Fuck, you weren't lasting.
He said nothing, continuing his masterful artwork as his tongue travelled across the bulb and shaft of your clit with ease, bringing the burning flash right to the edge.
And just like that, you came undone. Your hips shook against his face, juices running down your thighs and to your ass while the pleasure crashed over you, leaving you seeing white as your sob ripped through the empty air of his car.
Kimi, the sly bastard, he didn't stop. He said he couldn't. Mouth still latched to your cunt, sucking you so good, letting you ruin his ability to breathe by stuffing his nose in you. God, he could die in this perfect cunt. It was decided.
Your hips thrashed against his face, senses entirely overwhelmed with the tingles of pleasure and pain blending together like a good burn. "Kimi, come on," you mewled, eyes glossing over with tears, body torn with the second wave of pleasure building up.
And yet, he apologised.
"I'm so sorry, baby," he grunted, voice muffled while he dug his face deeper, making you choke on the air. "So fucking sorry. I love this. I love you so much. I can't stop," he moaned, just capturing a glimpse of your teary eyes. Oh how beautiful, you were.
In seconds you were unravelling again, tears escaping your eyes as your thighs clamped down around his legs hard. Your gasps and sobs stuttered, music to his ears while dots threatened your vision and body spasmed hard.
Kimi groaned with delight, licking you clean with every swallow. His breath warm and tainted with the taste of you washed over your cunt as he reluctantly pulled away, chest heaving. Bringing your ankles down so you could rest more comfortably, he watched you come down gently. His large hands rubbed the top of your thighs soothingly before he leaned forward and kissed you deeply.
You softly hummed, feeling Kimi's forehead rest on yours as he pulled back just a smidge, thumb wiping your stained cheek.
"Too much?" He queried quietly, resting his face on your bare knees, dismissive of the way the console dug into his side.
You rolled your eyes, tapping his temple as he stared at you warmly. "You and I both know that wasn't your worse," you muttered, eliciting a cheeky grin on his face.
You could still remember those days. Days where your brain had fought between pushing Kimi off and begging for more. Those days were Kimi couldn’t pull away, leaving you both in tears, apologies on the tip of his tongue as he ate you out.
You shivered at the memories, goosebumps littering your skin.
"If you were me, you'd understand,” Kimi mumbled, fingers trailing over your skin in odd circles. "If you were me, you wouldn't stop either."
You pursed your lips, looking at him quietly, chest aching at his words. "Maybe," you whispered, hand moving through his curls.
In some weird way, you understood.
You understood it in the way you teased and complained.
You understood it in the way you always wanted more.
You understood it in the way you never asked him to stop.
Whatever souls were made of, his and you were the same. Equally in love. Both equally fucked up. And you were perfectly okay with that.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after getting your heartbroken by your long-time one-sided love for charles, the most irritating and vexing person in your life, max verstappen, suggests only one thing to remedy it: fucking it out. and after some brief scepticism, you agree. what could possibly go wrong?
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: enemies with benefits, angst, smut (18+ please for the love of god minors DNI), best friend's older brother vibes, bad french and dutch, poor humour, mental health, insecurities, jealousy
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: max verstappen x fem!reader, charles leclerc x fem!reader
EP 1 | AN OPEN DOOR
EP 2 | MEDDLE ABOUT
EP 3 | BABYDOLL
EP 4 | PACIFY HER
EP 5 | PLAY WITH ME
EP 6 | HOUSE OF BALLOONS
EP 7 | JEALOUS TYPE
EP 8 | DADDY ISSUES
EP 9 | SHE'S ALL I WANNA BE
EP 10 | DO I WANNA KNOW?
EP 11 | BACK TO FRIENDS
EP 12 | THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS
EP 13 | A CLOSED DOOR
total word count: 76.1k
EP 13.1 | dancing with our hands tied s|f|a
EP 13.2 | their first podium f|a
EP 13.3 | happy birthday max f|a
EP 13.4 | revolving door universe headcanons f|s
EP 13.5 | max vs superman f|s
EP 13.6 | horror night at the leclercs f
EP 13.7 | hand-painted trophies f|a
EP 13.8 | cat whisperer + cat parents f
Ep 13.9 | positive reinforcement f|s
EP 13.10 | casual lore drop f|a
EP 13.11 | the simulator f|s
EP 13.12 | the winner takes it all f|a
EP 13.13 | i think you'd look best in all white f|a
EP 13.14 | yes to forever f|a
EP 13.15 | honeymoon avenue f|s
EP 13.16 | a forever family f|a
total word count: 54.6k
PLAYLIST
𝐀/𝐍: yes this is not a drill! i'm writing another series! however, this idea is credited to this lovely anon who i dearly thank for requesting this! i hope you like it as much as summer sunshine although, as you can see, the tone is a bit different. and this one doesn't have entirely pre-written chapters so i'm taking my time to explore the plot here!
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader, andrea kimi antonelli x gf!fem!reader
summary: kimi has everything oscar has ever wanted. and oscar knows kimi doesn’t deserve any of it. not the praise. not the wins. and especially not you. so when the envy becomes too much, oscar decides he’ll take it all from him. every single last thing that makes kimi happy. even if that means taking you.
warnings: fluff, LOTS of angst, jealousy, established relationship, very innocent and slightly dumb reader, technically infidelity, toxic childhood!bf!kimi, gaslighting, arguing, yelling, manipulation, possessiveness, kimi disrespects reader a lot, kinda cunning!oscar?, 18+ (minors dni), teasing, p in v, unprotected sex, degradation, public sex, voyeurism, handjob, poor humour // poorly proof read as usual
word count: 12.3k
a/n: based on this request! first piece of my 6000 follower celebration!!! letting you know you may be triggered at many points of this fic and that's okay! 😬
Oscar Piastri had never really let anyone get under his skin. Early in life, he had learned the art of calm and composure. Underreaction had always been the silent winner. No one ever got to him. Nothing really pissed him off. He treated people fairly. He always thought that if he went by the books, one day he'd reap the rewards.
But very quickly into his Formula One career; he had learned that was not the truth. And nor was he as calm as he once thought he was.
In the very same time frame Osar was supposed to be receiving praise and getting race wins, came Kimi Antonelli. The monster rookie. The new Verstappen who replaced the Sir Lewis Hamilton's seat.
It wasn't like Oscar hadn't heard of him. He had always heard of him down the line. The kid in the Mercedes' junior line up. A racing prodigy. A sweet guy with all the Italian charm. When he heard Kimi was racing in F2, skipping the previous level, he had even thought of extending his hand. Sure, you couldn't be friends with everyone on track. But it didn't hurt to try.
But Oscar was sorely mistaken.
The ego-boosting headlines and the compliments had gotten to Kimi. He walked, no—he strode with pride. Innocent brown eyes filled with a disgusting shade of smugness that no driver could fathom. His lips in a constant curved smirk. Complaints and complaints on the tip of his tongue when nothing went his way. The coy downplay of his achievements at such as young eage. How easily he manipulated Toto and Susie to get what he wanted.
It was different kind of art. A sick, satrical version of it. How easy the Italian charm had faded away.
And always by his side was you. Kimi's pride and joy. His girlfriend of three years, always wrapped around his arm.
You... You were the worst part of it all.
Oscar had seen you like everyone else had. You were simply gorgeous. Oscar could never forget how slowly his head had turned when you had first entered the paddock. The double take he had taken along with everyone else, watching your every move.
Everything about you seemed perfect.
Your sparkly wide eyes. Pretty painted lips. Soft, boisterous laugh. Perfectly styled hair. Perfume that made all in your trail dizzy. You talked with your heart rather than your mind. You were a good person. Pure. Whole. Anyone could see that from a mile away.
It was then when Oscar had locked eyes with Kimi, spotting that smirk on his stupid face and that evil glint in those brown eyes. A look of acknowlegement. Yes. It was you next to him. Not next to Oscar. Not next to anyone else.
Oscar would never forget that very moment where Kimi's head had leaned down just a little, lips gliding over your ear to whisper something that made you laugh while his hand creeped down your waist, to your lower back and right over your ass. Fingers slightly while as he groped you shamelessly. And not a second later, his lips were on yours, kissing you deeply and messily, tongue out without any hurry. Like there weren't any cameras on him.
He remembered your flushed cheeks while you kissed Kimi back. Eyes a little wide with disbelief but still you had kissed him anyways, smile apparent on your face. Small hands reaching for his sleeves to brace yourself.
Then there was that mix of disgust and anger that rushed through Oscar's body. He genuinely couldn't believe it. How could anyone dating you treat you like that in public? Like you were a plaything. A trophy.
And that's how it had gone on for months. That superiority Kimi welded with you by his side. Making you sit on his lap at dinners, hands travelling carelessly under the short skirts and dresses he had gotten you. Interrupting interviews just to go and kiss you on the camera. Letting those videos of you and him in the nightclub get posted where you danced together.
And while it seemed like things were all sunshines and rainbows for the both of you, Oscar could see the truth for what it was. Kimi had no respect for you. In fact, he was horrible to you.
Because behind Kimi's handsy fingers and clingy mouth were the arguments in the quiet parts of the paddock. The ones where he would make your pretty eyes cry and then pretended to kiss them better. Where he constantly made you question yourself and belittled you in front of others. Then he'd let your eyes light up with the fake promises of a future together. He didn't really let you talk to anyone either unless it made him look good.
And you had no idea. Simply believing him with your heart. The epitome of 'love makes you blind.'
You were like an innocent lamb in the dirty hands of Kimi's.
It had gotten worse this season.
The consistent wins and praise had made Kimi delirious. If he was careless before, he had not a single inch of it in him any longer. With the whispers of a Championship-winning car and a talent one people wouldn't see for years, he was driven by the foundation of immature confidence.
Perhaps that's why Oscar had heard what he had heard in China. Seen what he had seen.
It was Lando, Oscar, and George conversing between the Mercedes and McLaren garages. Talking about the cars and whatnot while the paddock had finally become quiet after the race. Some teams were still in their debriefs, some packing up. The sun threatening to settle, orange mixed lightly into the air.
The conversation was coming to a swift end, Lando and George citing how they needed to grab their things from their hotel before they all met for the private flight back to Monaco. The two of them had barely walked away before Oscar had heard it.
A deep mewl in the air.
Oscar blinked, brows furrowed as he turned towards the Mercedes' garage. He couldn't see anyone nearby. The place empty with a majority of the team still in another debrief. He would've taken a step back and joined Lando but then he had heard it again.
"Oh fuck!"
Call it curiosity. But Oscar's legs seemed to move on their own, defying the rules of non-personnel entering the garage while he quietly walked onto enemy territory. It didn't take him long to navigate, the ins and outs similar to any other garage. The sounds became louder and louder with every step he took. Yet he couldn't quite discern them.
But when he did, it made his feet stop and his blood freeze.
He stood outside of Kimi's driver's room. It not just any sound coming into the air. It's yours. Hands imprinting onto the blurred iced-glass door, your shadowed figure could barely be made out. Your moans travelled through the glass with bare deviation from the lewd, deep slaps of skin echoing around what felt like his skull.
"Louder, belle. Let them hear who makes you feel this good," Kimi grunted shamelessly. "God, you're so pathetic. This turned on when anyone can hear you. You make a good whore, don't you?"
His chuckle was deep and mocking. And yet, your trembling moans merged into the air.
Oscar could hear it. Your sharp pants. Desperate and needy. "More," you begged. "Deeper."
Oscar blinked, breathing in deeply while he took a shaky step back. Fuck, this was so wrong. He could barely think with your sweet sounds tainted by Kimi's disgusting insults. It felt like he was watching a crime being committed.
The struggle grounded him for a few moments. Not willing to move. But the idea of you reaching any sort of end with Kimi made a thin layer of bile crawl up Oscar's throat. So he moved before he could hear it, feet quick and light.
He was sweating by the time he reached the McLaren suite, mind haywired, breath erratic while he tried to block out those sounds. That was a mistake, right? Something he had come across on pure accident. Yes. That was it. Kimi wasn't so vain that he'd just put you out there for anyone to listen to. That was an accident.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
But by the time Oscar had reached the private jet, he had once again been proven wrong. He was there, backpack slung across his back and suitcase rolling next to him as he arrived to find Lando and George waiting near the stairs of the plane.
Oscar raised a brow. "What are you guys waiting for? Shouldn't you be onboard?" He queried.
"I..." Lando said wordlessly, awkwardly looking over at George who looked slightly paler than usual. Neither of them could bring it up. The mere idea too shameful.
"What?" Oscar pressed, sighing when no response was given. He moved forward, pushing past them to get up the stairs. By the time he was through the door, it had become evident as to why those two were waiting outside.
"Oh fuck. That's it," Kimi's voice flew from the bathroom down the aisle.
Oscar's fingers instantly tightened around his suitcase. His stomach churned with disgust as his brain familiarised itself with the situation once again. The sounds of you against one another was far less muted this time. Your whimpers curling around Oscar's ears.
He couldn't tell what was worse. The fact that the plane hadn't even gotten off the ground yet or the fact Oscar wasn't the only one subjected to this. His coworkers down below. The staff of the plane awkwardly trying to resume their job. All while Kimi was burning your dignity to the floor.
"You gonna cum for me, belle? Yeah?"
Oscar's breath quickened as Kimi's voice tightened.
"Tell me, baby. Who makes you feel this good?"
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath, annoyance simmering in his blood.
"You. You do, Kimi," you sobbed, gasp heavenly with every push forward harsher than before. "Kimi, Kimi—I'm going to—"
A smug moan fell from his lips. "I know, I know. Everyone's going to know how good I make you feel, belle."
Oscar regretted staying this time. He should've left the moment he had realised. He shouldn't have stayed to hear the sinful draw out of your voice nor the useless wavering grunt of Kimi's. Then he wouldn't of seen Kimi coming out of the bathroom, still shifting his pants on tighter, adjusting his zip with you following behind him, red in the face.
Kimi breathed with a drop of sweat worked up on his brow. "Hey, Oscar," he greeted, tugging at his shirt without a inch of shame in the world. He looked past him, spotting the emptiness in the jet. "Are Lando and George still waiting? I'll go them, yeah? Takeoff's soon."
Oscar's lips curled in disgust as Kimi walked past him, shoulder bustling into his before Kimi's hand, still covered in the musk of sex, patted him. His brown eyes flickered to yours, now seated with the imprints of Kimi all over you. Purple on your neck, hands on your bare thigh, poorly hidden beneath your skirt. You were tainted with Kimi. He swallowed, meeting your flustered gaze.
You gave him a timid wave. "Hi, Oscar."
Oscar's breath caught. He was sure that was the first time he had heard his name fall from your lips. He enjoyed the way it rolled of your tongue. It sounded much better than Kimi's. He gave you a hesitant nod of acnknowledgement. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the shame beneath your kind expression. He could feel the judgement pouring from the staff in the cabin. Remember the awkward look on Lando and George's faces. And it was all because of Kimi.
Oscar hated Kimi. He hated that Kimi had everything he ever wanted. An easy fight for a title. The potential to win more races than he ever had in his rookie years. And you. He had you.
Oscar was going to beat Kimi. One way or another, he was going to beat the stupid smug smirk off that Italian face. He would take everything that he had away from him. Even if that something was you.
It was a brief glimpse Oscar had gotten from you. But that was all he needed to stop in his tracks. The sight of you in tears, cheeks flushed, and hidden in behind some corner of the Mercedes' suite. No. That just wouldn't do.
You sniffled, tip of your nose red as Oscar placed down a cup of freshly steamed hot chocolate and sat across you. With a tight, thankful smile, you held the burning cup between your fingers.
"A-Are you sure its okay for me to be here?" You asked, eyeing the unfamiliar shades of papaya around you.
Oscar watched you quietly, nodding unconsciously. He blinked as your eyes drifted to his. The tips of ears reddened as he had been caught. He cleared his throat, nodding more definitely. "Of course, it is. I couldn't possibly have just left you like that."
You swallowed tightly, cheeks pouring with heat once again as you thought about how Oscar had found you just sobbing away. The concern in his eyes had been surprising. You had never seen anything like it before. A part of you wished you had. In a different pair of brown eyes.
Oscar pursed his lips at the silence brewing in the air. He sucked in a sharp breath, leaning forward. "I know it's not my place but... is it Kimi?"
You looked down at the mention of your boyfriend before smiling much to Oscar's surprise. "It was my fault really. I made a mistake. I just thought..."
He raised a brow. "You thought?"
You chuckled softly, blinking through your sore eyes. "It sounds crazy now that I think about it. I thought he was cheating," you laughed a little deeper, sighing as you shook your head in disbelief. "There was the girl and— well. He was right. I was overreacting. I just really thought..."
The ache in Oscar's chest was unwelcome as your voice grew small and strained. He blinked at your sudden smile yet again. "I was stupid, wasn't I?" You sighed, taking a sip of your hot chocolate.
"No, you weren't."
Your eyes flew to Oscar, wide. Your heart thudded in your chest, fear growing like diseased vines. What did he mean by that?
"It's not stupid to ask questions. That's the least you deserve. It's your right," Oscar murmured gently, fingers curling to move the loose tresses in front of your face but stuck at his side.
You pulled your brows together. That's not what Kimi told you. He always said questions weren't important. Useless, really. That only stupid people ask and answer. That's why he acted the way he did in interviews—disruptive and indifferent. But what you were hearing now...
You tilted your head, curiosity swarming through your brain. "Can I ask you questions then?"
A gentle smile sprawled onto Oscar's face as he leaned back in his seat. "You can ask me anything you want, sweetheart."
He watched you hum almost silently. Like you were thinking of all the new options you could explore. And for a split second, he saw it. That sliver of excitement swirling in your eyes. The expanse of your pupils. And it made his breath catch.
"Do you believe in aliens?"
Amusement coursed through his veins. There was something so mundane about the question. Out of all the things you could have asked... But he pushed down the quirk of his lips. "In a world of unexplained things, I think there's room for aliens."
Your brows pulled again, doe-eyes looking at him for a second. Maybe a second too long. Long enough for Oscar's heart to test new unhealthy rthyhms. "That's the most media trained answer you could've given. Nice job."
Oscar blinked at your response, brown eyes watching you stand as you looked at the digital clock that counted sixty minutes to the start of the first free practice. Sixty minutes that required you to be near Kimi. He breathed slowly upon your small smile beaming.
"Thank you for... well, just thank you," you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly. You turned on your heel before pausing, head tilting back to the brown eyes still on you. "Question. Do my eyes look puffy?"
Oscar could've remained seated and told you from where he sat. But he stood, taking those few closer steps near you. The world seemed to slow as he leaned in, inspecting your face from a careful distance. Or the lack of. It was silent for a brief moment. "No," he decided.
You swallowed, releasing the breath you had unintentionally been holding. You smiled lightly. "Good. Kimi doesn't like it when they are," you chuckled. "Okay. Bye, Oscar."
Oscar pressed his lips together, biting down the distaste lingering on his tongue as he bidded you goodbye. His turmoil seemed to linger even when you were gone. Every time he thought he couldn't hate Kimi anymore, you gave him one more reason to do so.
The crowd roared as usual. A fundamental noise that your ears had become used to as you stood beneath the podium and metres away from the finishing cars. It was Silverstone. Classical and traditional. Every driver's dream race to win. And Kimi had done it.
You stood between the neverending Mercedes' team, dolled in Kimi's jacket waiting for for him as he did his final few victory laps around the circuit, basking in the cheers and exclaims pouring from the stadium. Yet, he wasn't the first driver you saw. It was Oscar, cladded in papaya, and the claimer of P2. You watched him down the line, greeting his team. And for a moment, you expected him to sweep right past you.
But someone at Mercedes knew him a little better, pulling him aside with a handshake. And then those brown eyes flickered to you and over the teal and black clinging to your shoulder with an emotion unfamiliar to you. But a smile graced his face nevertheless. Boyish as usual, you noticed.
You returned the gesture. "Congrats on second," you said loudly, hands curling over the barricade.
"Thank you," Oscar breathed, hand dishevelling his sweat-ridden brown locks, lines of his balaclava etched into his slightly reddened face. “If only I had one more lap," he sighed tiredly, reminiscing the hundredths between his and Kimi's finishing times.
You pressed your lips together, smile hanging awkwardly. "Next time. I'm sure of it," you nodded astutely, brows pulled with firm belief.
A chuckle fell from his lips. Cute. His head tipped in agreement. "Yeah. Next time," he mumbled. He took a quick breath in. "I was wond—"
Oscar's words were quelled as the supporting shouts grew louder with Kimi's pull into parc fermé. You both silently watched him remove his steering wheel, topping the his car with his fists in the air triumphantly. His small jump off was smooth after every recent win. You felt his head glide towards you while he inched closer to the weighing scale. Nothing decipherable about those eyes behind the helmet.
Kimi didn't waste a second. Helmet and balacava off. Sponsor watch on. Marching towards the crowd of teal and black. Marching towards you. Aware of every lens following his every move. His stagnant gaze on you purposeful. Gait with a force so casual yet demanding.
Forceful enough for Oscar to take a step back as he watched Kimi's hand, the very one with the sponsor watch, fall to your face and bring his lips to yours. The grandstands and pools of fans around cheer as expected. The cameras zoom in hungrily, too blinded to see the quirk of Kimi's lips. Instead disguised as the loving boyfriend depicted across fanpages and headlines.
But Oscar could see it. He stood behind Kimi, jaw locked, teeth clenching so tightly the pain swells in his gums. He hadn't realised it until Sophie, his press officer, put her hand on his arm to attend the trackside interview, grounding him back to reality. He swallowed tightly, taking a slow breath in and out before turning on his heel, fingers curled tightly at his side.
With every step closer to the cameras and the waiting interviewer, Oscar couldn't shake the image of you two out of his head. This was the very same guy who had sent you crying just a few weeks ago, leaving Oscar to pick up the pieces. Who had the sheer audacity to make you feel like shit just for doubting him.
What a fucking asshole.
Monaco was not home for Oscar. It would never be. Nowhere near as comfortable and easy as Australia was. He preferred the scorching heats and casualness of the people around him. Not the sports cars or luxury yachts collecting dust on the Monégasque waters. This was well and truly just a perk of his job. Nothing more, nothing less.
But just when Oscar couldn't find anything happy about it, a walk outside to get his groceries left him finding you nearby, eyes glued to the clothing store nearby.
You blinked at the call of your name, tearing your eyes away to find a familiar mop of brown hair. The smile on your face was instant. You waved in a way that made his cheeks tighten. "What are you doing here?"
Oscar breathed in, looking around the streets he had become used to, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. "Uh, I was going to get some groceries. How about you? Not in Italy. Well, obviously," he chuckled awkwardly.
Christ... was he always such a loser?
You grinned, nodding in agreement. "Kimi finally moved in so I came to help. Now... I'm shopping," you said, lifting your arm with the few shopping bags you had collected so far.
He suppressed his frown at the mention of Kimi's name. "So I guess I'll be seeing you around more often?" He queried, brows raised with hope.
"Yeah. I mean maybe. This place is a lot," you laughed softly, eyes tracing over the endless cars, stores, and yachts. This was definitely not Bologna or even Milan. Monaco was a in a league of its own.
Oscar nodded. "It's overwhelming at first," he agreed, swallowing tightly as a new thought popped into his mind. "I mean, if you don't mind, I could be your guide when you're here. You can give me your number. Call me when you're around."
You mulled over his offer, surprise light but evident on your face. You never really gave your number to anyone. Especially not any of the drivers—Kimi's rule. But Oscar was just being nice. It would probably be good too. That way you didn't have to bother Kimi.
"Sure," you said, hand reaching out to grab your phone. "Give yourself a miss call."
Oscar's eyes lit up, faint smile on his face as he punched in his number into your phone, letting the call linger briefly. Satisfied, he saved his name into your phone. Oscar :)
"Perfect," you breathed, eyes crinkling with a thankful glint as you pocketed your phone. "I'll let you get back to it then. I still have a few more places I wanna see."
Oscar tried not to let his disappointment show. You just got here. "If you wanted some company... I'm happy to join," he shrugged, hoping that was as casual as it was in his head.
Your eyes widened slightly. "Really?"
"Yeah, sure. I know a few places too," he nodded, unable to understand your shock. As if Kimi never joined you—oh who was he kidding? Of course that asshole didn't join you. And if he did, it would be for him.
You grinned. "Lead the way."
You pursed your lips, eyeing the skirt you hovered over yourself as you stood in front of the store's long mirror. It was a sparkly little thing. Silver. Small. Sequined. Your eyes flickered to Oscar's reflection, finding him standing nearby some rack (as if he hadn't been quietly watching you). “Oscar, can I ask you a question?"
Oscar raised a brow, swiftly moving away from the rack he had been pretending to rummage through. "You know you don't have to ask that every time, right? You can just ask," he grinned, inching closer to you.
"Oh," you pursed your lips, blinking blankly as the heat in your cheeks grew. "Right. Sorry," you smiled lightly, looking back at yourself in the mirror. "What do you think of this?" You asked, gesturing to the sparkly skirt dangling over the hanger.
He swallowed. It was pretty thing really. Made him imagine things he didn't want to imagine. But as he had watched you, he couldn't help notice the light in your eyes missing. Or the frown of your lips. He shrugged. "You don't seem to like it very much."
You fell silent for a moment, eyes slightly wide while you blinked. How Oscar knew that... you had no idea. You sucked in a sharp breath, staring at the skirt in the mirror with a small pout. "Kimi likes these things."
There it was. The perpetrator behind everything miserable and unbalanced in your life. Of course, Kimi liked these things like this. Short and tight. It was a way to claim you in all those parties and night clubs. One hand always on your exposed leg or on the curve of your ass as he practically screamed, "Look at me."
Oscar bit his lip, pushing away the rousing annoyance in his chest. "What do you like?"
The question was simple. Yet it seemed to leave you stumped. Doe eyes a bit dazed. Lips parted. Like you had never really given that much of a thought. And that only worsened the ache in his chest.
You tilted your head, directing your gaze behind Oscar. "I think that's pretty," you murmured, eyeing the semi-long white sundress nearby.
Oscar turned his head. With no sly comment or look of distaste you usually recieved, he stepped towards it, grabbing the hanger with ease before bringing it back to you. "Then wear it."
You pursed your lips, unsurely flickering over the dress. "But—"
"Just try it. You won't know if you don't try," Oscar said, firm yet gentle as he took your previous shopping bags slung on your arm and moved them to his. He pushed forward the dress again. "Go on."
He watched you swallow awkwardly, gingerly picking the dress out of his hand before drifting towards the fitting rooms. He followed after you, stopping when you suddenly turned back to face him.
"Will you wait for me?"
Oscar blinked. He hated how foreign the idea sounded to you. That you actually had to question it because your piece of shit boyfriend couldn't spare one second that wasn't for him.
He smiled warmly, not missing a beat to respond. "I'll be right here. Don't worry."
You nodded thankfully as he took a few steps back, taking a seat while he waited. And with every second the passed, Oscar couldn't help but think of it. The few times Kimi would come with you. Probably when the fans were out or along with the paps. How he'd probably walk around, not paying attention to you. Picking out clothes that he liked. Standing there, convincing you that you liked it as much as he did.
The clothes were just one example. Oscar was almost a hundred percent sure it was Kimi who had gotten you to publicise your socials to get more coverage. Every second post being a photo of you together where you looked happy and Kimi looked like presumptous asshole he was.
Had Oscar spent an unhealthy amount of time looking at your account? Yes. Maybe. But he couldn't help it. It was almost intuitional. The more he found to despise about Kimi, the more he seemed to sink deeper into the world that was you.
"Oscar?"
Oscar blinked, head lifting up as though he had been called by a siren. He found you peeking out of the curtain with a fretful smile. He raised his brows curiously. "Yeah?"
"Do you think you can help me with the strings? Or find someone who can? I can't really do them by myself," you chuckled awkwardly, cheeks slightly flushing.
He was standing on his feet when you called his name. Walking as you asked. Without as much of a fight or resistance you usually experienced, he had said yes.
You breathed in, feeling the narrow confinements of the fitting room become even smaller as Oscar entered. You pursed your lips, eyes darting between anything and Oscar in the mirror. "Just... those ones," you murmured, hovering over the two long strings sitting at your lower back.
Oscar held his breath in his lungs, fingers stretching and curling around the two attached pieces. He told himself he shouldn't look up as he looped each string. Because if he did, he was scared to see what he'd find. But he did.
He wasn't sure what fucked up his brain chemistry more. The heat radiating between your bodies from something a simple as a little knot. Or the brush his fingers over the fabric of your dress. Or perhaps the bob of your throat as you caught his eye. Like he made you nervous. And that thought alone made him warm all over.
He fastened the last knot, watching your breath hitch. "There," he said, voice gruff and strained while he committed the sinful cling of the fabric to your body to his memory.
He kept quiet, observing your eyes drift over yourself in the mirror. He saw it. That missing light. The small look of approval in the quirk of your lips. "Buy it," he simply said. "If you don't, I will."
Your lips parted with nothing quite to say as Oscar excused himself from the room, finally taking a breath of fresh air. His lungs burned as if he had denied the right to breathe with you, happy to let you suffocate him.
"Jesus Christ," Oscar muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He was so fucked.
You swallowed tightly as Kimi threw his phone in front of you, left open with a picture of you and Oscar talking outside the store yesterday. He stood in front of you, arms folded with an incredulous smile on his face. "I called you here to help me," he said chuckled, shaking his head. "I mean... I can't believe you thought I was cheating. How hypocritical can you get?"
You blinked, scatter of red creeping up your neck and cheeks instantly. "I... we were just talking, Kimi. I bumped into him on accident."
The scoff from his lips made your eyes sting. Not an ounce of trust rested in him as much as it did in you.
"Accident?" He questioned, raising his brows with amusement. "Nothing accidental about that prick. Don't think I haven't noticed him being around you more often. I mean come on, ___. Are you his girlfriend or mine?"
You frowned. "Of course, I'm your girlfriend, Kimi," you instantly said, not missing a beat to respond. "Why would you even ask that?"
Kimi tilted his head. "You're asking me that? Then don't do things that make me question you, belle," he grunted, jaw tight. He sucked in a breath when he spotted the thin shine over your eyes. He almost rolled his own. Of course. You couldn't go a conversation without crying.
"Why are you being so mean?" You murmured, eyes brimming with tears, tip of your nose beginning to flush.
After a moment a sigh fell from Kimi's lips. He stepped forward, hands holding you at either side of your arms. He leaned forward, meeting your gaze, brown eyes suddenly gentle. "I don't want to be. You just make it difficult, belle. You know I love you so much, yeah? Don't cry. I hate seeing you cry."
You blinked, feeling Kimi's lips gided over your eyelids briefly. For a moment you felt like your soul had separated from your body. Like you were watching yourself from another plane. You breathed in, sniffling quietly to yourself as he pulled away, thumb grazing your cheek.
"You understand, hmm?" He hummed, tucking your hair behind your ear.
You smiled tightly, giving him a nod. "I understand, Kimi. I won't do it again," you promised, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. "Ti amo."
Oscar hated clubs. There was nothing more uncomfortable for him as an introvert. The loud music, flashing lights, sweaty bodies, and an unhealthy amount of alcohol. All features of a nightmare he's had time and time again.
But he was here. Under the strobe lights, music vibrating throught the floor he stood on while his eyes searched through the dancing crowd. He was here because you were here. A small detail you had slipped into your texts with him recently. A night out with the drivers and their partners.
Lando spotted him first, surprise evident on his face as he came closer. He eyed the blue jeans and black polo shirt his teammate wore and chuckled. "Well this is out of the norm. I wonder why."
Lando wasn't as daft as some made him out to be. Of course, things were a lot easier when his usually composed and calm teammate was riled up by the simple mention of you. Oscar had made the mistake many other drivers had once made. Everyone had seen you once Kimi moved up racing categories. No one was going to deny it. You were a gorgeous girl with a pure heart. But you were young. And that was always risky territory. That fact you were Kimi's... it rubbed everyone the wrong way. Where as everyone saw you for what you were, Kimi saw you as the shiny trophy to put his on his arm.
But no one had tried to go against him. The effort against someone so cocky and arrgoant was tumultuous. Formula One was already bad enough as it was. The last thing any driver wanted was an extra target on his back when they raced.
But it seemed Oscar had willingly taken it up. And it ws going well. By sheer luck or pure talent, he had finally thwarted the neverending Mercedes domination and Kimi's winning reign. With a few race wins up his sleeve, Oscar loomed over the championship leader with a confidence Kimi would almost find familiar.
"Shut up," Oscar rolled his eyes at Lando, returning his gaze back to the crowd. There was no question as to who he was searching for. And he found you where he had expected. On Kimi's lap. His chin nestled into your shoulder, hand over your thigh while he talked to Ollie like you weren't there. And there you were again, dressed in the clothes that your fingers threatened to tug down.
Oscar watched silently as your lips dipped towards Kimi's ear, whispering something that made him nod and made him loosen his grip on you. His own feet moved across the club before he knew it. But he wasn't so obvious, blending with the crowd as you seemed to near the bathroom. At least from Kimi's angle. But from his, he could spot the right turn towards the stairs immediately.
The strobe lights turned red as Oscar walked up the stairs. The atmosphere up there, though still loud, seemed different. Slower and slurred. Crowded yet less chaotic. And in the mix of it all he found you. Sitting in an empty booth, head in your hands, resting on the table.
"You okay?"
You lifted your head at the voice, ears perked instinctively. You breathed a little more calmly when you realised who it was. "Oscar," you greeted with a small smile though you didn't hide your surprise. You watched him slide into the booth, sitting across you. "What are you doing here? This doesn't really seem like your scene."
Oscar rested his arms on the table. "Doesn't seem like yours either," he simply retorted. He grinned at your pursed lips and briefly stoic face. Like he had caught you in a lie.
You sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back into the booth. "It's not," you admitted with a sheepish nod. The sheer amount of eyes and people made you want to throw up. "But—"
"But Kimi likes it... right?" Oscar bitterly finished, brows raised.
You smiled lightly, nodding once again as your eyes drifted across the dancing crowd, swaying a bit more softer to the electric beat. "I came up here to breathe a little," you mumbled. "It's better than down there. He would've found me outside."
It was silent for a moment. Just Oscar watching quietly and you basking in something that didn't have Kimi's name scrawled all over it.
"Can I ask you a question?"
You blinked, peeling your gaze away from the scene and back to Oscar. You furrowed your brows. That was usually your line. But hearing it come from his mouth was humouring. You smiled lightly, gesturing for him to continue.
"Do you like to dance?" Oscar asked. It was a bold ask. One that made him regret it almost instantly. Lodge his breath in his throat as he waited.
You folded your arms, pondering over his question. "At home. Usually by myself. Kimi doesn't really enjoy it anymore," you sighed sadly, corners of your mouth frowning. You had tried asking once or twice. But the outcome was always the same. He was too busy or too weirded out.
Your eyes fell to the outsretched hand in front of you and then to the standing Oscar. You raised a brow.
"Let's dance then," he breathed.
You swallowed tightly, thinking back to the night just weeks ago where you and Kimi had argued about Oscar. About the promise you had made. You rubbed your lips together, looking at him fretfully as your stomach churned. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
Oscar tilted his head at you. "Stop thinking about Kimi and think for yourself. If you want to dance, then dance."
You should've kept your hand to yourself. You should've gone back downstairs. Whether it was those brown eyes staring back at you or the determination in Oscar's voice, you couldn't decide. But you gave him your hand and let him guide you to the floor.
It was a tight fit with the occassional bump of a shoulder or body nearby. Your eyes locked under the flashing red lights as you stood in front of each other. The music you could feel through your heels. For a moment, you do nothing. Just stare at each other.
"Do you even know how to dance?" You asked with a small but teasing smile, eyeing his frigid posture. He was like a frozen block of ice. Unable to move. Cautious of the surrounding movements. The awkward tipped grin on his face told you everything. And it made you laugh. Earnestly and genuinely.
Oscar bit the inside of his cheek, preventing him from smiling too hard when he felt the brush of your head fall against your chest. He watched as you lifted yourself up, amusement littered all over your face. Your hair dishevelled, tresses flying in different directions. Eyes sparkling under the lights. Smile beaming at him. And he could've sworn his heart stopped.
"They say to just feel the music. Move your body," you advised, brows scrunched like you were trying to remember.
He raised a brow. "They?" He repeated with a grin. "Who's 'they?'"
You pursed your lips, shrugging. "Club people. You learn a thing or two when you just sit there."
Oscar snorted. There was something unexplainably enjoyable when you became a little more loose-lipped without Kimi nearby. He cleared his throat. "So... you just move your body? That what you said?"
You nodded, beginning to move your hands. "I think if you imagine yourself like a fish it works better," you wiggled your brows, trailing your hands across your body to the beat thundering around you.
For a brief second, Oscar laughed. But the picture of a fish dancing died in his head quicker as the rhythm filtered through his ears and his eyes fell to you. The world instantly lingered in his head. Siren. That's what you reminded him of. Every twist and turn of your body making the movement of your hair seem like some art.
He wasn't sure when he himself had begun moving. The bob of his chin. The shuffle of his feet. But he couldn't call it dancing. It was more the appreciation of you in front of him. Admiring how lost you were for just a moment in time.
He couldn't believe it.
How could Kimi deny this? Deny you?
To not dance with you was a sin in itself. The mere idea of missing this bright smile of yours... his fear grew stronger.
The gap between you and Oscar had substantially gotten smaller. Like it was the natural order of things. Heat radiated from every angle possible, the air thick with sweat and something you couldn't quite pinpoint.
You hadn't realised how close you were till you felt the glide of Oscar's hand against the curve of your waist. Your gasp was soft and barely audible. But you could feel the small electric sparks running down your body. You flitted your eyes to Oscar hesitantly and it almost made you take a step back.
He was looking at you already.
Darkened brown eyes strained with red underneath the lights. His large hand pulled you a little closer, letting you see the traces of his moles and freckles. Feel the heat of his skin against yours. The press of his fingers. The scatter of his breath. Any closer it would be his pacing heartbeat.
Oscar looked... good.
More than good. Hot. He looked hot.
You breathed in as he turned your body, leaving your back pressed against his chest. His arm curled around your waist. You pulled your lip between your teeth when you felt his lower half press into you. Not forceful or insistent. Just there. Teasing. And for some godforsaken reason, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.
You swallowed hard, feeling his breath skim past your ear. His lips rested close by.
"The dress... Kimi's choice?"
Your thighs pressed together at his tight voice. As though he was struggling. You didn't understand the extent of the heat unfurling in your stomach. You had never felt this way. Not even with Kimi.
You cleared your throat, nodding against him. "Hate it?" You asked, breath shaky when you felt the tip of his nose graze the column your neck. You could've sworn your knees melted when you felt his smile lines ghost your cheek, lips brushing against the curve of your ear.
Your eyes widened slightly as you faced him once again. His hand never left you, snug and comfortably around your waist. Your body burned as he rested his head against yours, brown eyes holding your gaze so carefully. So heavily.
"I was taught that if I don't have anything respectful to say, I shouldn't say it at all," Oscar breathed tightly, jaw half clenched.
It was no ordinary beat your heart followed. With large gaps and ample opportunity to miss as you tried to decipher what he was saying. But before you could, it was Oscar who stepped away.
You struggled to catch your breath, staring back at him with your doe-eyes and your stomach churning.
Oscar blinked, brown eyes raking over you for one last time that night. Because if he stayed here a second longer, he'd do something he couldn't. He smiled at you, tight yet warm. "You're a good dance teacher, ___."
You hadn't talked to Oscar since the club. You couldn't quite bring yourself to. Neither did Kimi really let you, keeping you by his side at all times.
You were confused. You still didn't have a full grasp on what had happened. One moment you were dancing and then the other you were... God, you had no idea. You could just feel him. Hear him. See him. For a moment, everything was just Oscar.
But things had dampened down since then. You ocassionally saw Oscar here and there. You'd look. But you never quite did much more than that. Especially as Kimi fought with Oscar on track. Both contenders for a championship. Both their first. It was like a cat and mouse game. If Kimi won once, it was Oscar's turn the next.
And today, Kimi had taken back that victory chainmail, standing on the podium with a smirk so wide, you almost hadn't recognised him. Nor the extra clingy behaviour as he came off of it, kissing you, hand on your waist, and showering you with sweet little comments.
But you supposed this was why.
To have you all pressed up in the men's bathroom with rushed urgency after his media duties and debriefing. Shorts and boxers slung low around his legs. You propped up against the sink, skirt bunched up. His head tucked into your shoulder, groans and grunts muffled. Hips moving into you with desperation and pleasure.
It seemed Kimi had it all planned out.
Except for one little thing.
The door cracked open.
You weren't sure what it was. Whether he had genuinely forgotten or he thought no one was actually going to walk by. And well, if they did, it was only his ass that was going to be seen.
But you couldn't have counted for the possibility of Oscar passing by and stopping, frozen in his tracks.
Your heart almost stopped right there and then. Your eyes stuck with the brown orbs staring right back at you. Your lips parted. Perhaps with the intention to stop Kimi. But you didn't. You didn't understand why you didn't.
You hadn't been wet for the past ten minutes but now the slick was beginning to pile up. The squelch of Kimi's cock driving into you, lewd and obscene.
"Oh fuck," Kimi swore into your skin. "You're getting so wet for me, belle," he panted, grunting as his teeth nibbled into your shoulder. "So fucking wet."
You could see the bob of Oscar's throat. Like a deer in headlights. He didn't move either. Instead the press of his teeth against his lip made you moan against Kimi's ear. The first sound you had made since you had gotten in here.
You focused on the betraying pull of Oscar's brows at the sweet sounds pouring from your mouth. How his fingers curled so tightly against his side. You wondered what he could see. how much of you he could see. The thought only made you clench tighter around Kimi's cock.
"Cazzo," Kimi hissed, hands digging into your hips. "Doesn't that feel so good, baby? Yeah? I'm making you feel so good," he groaned, pushing deeper into you. The sound of your skin against one another now escaped the bathroom with ease.
You choked on the air, hand falling to Kimi's brown curls while you eyed the flush of Oscar's skin. How dark his eyes were. How they fell to where you and Kimi met, enchanted. And for a moment, your breath matched his. Every heave of your chest... it was like he was guiding you just metres away.
You could barely comprehend the heat in your core. All you knew was it was messy. Juices running down your thighs. So wet a ring of white formed around Kimi's cock as he pushed in and out of you. The soft sounds tumbling from your throat uncontrollably as you watched Oscar's tongue swipe his bottom lip.
Oscar should have moved. Like he had done all the other times he had heard the both of you. But he could see it in your eyes. With every praise Kimi gave himself or you... the only thing turning you on right now was him.
His shorts, unexplainably tight around his more than obvious large bulge, only worsened as he watched your hand move between your and Kimi's bodies. Your eyes never moved off of him. His own lips quirking when your fingers pressed against your desperately sore bundle of nerves.
Because Kimi couldn't get you off.
Oscar could have laughed if it wasn't for the situation he was in. Or for the fact he could see this new pleasure so clearly on your face. Your brows furrowed tightly, teeth sinking into your lip, cheeks red, eyes dazed... he could tell. You were close.
Kimi seemed to be too. Speeding his hips up against yours. Still in his own little fantasy where he was the one making you feel so good. He came quick, stuttering against you with his lust-driven grunts. He was decent though, still moving for you.
Oscar had to give it to him. If Kimi hadn't continued and left you there to fend for yourself, it would've been him taking out his own cock and making sure you saw stars.
It was wrong. God, it was so wrong. You knew it. Oscar knew it. But you had never felt like this. So... good. Still the mix of shame and pleasure coursed through you simultaneously, hand gripping Kimi's brown curls while your fingers pressed and rubbed your clit breathlessly. This was it.
"That's it. Cum for me, belle."
But it wasn't it Kimi you were listening to. At least not directly.
Your hazed eyes capturing the small, encouraging nods of Oscar's head. His uneven silent breaths. And you can see his lips mouth the words.
Cum.
Cum.
Cum for me.
Oscar wanted to fall to his knees as he watched the peak of ecstasy hit you. You were seeing white. He could almost fucking feel it with how tight your body locked up, your lips parted in pure awe. But especially as you ensured your eyes were on him for every goddamn second.
Holy fuck.
Oscar had to step away. Any moment now it would be Kimi turning around. And this... whatever it was, would be over.
The walk to his driver's room was faster than anything he had ever done. He did his bare duties; strained smiles and nods. A brush past the few team members packing up. His door was locked in an instant, back pressed against the wall, and his hand under his waistband.
It was a wonder Oscar hadn't cum right there and then as he looked down at his cock, hung with urgency. His red tip leaked profusely, throbbing with a need he had never succumbed to before.
He had been careful in the past few months. Not to get wrapped up with your name on his lips and his hand on his cock. Because that journey would never go down well for him. But that night in the club... his hand on your waist and your ass against him... it had ruined him. He had gone home, jerking off like it was the first time he had ever felt someone this close to him.
But this... this was different. Oscar's brain was rushing. No. Overflowing with what he had just seen. And he couldn't get it out of his head. The way your breath caught when he had walked by. The honey-like sounds falling from your lips. The obscenely wet sounds coming from your cunt. And the most damning fact of all—you had kept going after you had seen him.
Oscar bit down into wrist, face contorted with pleasure, moans muffled as he fisted himself. His eyes and hips rolled with as much desperation as you had just shown. It was almost mimickable how wet he sounded, shaft and tip just doused in his neverending pre-cum.
He couldn't decide what set him off. The orgasmic bliss on your face or the knowing that it was him. Him that made you cum. Maybe not physically. But it was not Kimi and his idiocy. Your fingers and his presence... that was what had done it.
Oscar's body convulsed, hips stuttering as the pleasure climbed over him rapidly. His teeth clamped harder into his skin, spurts of hot cum coming out in long strings. Leaving his hands and shorts stained with the mess you had created.
Removing his wrist from his mouth, he breathed silently and hard, staring at the idle components of his driver's room.
Jesus. He might have been fucked before. But there was no going back after today.
You couldn't count how many times you had been like this recently. And by this, you meant curled up somewhere and in tears.
You had been a mess since Kimi's race. What you had done... that was so wrong on so many levels. There was no beating around the bush. You had cheated. One way or another.
And it was humiliating. Because that was probably the best you had ever felt in your life. But not because of your actual boyfriend, Kimi. But because of Oscar.
You had skipped as much races as you could without Kimi getting suspicious. You couldn't look at him without feeling ashamed. Nor could you look at Oscar. He had sent you texts. Too many of them. So you had blocked him and deleted his number.
But you couldn't get out of this one. You could see the questions brewing in Kimi's head when he had asked you if you were coming. And you had run out of excuses.
You thought it would be fine. That you could get through this weekend without any tears or any fights. But much to your disappointment, you were wrong.
Kimi's fixation with winning had turned into agitation now that Oscar was taking even bigger chunks of points out of his lead. He wasn't happy with the car's performance during practice. He had given the team hell after it. And when that wasn't enough, you were the next available target.
You had lost count of the type of things he had said to you in front of the team. How you weren't supportive enough. That you never stuck through with him like he did with you. How it was your fault that his car, which you had no connection to whatsoever, was bad. That you had somehow bewitched Oscar into being good.
The message was clear: it was your fault.
Humiliation didn't even cover it. Mortified was more like it. The awkward gazes of the team. The tears ramping up in your eyes. Your flushed cheeks. You hated it. And you hated it even more because it was your fault.
So you sat on the dry concrete in Belgium, between the awkward space of two team suites, head tucked into your knees as wave after wave of anger and embarrassment hit you. Your tears had partially died down, caught on your trousers and shirt.
Your jaw clenched as you glared at the concrete, chewing your lip anxiously. Why did you have to go screw this all up? You should have listened to Kimi. You should have never accepted that dance because then you would've never found Oscar like this. So good. So ugh... you wanted to scream at yourself.
"Hey, hey," a familiar voice echoed into the air, making the hairs on your body stand up. “What’s happened?"
You lifted your head slowly, reddened eyes meeting the concerned brown pair staring right back at you. It was Oscar, of course. Bent down, knees embedded onto the concrete and hands on the sides of your own knees. Your chest ached at the sight of him and yet the anger seemed to roar in your head when you thought about what you had done. You sighed almost annoyed, tilting your head back against the wall.
"Nothing. Just forget about it," you wiped your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your hand.
Oscar's brows mended together at your reaction. As if it was a crack in the perfect glass world you had been living in. "___, you know you don't have to be embarrassed around me—"
"This is embarrassing," you gritted out, hurt eyes drifting to him. "It's always embarrassing that you always finds me like this. Crying like some pathetic waste of space."
"No. That's not true," Oscar murmured, head shaking as he tucked your hair behind your ears. "Kimi should be the one that's embarrassed. Making you cry like this," he said, jaw twitching. He could only imagine what he had said to you. Piece of shit.
You chuckled dryly. "I'm a horrible girlfriend, Oscar. What I did that day... that's unforgiveable.,'" you whispered, eyes tearing up yet again. "I deserve this. It all makes sense now. The paddock was never boring. People don't talk to me because they know how bad I am."
Oscar almost wanted to laugh in disbelief. How bad you were? All you had done was dance a little and feel the best you had ever felt in your life. All you had done was live a little and here you were denouncing Kimi's actions like he had done no wrong.
"Sweetheart, people don't talk to you because of you. They don't talk to you because of Kimi. No one wants to tell you but I will," he swallowed the lump in his throat, chest sore at the sight of your reddened eyes.
You sniffled, confusion visible on your face. "What?"
"That Kimi doesn't deserve you."
Your brows furrowed, affronted in an instant. The memories seemed to hit you one after another. He was your first for everything. First kiss. First time. First boyfriend. First love. He was perfect, wasn't he? "That's not true. Kimi's—"
"An asshole," Oscar cut in firmly. "Someone who loves you doesn't hurt you. Someone who loves you doesn't make fake promises. Or put limits on how you act. Who you can see."
You shook your head. No. Your Kimi wasn't like that. "He's just protective—"
Oscar's hands moved to grab your face, holding your gaze so fiercely, for a moment you forgot to breathe. "___, someone who loves you doesn't make you question yourself."
You fell silent, not bothering to wipe the fresh tears spilling from your eyes. Your brows quivered and your stomach churning. Your heart echoed in your ears while your brain flashed between your altered memories.
It was like watching some sort of stained glass shatter right in front of your eyes. Your perfect Kimi no longer perfect.
"He wasn't like that at the start. I swear," you whispered, looking back at Oscar, lip trembling.
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath at the crack in your voice. Fuck. He sighed quietly, arms wrapping around you and bringing you to his chest, lips pressed to the side of your head. "I know, sweetheart. I know."
"Can you stop brainwashing my girlfriend?"
Oscar looked away from his trainer, conversation coming to a screeching halt. His eyes travelled around the room, ensuring it was still cladded in papaya. He smiled at Kimi. "Are you even allowed to be in here?" He raised a brow, folding his arms, leaning back in his seat.
Kimi tongued the inside of his cheek. He was sure he had never met anyone as obnoxious as Oscar Piastri. "Did you hear me? Stay away from my girlfriend. Or else," he glowered, jaw tight, turning on his foot.
"Or else what?" Oscar goaded, making the Italian stop dead in his tracks and his trainer sigh. He stood up from his chair, eyeing the figure in front of him with disgust. "Kimi, piece of advice. You should probably try treat your girlfriend better."
It was like something in Kimi had snapped. Turning around with such force, the air had bended as he stalked up to Oscar, his breath in his face. "Don't fucking tell me how to treat my own girl," he spat, chest heaving.
Oscar's mouth quirked. "You treat her like shit and come here acting like you don't," he chuckled, shaking his head, brown eyes hard with annoyance. "You don't deserve her. You don't deserve anything you have."
Kimi blinked, scrutinising the man in front of him before letting out a scoff. "I get what this is."
Oscar raised his brows, bored and tired. "Do you now?" He asked dryly, not so easily entertained by Kimi's smirk.
"You're jealous," Kimi deducted, smirk widening with every passing second as he thought back to the past year. His debut compared to Oscar's. "I'm so young and yet I have everything you were ever promised. The team. The car. The wins."
Oscar, the master of composure, remained stoic. Not a budge on his face to give him the true inkling—that he was right. That this was how it had started. But that wasn't going to be how it ended. "If that's all you can think about after treating her the way you do... you are exactly who I think you are," he muttered with distaste heavy on his tongue. "She's not yours, Kimi. She's her own person."
Kimi stood in front of him, unimpressed as his lips parted to retaliate. But Oscar leaned in, lowering his voice to a more inaudible frequency. "And even if she was yours, no honourable man would leave his girl to get off by herself," he murmured with a gentle smile, basking in the drop of Kimi's smirk.
Oscar patted Kimi's shoulder with feigned condolences, heading towards the exit of the McLaren suite. Leaving Kimi to stand by himself, pale in the face and sick to his stomach.
Kimi had crashed. it was horrible. Pieces of the car flying everywhere. The gasp of the crowd. The bang of his fist against the snapped halo. The replay was all you could think of as you finally made your way to the medical bay, eyes glossed with tears, stomach churning, and heart pacing erratically. You hadn't taken a breath until you opened the door, finding him sitting on the couch, icepack to his hand .
You sucked in a shaky breath, feet rushing before you could even think your hands flew to his face, frantically examining his entire body for something that maybe the doctor or nurse had missed. "Oh Kimi," you choked, tears spilling. "A-Are you okay? D-Do you want me to call anyone?"
A piece of your heart broke as Kimi slapped your hand away with his bandaged fist, icepack falling to the floor. He glared at you, disgust swarming in his eyes. "Don't do that. Don't pretend you care."
You kept your hand close to your chest, brows furrowed. "Kimi... what are you talking about? Of course, I care. I—"
"I crashed because of you."
You froze at his words. "W-What?"
He stood from the couch. He jammed his finger into your chest. "This is your fault," he gritted out, lip trembling with pure anger. " Oscar this. Oscar that. Oscar, Oscar, Oscar," he spat out.
"Kimi—"
"You might as well come out with it. Luring Oscar to mess with my championship. How could you do this to me? When I've been here for you since the very start?" Kimi exasperated, own eyes pricking with tears.
You swallowed the bile creeping up your throat as the tears seeped into your cheeks. You looked at him, repulsed and with your brows mended. Your skin ached where his finger landed, invisible bruises already forming. "You're really questioning my loyalty? Once. Only once did I ever question you. After all those signs... the looks to those other girls. I ignored it because I thought you really loved me. And I questioned you once and you ridiculed me. And you really think I did something as elaborate as tricking Oscar?"
"Who knows?" He heaved dryly. "You've changed, ___. Years ago, you would've stuck by me," Kimi hissed.
You chuckled despite the tears falling one after another. "I have been. Every single goddamn day. You’re the one who's changed, Kimi! I don't see the guy who stayed up all night outside my house to wish me happy birthday. Or protected me from the photographers. No. Now... with you it’s... it’s clubs. And parties. Cameras following our every move. You degrade me in front of your co-workers. Disrespect me in front of millions. You show me off like I'm some trophy and put me to the side when you don't need me."
"Right..." Kimi laughed bitterly, shaking his head with utter disbelief. "Oscar doesn't do that then?"
Your face burned with anger, lip twitching. How dare he...
"Well at least he doesn't make me cry!" You exclaimed with an exhausted sob, shoulders heavy and burdened. "That's all you ever do, Kimi. You make me cry, then you love me. You criticise me, then you love me. I do what you want and it's still never enough for you. I will never be enough."
And suddenly, you were young kids all over again. Facing each other outside of school under the blues skies and warm winds of Bologna. Your smile so bright for him, he promised never to make it go away. Eyes so full of light, he never wanted to see a single tear.
Kimi blinked, lips parting for a response but nothing ever came out. Just the croak of realisation as he stood in front of you, finally taking in your reddened eyes, tear stained cheeks, and flushed skin.
It was like a slap to the face.
That was his doing.
He had made you cry.
He had hurt you.
What had he done?
You wiped your cheeks hastily as he stepped forward, hand hesitantly reaching out. Your throat burned, raw and sore from yelling. "I'm done, Kimi. Don't call me. Or my parents. Don't come by my house," you sniffled, lip quivering with disgust. “I don't ever want to talk to you again."
Oscar had recognised your downbeat face in a heartbeat as you sat in the McLaren motorhome, in his room, waiting with a cup of hot chocolate in front of you. A familiar sight. But something was different. He could tell.
No longer could he see the awkward, nervous demeanour Kimi had elicited from you. Instead a frame of exhausted freedom in your sunken eyes. Tip of your nose red and cheeks flushed from crying.
Oscar could tell this would be the last time he'd ever let you cry.
He breathed in quietly, removing his cap as he took a seat next to you. For a brief moment, he didn't say anything. A minute of silence for what was gone. For all your efforts that had been disrespected in every manner.
"We don't have to talk about it," Oscar mumbled, grabbing your hand, frowning at your cold skin. Warming your hand gently, he took in another breath. "Or do anything. As long as you're happy, I'm happy."
You moved your eyes from the coffee table drearily to Oscar, your hand, and then back to him. "Can I ask you question?"
Oscar swallowed, nodding with a perfect ease. "Of course," he said softly.
"Would you ever make me cry?"
Not one second wasted to think when he already knew the answer. "Never," he breathed, moving to tuck your dishevelled hair behind your ear. "There is no world or universe where I could even fathom it."
You pursed your lips, searching his eyes, trying to understand the weight of his words. Waiting for a split second to see if you could find the lies you had ignored in Kimi. But you found none. Just his warm gaze and the feel of his hand on your cheek, resting.
The corners of Oscar's lips teetered. "Was that a good media trained answer?"
You couldn't help but laugh a little, chest just a bit lighter now. You nodded your head. "Nice job," you murmured teasingly, nudging him with your elbow.
Oscar smiled, boyish and gentle as his thumb grazed your cheek back and forth before tracing over the small crinkles near your eyes, raised from your own smile. His chest ached slightly. Happiness looked far better on you.
You watched Oscar's eyes dip, falling to your lips for a brief moment. A silent struggle he decided to shake away. You sucked in a quiet breath, gentle fingers raising to brush over his lips, making him freeze. Meeting those brown eyes, a new shade you had come to enjoy, you tilted your head up and leaned in, pressing your mouth to his briefly.
Oscar's breath caught and his pulse jumped as you pulled away a smidge, shy smile faint on your face. Without a second thought, he brought you right back to him, lips pressed against yours with a barely contained urgency. His nose knocked against yours, head tilting while he parted your mouth with a simple ease.
The air in your lungs seemed to burn, caught and stuck while your brain turned into mush. It had been a while since someone had kissed you like they had meant it. Not for any camera or audience. A moment just yours. Your breath to steal.
You shifted against him, feeling his hand move to your waist in an attempt to bring you closer. The soft noise from your throat made the both of you shudder. The thud against the couch was gentle as you fell on top of him, never quite parting. as though the taste of each other was all consuming.
Oscar begrudgingly pulled away, breath shaky as he rested his head against yours. He swallowed, trying to compose himself. A gentle laugh fell from his swollen lips, brown eyes flickering to you and your flushed cheeks. "I was supposed to take this slow," he sighed.
Your body shook lightly with an amused laughter. "You have all the time in the world to try," you teased. "I'm giving you my heart, Piastri. Don't screw it up."
Oscar softly blinked, smile slowly stretching onto his face. "I promise," he breathed, pressing a long kiss to the top of your cheek.
Radio silence. That all Kimi had heard from you. He had ignored your warnings. Called and called. Text after text to try and rectify his wrongs. But you had quickly blocked his number. And it wasn't the only gruelling problem in his life.
Kimi didn't know what was going on but he was losing. He was losing bad. Every race... it was like he was taking a thrashing. And each one from them coming from Oscar. From wins and podiums... he was stuck at the bottom of top ten towards the end of a season. His big point lead now heavily eaten into. His confidence on thin ice.
And it was all Oscar's fault.
It was driving Kimi crazy. Leaving him in tears. because nothing quelled his anger. No workout. No crash. Nothing. He was even beginning to hallucinate. Hoping to turn around in the paddock and see you nearby. Hearing echoes of your voice in the air. Anything to keep him sane.
But you weren't here. Because he had fucked up. because Oscar Piastri had decided to get in the way.
Here Kimi was. After all of it. Entering the paddock miserably for the third to last race of the season. One of the championship deciders. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep on the plane. Long hours spent in silence and with his brain.
He needed to head towards the Mercedes' suite for a morning brief. Pick up any instructions from the communiations team, maybe train a little before he went off to complete his media duties for the day.
His smile was tight and dull for the nearby cameras, hand hanging onto the bag slung over his shoulder. He walked with no extra pep or ego in his step. No cocky cadence that he once exhibited. Only with a sliver of hope that he could win. Even by a single point. Because suddenly the season he had been dying to start was the same one he was dying to be over.
Kimi's brows furrowed at the surprised looks of the photographers and people nearby. Their eyes travelling to the scene behind him, wide and cautious. He paused in his steps, body slowly turning to satiate his curiosity. But what he saw made his heart freeze and his blood run cold.
He blinked once. Twice. And another two more times.
But the sight never changed.
Kimi wasn't hallucinating. It was you.
For a second, Kimi's heart soared. A genuine smile threatening to spring onto his face. But as his eyes dropped down to your hand intertwined with another, he followed the arm to the familiar face of Oscar's and whatever happiness he had felt for a brief second had been smashed to smithereens.
He watched silently. Forced to do so, if anything. Watched as Oscar did the opposite of everything he ever did. Guiding you through the hoard of photographers and fans, keeping you close by as you both meet with Lando nearby. Watched as Oscar noticed your untied shoe and bent down to tie them without a second thought. Coming back up to give you a gentle kiss on your cheek as you enthusiastically engaged with his teammate.
Respectful and gentle with you. Fufilling all the promises Kimi had once made.
You looked unexplainably happy. Talking to someone that wasn't him. Someone that was no longer afraid to reciprocate any conversation with you.
For the first time in a while, Kimi could see the very same light in your eyes and your bright smile under these blue skies. None of which were for him. And it was like a stab to the heart.
But nothing worse than the smooth swivel of Oscar’s head, brown eyes meeting his as he smiled at him. Not a grin. Or smirk. A smile. Innocent and kind on the outside was the gesture. But the lingering stare emphasised it all.
It was official.
His wins.
His podiums.
His reputation.
His happiness.
His first love.
Oscar Piastri had stolen everything Kimi once had.
summary: after a tough week, you come back to oscar with a mouthful of apologies, expecting him to want something a little more from you during this unplanned break. but oscar's willing to talk you through just how much he expects from you.
warnings: fluff, poor humour, established relationship, 18+ (minors dni), unprotected sex, fingering, breastplay, teasing, p in v, mutual orgasms, indirect overstimulation (f. receiving), reassurance, just sweet oscar taking care of you and talking you through it, no aftercare soz // poorly proof read as usual
word count: 3.2k
a/n: combined this request with this one (can't find it ugh) to make something so sweet and beautiful.
Oscar had clocked it the moment you walked back into the apartment. Your eyes a bit more hooded than usual. Your gait slower. The barely audible sigh from your lips as you washed your face after dinner. And the fact you hadn’t already pounced on him or Basil already, attacking them with hugs and kisses all over.
You were tired.
But that hadn't stopped the apologies from slipping past your pretty lips as you crawled to your bed, finding Oscar softly staring at you with his arms open and inviting. The concern in those honey brown eyes could have been seen for miles.
"I'm sorry, Osc," you murmured, hands travelling up his bare arms, relishing the heat of his skin as you pressed a light kiss on his cheek. "I know you were probably expecting something from me, but it’s been a long week," you whispered.
With the extended break after Suzuka, it was a rare moment where you and Oscar could spend some extensive time together. But this week... it had not been kind to you. Your patience had been tested and your kindness toyed with. Every day seemed to drag on and on while you were just waiting to get back home to Oscar.
A small frown made its way onto Oscar's face. He watched you quietly curl up in his arms, back flushed to his chest, tired head resting against his shoulder. "Hey," he mumbled, tilting your face so he could see you better. He blinked at the pout on your face as he moved the stranded pieces of your hair behind your ears. "Don't apologise. I don’t expect you to do anything,” he muttered like the word itself was dirty. “This, just us here, is more than enough."
You stared at him softly, corners of your mouth tugging upwards quietly. You turned your head, nose just brushing the side of his jaw before you pressed a lingering kiss to his neck. "You're so sweet," you hummed.
You could feel him laugh lightly underneath you before he sucked in a sharp breath, thumb grazing the side of your cheek. "Besides, give me some credit," he teased, brown eyes flickering over your face. "I can do all the work too."
You raised a brow at his words; body intrigued at his proposition despite the looming fatigue. "Would you now?" You grinned.
Oscar shrugged, returning the same grin. "Only if you want to, baby," he mumbled, kissing the top of your forehead. "You just sit there and let me take care of you, hmm?"
You nodded. "Yes, please."
"Well... since you asked so nicely," he mused, hand darting to tilt your chin up to him. His warm breath only lingered for a few seconds before he dipped his head down and placed his lips on yours.
He was soft. Not holding you with the frantic urgency you usually had during times like these. For a second, you wondered whether he was holding out on you. But the purposeful slow pull away and the push deeper to taste you told you about that the thoughts running through his head.
It didn't take long for the quiet moans to escape your lips, muffled and stuttered with the feel of his tongue mapping out every crevice of your mouth like he hadn't memorised it already. Like he was tasting something else other than the traces of minty toothpaste.
You could feel his hand gliding down your skin, not in any hurry. Down your neck and over your shirt, stopping at the swell of your chest. Your breath caught at the press of his fingers into your clothed breast, pad of his thumb rubbing the pebbled mound in firm, teasing circles.
"So pretty, aren't you?" He sighed against your lips, heart whirring at every uneven breath lodged in your throat. He smiled at your already clouded eyes, tired yet so needy. The small shift between your thighs was all but telling. And he loved it.
"Come here." Oscar moved you against his lap, throat bobbing at the sweep of your ass against the growing tent in his boxers. He tucked his chin into your shoulder, seating you between his legs. He took a second, hands roaming your bare thighs and the edges of your shirt, fingers running over the waistband of your panties. His shirt, actually. It was his. But you looked much better in it.
"Lift these hips for me, baby," he murmured against your ears while his fingers hooked into the elastic, slightly helping you up to pull your panties down your legs. He could hear you suck in a sharp breath as the cold air hit your skin. "That's it. I promise that's all you have to do. Let me take care of you."
Oscar's hand dipped between your thighs, other hand keeping your legs open against the mattress. The ghost of his smile could be felt on your shoulder as he felt warm slick almost instantly on the tips of his fingers. Your throat tightened upon the feel of him smearing your arousal through your soft folds, playing and teasing as he marvelled over you for the umpteenth time.
"So wet for me," he mumbled, lips grazing your ear, feeling your body jerk as his fingers skimmed past your clit. His chest swelled with a proud warmth. He swallowed the saliva forming in his mouth, moving his fingers around the bundle of nerves, slow and firm. Everything about his tease deliberate.
You shuddered against Oscar's body, eyes fluttering at the heat swirling in the pit of your stomach. "Oh, Osc," you mewled, hips grinding forward for more.
"Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" Oscar hummed, feeling your clit harden with every passing second. He smiled, fingers prodding every crevice meticulously. "I know it does. I'm gonna make it feel even better. Put my fingers in you, hmm?"
A choked gasp fell from your mouth as he pushed one finger into your cunt. His free hand moved from your thigh, digging into your waist while your back arched into him. He cursed under his breath, barely enough for you to hear. God, you felt so warm around him, walls clinging to him. Taking him so fucking well.
His rhythm was slow and deep. Teasing against your walls. Heat swarmed your body, telling it to writhe against him at every swipe of his thumb on your clit. You take him deep, middle finger sucked in, flushed past the knuckle, leaving him soaking. Just when you thought it couldn't get any better, your hand darted out to his thigh, nails scrapping his skin as he sneakily pushed another finger inside.
"F-Fuck," you stuttered, eyes rolling.
Oscar grinned against your skin, curling his fingers with every drag, rubbing that spot good for you. "You feel that? Every time I do that, your pretty pussy squeezes around me," he moaned lowly, feeling your walls contract at his words. "Your body knows me so well," he praised, kissing the side of your neck. "You deserve everything good, baby."
The whimpers falling from your lips became deeper. He didn't fasten his fingers nor did he pry any deeper. He was right. Your body knew him well. And so did he. Coaxing that perfect ridge in your cunt, making you feel so goddamn good.
"Oscar," you breathed tightly, brows tirelessly mending.
He swallowed, flushed face tucking into your shoulder deeper with every shift against him. You probably weren't too aware of the mess behind you. It didn't matter. This was about you. Not him.
"You close, baby? Yeah?" He murmured, hearing your deeper, sparser gasps while your hips threatened to chase that electrifying sliver of heat. He cleared his throat as you nodded slowly. "Go on. Cum me for me, pretty girl."
You blinked with the long flashes of white taking over your vision. Your body convulsed quietly against him, hoarding the striking waves of pleasure rolling over you one after another, leaving you breathless and speechless.
"That's it," he coaxed, fingers slowly moving out before rubbing those sensitive nerves gently. He kissed the side of your head. "Did so well, baby."
Oscar watched you tilt your head, hazed eyes flickering to his, making his stomach churn. You were beautiful. He searched your gaze, heartbeat matching your softened breaths. He raised a brow, not judging nor teasing. Just genuine. "Want another one? Yeah?" He murmured, taking in the small tip of your head.
"I'll give you another one, baby."
You weren't sure when Oscar had moved you. It was fast and effortless, resting you against the pillows, making sure to keep one tucked underneath your body. You swallowed quietly as you felt those pillow lips press on the inside of your thigh, kisses soft and lingering.
"My beautiful, beautiful girl," Oscar hummed, hands running over your thighs as he propped his head on the mattress, between your legs.
Your heart quickened at the sight of those honey brown eyes staring back at you, sweet, boyish smile stretched onto his face. They stayed on you for a beat. And the another. Watching. Admiring.
After the week you had had, it was hard to feel like anything. But the way Oscar looked at you right now... you felt like the most beautiful woman in the universe.
You pursed your lips, heat quickly crawling up your face. You nudged him with your knee, embarrassed. "Osc," you mumbled, giving him a pointed look.
You could feel his chuckle against your bare skin. "I mean it," he stated with no trace of humour. Just warmth. He kissed your inner thigh one more time, inching closer and closer to where you wanted him. "Beautiful," he whispered, flickering his eyes to you.
Your lips parted to reprimand him but before you knew it, his mouth had latched onto your cunt. You gasped, fingers curling at your sides. You were still a bit sensitive. But fuck, the feel of his tongue lapping up the mix of your arousal and cum always made you insane. Your brows furrowed tightly as your back arched, feeling the hum from his chest reverberate through you. Christ...
Oscar had closed his eyes briefly, devoting himself to savour the fine taste of you. To him, it was sweet. Addictive. A meal designed by him.
It was lewd how he could hear himself. Every lick and slurp echoing through the quiet night. But he much preferred your soft moans. You were tired and yet, you were making all this noise for him. And fuck, if it didn't make him hard.
Maybe it was pathetic. The way he was rubbing up against the mattress as he ate you out like he hadn't just eaten dinner. But you always seemed to bring out to the worst in him. Had him here, rutting against the bed out of sheer desperation. And the sudden feel of your hand through his brown locks didn't make it any easier. He grunted at the tug, hands tightening around your thighs, bringing you closer if it was possible, stopping your squirming hips.
"Shit, Osc," you mewled, choked gasps when his lips attached to your clit, firmly sucking before his tongue travelled in circles.
Oh. My. God.
"So good," he grunted against your cunt, nose bucking against the bundle of nerves. "Do so well for me, baby. I'm so proud of you."
Your thighs tightened around his head, clamping his hands to your skin. His words made your stomach churn. It was useless to lie. You were close already. The heat already climbing and looming when his tongue hooked itself under your clit, rubbing the spot in between that made you whine.
"Come on, baby. Give me another," Oscar moaned, brown eyes watching your flushed face carefully with every lick. The thin sheet of sweat on your face... mended brows... bitten lips... an absolute piece of art.
He watched.
He watched your jaw slack, lips parted and wrapped around an incomplete gasp as it hit you. Your thighs and hips shake around him and yet he doesn't stop. He was a bit greedy like that. He liked watching your body squirm, angle higher for even more. The heave of your chest like he made you forget how to breathe.
He loved all of it.
Oscar swallowed hard as your hips came crashing down, body limp against the bed as your uneven breaths filled the air. He kissed the side of your thigh, a trail going up before he found your lips and kissed them deeply, hand sinking into your hair.
You hummed quietly, taking the time to consume the taste of you on him. It always tasted better like that.
He breathed loudly, pulling away for some air. He smiled, tucking the tresses that had escaped again behind your ears. "Did so well, baby."
You stared at him for a moment. "Osc," you called softly, capturing his attention. "I want to feel you."
You could see the obvious struggle in his boxers. Even the small damp circle where his precum stained the front.
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath. He could’ve sworn he felt his cock twitch at your words. He shook his head. "It's okay. I don't want to tire you—"
"Please, baby," you whispered, hand reaching out to caress his cheek. "I'm okay. I'm sure."
His tongue travelled over his bottom lip as he drew in another quick breath. He swallowed thickly. It was your eyes. He swore. That glint that always got him in the end. Always driving him crazy. You might as well have been holding him by the balls.
"Okay, baby," he mumbled, hand moving to push down the waistband of his boxers, too lazy... too desperate to fully undress himself. He didn't care. He just wanted to feel you. The air felt cold against the heat of him, eliciting a hiss from his throat.
He leaned down closer to you, pressing a long kiss to your lips. "Tell me if it's too much, hmm? You know how it is. Just two taps. A word. That’s all it'll take and I'll stop," he reminded, ensuring he captured the nod of understanding from you.
He smiled to himself. His pretty girl. So good for him. He sunk his fingers between your lips, coating them in your saliva. His cock stood straight and hard, taut muscles quivering as he fisted himself, covering the aching thing with your wetness.
Your cunt throbbed at his small eye roll. God, he looked so good like this. Brown hair all dishevelled. Mole-dotted skin flushed. Such a pretty sight.
Oscar lined himself up. He wanted to stay true to his promise. All you had to do was just stay there. Let him do all the work like you deserved.
He pushed himself inside, just an inch. Enough to make you both groan loudly. He swallowed the sound, feeling your nails sink into his forearms as his forehead dropped to yours. "I know, I know—fuck," he gasped. "You feel so fucking good, baby. Oh my God," his voice cracked as he dragged himself out and back in, deeper.
Your whimpers curled in your throat as he bottomed out and stopped, letting the both of you still. Letting you adjust for a moment while his breath, hot and uneven, wavered over you. "Doing so good for me, pretty girl. Taking me so well," he praised, lips briefly pressing against your forehead.
Your voices strained as you spoke, "Fuck, Osc. Please... move."
"I will," he confirmed, smiling at the desperation swirling in your eyes. "Just keep your eyes on me. Don't look away, hmm?"
You nodded, breath catching as he began to move slowly. The first few drags teasing and purposeful before he pushed deeper, each push flushed against you in a way you could feel it for days on end. Your nails sunk harder into his forearms, eyes still locked on him, lips parted around a moan with every swivel of his hips.
"Tell me you feel that," Oscar grunted, skin prickled with heat. "Me inside you. How you take every single inch so fucking perfectly. Letting me take care of you," he rasped, watching your face contort with pleasure.
"I feel that, baby. So good," you whimpered.
He moved again. Faster. A control on the brink of something so messy. The sound, skin on skin, echoed throughout the quiet night air. Dim lights of your room painted across your faces so he could see your pretty face without any obstacles.
The exhaustion of the week had faded in your eyes. The only fatigue present was the one he had created. The one you both knew would put you right asleep the moment you both finished.
The look alone made his chest swarm with warmth. That was what he wanted. What he had promised. And he had succeeded.
You swallowed hard, almost sobbing when Oscar pulled one of his tricks, thumb dipping between the mess you were both making and found your clit. "Fuck—ngh! Oscar, I can't. Not when you do that," you breathed, sounds of the bed creaking underneath you filling your ears.
"Then don't," Oscar panted, feeling the coil in his stomach tighten, threatening to unravel in a moment's time. He leaned down, lips just inches away from yours. "Let go for me, baby. Let me make you feel good and come on my cock," he murmured sweetly before taking you into his mouth.
It happened again. The ripple of sharp heat rolling over you as your body locked up against his. Your moans swallowed and tasted by Oscar. Toes curling while he gently continued, own hips beginning to fasten with urgency.
You could feel his muffled moans in your mouth, his fingers digging into to your waist. It was like he was trying to bring you closer. You weren't sure it was possible when you could feel everything. Even the tug of your lips caught in his teeth as he stilled, spilling himself into you, leaving you warm and full.
You breathed hard through your nose as Oscar collapsed lightly against you, chin tucked back into your shoulder like it belonged there. You wondered if he could feel your hammering heart while you raked your fingers through his hair.
You pressed a kiss to his ear before he gently peeled away from you, pulling out cautiously. It took only seconds for him to bundle the both of you up under the blanket, either of you too tired to clean yourselves up. That was tomorrow's problem.
You quietly stared at him, curled up in his arms, legs intertwined, looking over those brown constellations you had memorised. You blinked as his eyes fell to yours. You wanted to say thank you. But for some reason, it was far more difficult than you anticipated. Oscar had kept his promise. And you were grateful.
You took a deep breath in. "I—"
"I swear to God, if you apologise again, I'll make you cum over and over again till you beg me to stop," Oscar mumbled, stroking your hair as you rested against his chest. He grinned at the shake of your body, your quiet giggle music to his ears. “Shut up and go to sleep, you muppet," he teased.
"You didn't even know what I was going to say," you muttered to yourself with a pout. You peeked an eye at him. "Pancakes in the morning? Oscar? Osc!" You whined at his silence, poking his cheek.
An amused sigh fell from his lips, honey brown eyes opening to see you. He smiled at the peer of your eyes, heart whirring again. "Yes, I promise. Now come on. Let’s sleep."
summary: with a honeymoon in belize, you aren't quite too sure what to expect. definitely not making one of max's fantasies come to life.
warnings: some fluff, light angst, 18+ (minors), p in v, unprotected sex, teasing, edging, sub-dom dynamics, eating out, fingering, mutual masturbation briefly, praise, cumming inside, cheesy shit, um don't try to have that much sex? — i don't think it's healthy/sanitary // not really proof-read ♡︎
word count: 6.5k+
a/n: the last smut of revolving door!!! aghhh how far we've come. from enemies having sex to married sex... unbelievable. // also don't hate me cus i haven't written smut since the start of december so i tried my best!
You had almost spat out your coffee when Max had mentioned his desired honeymoon destination during all your wedding planning shenanigans. Cayo Espanto. A goddamn private island in Belize. Not just the villa. No. The whole damn thing. For the both of you.
When you had questioned why anyone would drop almost twenty grand on honeymoon, he simply responded by leaning, just a hairbreadth away from your lips, blue eyes so dearly watching you while the corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a small smirk, "There is nothing more I would want than be able to love to my wife on every corner and surface of a private island."
When you realised exactly what he meant, your skin burned, your cheeks flamed, and the space between your thighs tingled. You had said it before but God your Max was incorrigible.
A few days after the wedding, you and Max had gotten on his private jet and set off for Belize. You could tell he was a little more reserved than usual. Not particularly handsy like he normally was but instead choosing to spend those days before the honeymoon appreciating what you both had together more emotionally.
Every other second, your hands were intertwined, and he'd kiss the back of it, murmuring sweet nothings while he softly gaze at his great grandmother's ring, a new symbol of your love. Your forever and always.
He'd stare. So warmly, so deeply like he was afraid to blink because he'd miss you in front of him and wake up from this dream. You'd tease him and he wouldn’t bother trying to defend himself.
And Max couldn't stop saying it. My wife. It was on repeat like a mantra. "I have the most beautiful wife in the world," or "I love you, my wife." You would say it was sickening if you didn't like it so much.
You weren't too innocent either. Testing out different pet names on Max randomly throughout the days. My husband, handsome (he liked that one), hubby... the list went on and on.
You could understand how he felt. Maybe not exactly, seeing as you weren't the one waiting twenty years for someone to love you back. You had done half the time before. But this profound excitement that lingered in the depths of your heart was for this moment. Your new lives that you lead together. As one.
"Where are you going?" Max queried as you stood up from your seat, watching you with a small pout as the blue skies skimmed by through the jet's windows.
You rolled your eyes, feeling his hand still cling around your waist. "I need to go to grab my book from my bag," you laughed gently, kissing the top of his head. "I'll be back."
His fingers fell to your hand, curling softly to make you stay. "We'll land soon for the helicopter anyways. Can't you grab it once we reach?" He asked, pulling you onto his lap with a short tug, chin nestling into your shoulder easily.
"Max," you whined, trying to move yourself out of his grip. "Come on, chéri. You have me forever. I promise. Now let me get my book," you mumbled, successfully standing up when you felt his fingers lift and a chuckle fall from his lips.
He quietly watched you leave, forcing himself to look through the window of the jet. It was strange how much you could miss someone even when they were right in front of you. He breathed in lowly, eyeing the passing clouds while excitement curled in his stomach. The last few days had been a blur and entirely full of you. Nothing he regretted, of course.
But he couldn't lie. He had been waiting for this moment. Your honeymoon. You had already done some light nagging, saying a whole island was a bit elaborate for a honeymoon. But he digressed. Years ago, in Zandvoort, he had asked for one hour. Just one hour where only you and him knew about your relationship. Perhaps he was selfish. But he wanted a little more than that. So he asked for two weeks. Two weeks where no one you knew would bother the both of you and it would just be you and him. Husband and wife. That was all he had wanted.
Max's heart whirred at the sight of your lips parting as you finally got off the jet, your eyes wide with disbelief. The island seems to glow at you, warm sun curling around very grain of sand and curve of water. The water itself looked like crystals, reflecting the light with every ripple in a way that made you smile. The wind was clean with a tint of that saltiness, reminding you were indeed on your honeymoon. The land seemed to stretch on for miles from where you stood, numerous villas and trees covering every inch.
"This is..." You trailed off, still in awe as you took your first steps in. "Just beautiful," you breathed, not quite believing this was technically all yours for two weeks. Maybe it'd take all that time to explore the whole place. Maybe not. Whatever was going to happen, you were sure it was bound to be magical.
Max stood back, taking the way you stood against Belize. The artwork of God himself, he was sure. "My wife is," he agreed with a soft gaze. He smiled when you turned and gave him a pointed look. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he sighed while you walked, "I mean... this place is good too, I guess."
You pushed him gently, giving him an eye roll. "That's enough flattery. Gonna get a toothache if you keep speaking like that," you murmured, leaning your head on his shoulder. You could feel his chest rumble with a chuckle, and you savoured it, letting every fibre of your being memorise that sound over and over again like you had never heard it before.
You could feel it. The tension. It was like overstretched rubber band waiting to break. You could see it in the way Max moved around you, touch lingering on your skin, long enough to tease you but short enough to test this emotional bond you had been forging for the past few days.
You didn't want to sound crude or make your husband sound like a sex-crazed man. However…you had been somewhat surprised Max hadn’t jumped your bones on the night of the wedding. You could see in his eyes. The restrain. But he had kept it clean, opting to go down the more… nicer route of things. And while you appreciated it, you couldn’t help but miss it.
It was technically his fault. So incorrigible with the things he did, you had gotten used to a little something almost every other day. Maybe it was you who encouraged it. But still!
You had been in Belize for almost a full day now, you had your lunch, gone on a picnic excursion, had dinner, and finished up a nice cosy moment in the spa under the sunset. And for all those moments, Max had been teasingly reserved with his movements. His hand on your leg, you in his lap in the water, the small circles rubbed into your hip, the hard staring at your lips when you had helped yourself to some strawberries—you were pretty sure you had disgraced the fruit by the way he was staring at you.
You weren't quite sure what he was waiting for.
You eyed him with narrowed eyes as you both came into the bathroom to get out of your swimsuits and shower off the spa water. Even now, he said and did nothing while you peeled off your wet bikini, leaving you absolutely stark naked in front of him. This was outrageous! A few weeks ago he would've been quite literally jumping at you. But he was standing in front of you like a lost puppy who had no idea what he was doing.
"Chéri, are you okay?" You queried softly, swallowing lightly as he took off his swim shorts. Your eyes struggled not to fall below his waist.
Well that was telling you an entirely different story. The pretty thing was just staring you down.
"Fine, schatje. Why?" Max asked, fingers darting out to test the temperature of the water.
You stepped closer to him, hearing him quietly draw a breath in. He shivered when he felt your hand glide up his neck and nestle onto his cheek, thumb gently caressing him. "I just feel like you have a lot on your mind or something. You’ve been kinda spacing out all day."
Max swallowed at your words, hand moving to cover your own. Those blue eyes flickered to yours, swarming with a familiar shade of darkness you recognised—want. His fingers tightened around your hand as he spoke, "You have no idea what’s been on my mind."
Your chest slightly eased at the thick tone. Though your thighs naturally pressed together. There he was. Your Max. A small, gentle laugh fell from your lips, curling to every soundwave drifting to his ears. "And here I thought something was wrong," you sighed, shaking your head while your eyes gleamed at him.
A soft grin stretched onto his face. "I'm just confused," he admitted, other hand moving your slightly damp hair away from your forehead.
"Oh?" You raised a brow. Confused Max was never a good one. Nor a common one. And there was mostly always one reason: you.
He nodded, taking in a deep breath like this was one of the most difficult decisions of his life. "We're husband and wife. And I feel like on one hand, the next time we have sex should be kinda, I don't know, emotional? More intimate," he added, trying to explain himself clearly. "But I can't stop thinking this one thing."
You pursed your lips. You could consider yourself intrigued. "Which is?" You goaded expectingly. You could've sworn his eyes darkened a little further. And even in your peripheral, something below his waist twitch. Your stomach churned with anticipation.
Max bit down on his bottom lip, reddened marks left from how hard he had dug when he released it. He couldn't really get the words out. It's not like they were exactly shameful. Nor was he embarrassed about it. It was one of the reasons he had picked this as a honeymoon destination. It was lewd, tiresome, and potentially required giving the island's cleaning crew a pay raise once you were done.
"I want to have you. All day."
You mended your brows, grin teetering at the corners of your mouth. "You do have me all day. And forever," you chuckled softly, quietening when he shook his head with amusement.
"No, I mean all day. I want to taste you all day. Feel you all day," he breathed, hand beginning to trail down the curve of your body. "On the kitchen counter. The table. The windows. The shower. The deck. The beach," he recounted, pupils dilating at the small bob of your throat. "I want to be so busy with you that the only time I breathe without you is when we stop to eat our energy back. And even then, I want you on my lap, skin-to-skin as we eat."
Your heart hammered in your chest, eyes slightly wide, brows raised just a smidge. You breathed out shakily, thighs beginning to hurt from how much they had been pressing against one another. "How... How long have you been thinking about this?" You asked because this didn’t sound like something he had just thought about in the past week or month.
Max pursed his lips. "Would you kill me if I said since the night I proposed?" He queried with half an embarrassed smile, pulling you in closer with a short tug, warm skin now pressed against one another.
You couldn't help but grin, arms moving to hang around his neck. "You are literally hopeless."
You could imagine it. You were probably asleep, and he was awake in the middle of the night, having to go to the bathroom because of how hard he was at the mere thought of this fantasy. Or maybe when he zoned out during streams and excused himself just to peep his head to see what you were doing, leaving you asking why he looked so flushed.
"We don't have to if you don't want to, obviously. But, well, you asked what was going on," he chuckled softly.
You smiled cheekily. "I might have to say this is the only reason I married you."
Max huffed, rolling his eyes. "Let's see what you're saying by the end of this," he retorted. "Now let's actually shower and get to bed."
You frowned at his words. "But... But..." You trailed off, peering down below his waist then between your thighs before you looked back at him, spotting the small smug tint in his eyes. You gasped, pushing him away. "You're evil! So evil!" You chorused, shaking your head in disbelief. How could he work you up like that with all those ideas and promises... only for them to start tomorrow?
He laughed loud, sound echoing in the bathroom as his arms wrapped around your waist. His chest flared at your small yelp while he brought you to the shower than had been running for a while now. "Come on. Enjoy your chance to rest for now. You'll need it."
There were many ways to wake up in the morning. Disgruntled, well-rested, tired... or in your case, with Max Verstappen between your legs.
You could say you had made it pretty easy, going to bed with just one of the nighties you had packed. Those soft lace panties barely a barrier to the heat beginning to warm in your core.
Your sleepy eyes blinked at the feel of those large hands curl around your thighs, keeping them open while Max softly blew at your clit, small smile stretching onto his face as you twitched in his grasp. His blue eyes flitted up at you, half full of light and darkness. "Good morning, schat."
You swallowed, still freshly coming out of your sleep. "Good morning, chéri," you murmured quietly, heart pacing at the way he nuzzled into the crease of your thigh, looking at you like you were his entire world. You smiled gently, running a hand through his hair, making him sigh blissfully. "Is this how we're starting it, then?"
He hummed against your flesh, sound muffled. "No better way to start the day," he stated, lips parting to give you a grin. The way he looked right now... like he was impossibly happy to just be there between your legs. And you'd be damned if you wouldn't keep him like that.
Before you could even get another word out, his lips attached to your clit, eliciting a gasp from you. You squirmed as he harshly sucked the bundle of nerves, knowing exactly what pressure made the heat in your stomach curl.
"Oh, my beautiful, beautiful girl," Max groaned against your centre. The sound sent vibrations down your core, pushing a shiver to crawl up your spine in return. His body thrummed as your head fell back into the pillows, already lost in the pleasure. "The prettiest wife ever. All mine."
His lips quirked at your whimper, his words clearly having the intended effect on you. He delved deeper, blue eyes momentarily fluttering shut while his tongue flattened out to lap all the slick that had been pooling around your hole. The taste only made him moan. God, this fucking ambrosia. He’d never have enough. And he needed you to know that. So he pulled you closer, hands clamping into your thighs in a way that had your flesh spilling past the confines of his fingers, ensuring he had access to every single drop of you.
Your hand flew to his hair while his tongue swiped between your wet folds, fingers hooking onto those light brown locks, leaving a welcomed burn on his scalp. The both of you had locked him against your core—like he'd ever go anywhere else. But you keep him pinned, letting him chase the pleasure coiling in your body. Fuck, you were close. You could tell at the tightness of your stomach as if it was tying itself in knots. And each lap of Max's tongue only brought you closer to that edge.
"Oh fuck. Chéri," you whined, feeling the sweat build on your neck as he flicked at your clit, sending small shards of pleasure right up your cunt. "Please, please."
Max only hummed in acknowledgment, making no movements to slow down as your body writhed against him, signalling the closing end. He let his tongue continue to work against your folds, switching between sucking and licking your bundle of nerves. He took a moment to shift his face a little further tone, situating his nose to push against your clit while he drank your juices like a thirsty dog. A nasty one at that. His smirk was like a ghost, imprinted on your cunt as he reduced you to breathy gasps. Your fingers tightened in his hair. The pleasure hit you with a force unbecoming to you, leaving you completely awake now.
Your mouth hung open, legs trembling around his face as Max barely let up, tongue continuing to put you in overstimulation, hips innately bucking against him. Your breaths had become ragged, brows contorting when you felt his tongue nudge between your clit and your folds, coaxing something entirely warmer and intense out of you.
"Fuck, Max!" You cursed, body spasming at your second climax before your hips fell back down
Max slowly pulled his head away, fingers unlocking from your thighs while your grip on his hair fell loose. He smiled, looking up at you through those hooded eyes, hazy with want. Your stomach churned as he used his tongue to wipe his lips clean, not missing a spot of your arousal. He breathed out lowly after some time. "Breakfast was good."
While Max had already claimed he had his breakfast, the growing hunger in your stomach for something other than him roared at you. So you had both come to the kitchen, unsurprised at the assortment of food ready for you to eat. Max had probably asked them to get everything prepared so neither of you had any distractions.
You groaned in delight as you feasted on some strawberries, very acutely aware of your husband who stood barely inches away from you in his boxers. And if that large bulge told you anything, he was suffering.
You grinned quietly, feeling a bead of strawberry juice roll down your chin. Before you could even wipe it, Max had already stepped forward, fingers holding your jaw before his head dipped down and his tongue, laden within your taste, took one long stripe and lapped it up, letting his lips hover near yours.
"Max, we're supposed to be getting our energy back," you chuckled at his eagerness like you weren’t already wanting more either.
"I can't help it," he murmured, hand tracing the curve of your hip before he bunched your silk nightie up, revealing your bare body, making you shiver. "I told you I had been thinking about this for a while."
You hummed with a knowing smile, pressing a strawberry against his mouth, letting him take a bite. He savoured the sweet, tangy taste on his tongue. But he couldn't deny he wanted something else. His breath hitched at the feel of your hand going down his bare torso, stopping at his waistband. His darkened eyes flickered to yours. God, you were like a siren looking at him like that. "So what? You gonna take me against this counter then?"
"Oh Christ," he muttered, watching you pull away just a smidge before leaning against the counter, ass and hips out, a small arch in your back as you disgraced the strawberries once again. He couldn’t stop himself. He really couldn't.
It was one swift move forward before he had his hand on your hip, riding the silk fabric up and sinking himself into you. You both groaned in unison, your grip on your strawberry faltering for a brief moment. You felt every inch of him, the thick head of him parting your cunt open, the heat of his want burning into your walls. The stretch made you whimper, and his hands gripped your hips just loosely. A tampered restrain. Like he was holding barely back.
"You keep eating those strawberries, lieverd," he murmured, leaning down to whisper in your ear, body close to yours. He smiled at your stuttered breath when he took one long drag out. He dipped his head again, kissed the side of your cheek slow, and then again—just beneath your ear, where he could feel your pulse jump in excitement. His voice was reverent. “I’m just gonna fuck your brains out,” he promised.
Your jaw hung open as he began to move, sound of your skin slapping against one another beginning to fill the empty echoes of the kitchen. Your teeth sunk into your lip, free hand reaching out to grabs the edge of the table, knuckles white.
"Fuck," Max groaned, head falling down to kiss the exposed part of your back. "Feel so fucking good, schat."
His rhythm was purposeful. Intending to desecrate and turn this clean kitchen filthy with every slow drive into you. Each push was hard and deep, unhurried. Yet your legs shook while he reminded you exactly what you had been missing for days now.
Your strawberry had been long gone, half eaten and resting on the counter. Your sticky fingers curled into your palm, body thrumming with a pleasure unlike any other. One only Max knew how to bring out.
His hips slapped against your ass, the resounding sound loud, lewd, and obscene in the kitchen. One hand moved to grip your waist while the other reached under you—fingers delving past your puffy folds and finding your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles.
You choked on half a gasp as Max hooked you back up so you leaned straight against him, sweaty bodies sticking against one another. His chin nuzzled into your neck, hot breath wavering against your skin, small grunts filling your ears.
"Max—fuck! I'm gonna—"
His chuckle was dark against you. Hips still going at that unrelenting pace. "That's it, lieverd. Let me know how it feels to be so dirty in such a sweet place, hmm? It's our honeymoon and we’re covering every inch of this island in our sins."
It was like lightning the way it hit you—so sharp and sudden. Your tight walls clamped down around him, your voice breaking on his name that had become your mantra as you came hard, spasming under his touch. You could hear Max curse lowly, feeling the stutter of his thrusts and the raw desperation when his hips slammed against you, chasing the pleasure boiling within him.
With a loud groan, he spilled inside you, hips jerking against you. His arms wrapped themselves tight around your body. Not just to keep you grounded and stop you from melting onto the floor but to keep you close to him like he always wanted.
For a long beat, neither of you spoke. Only the sound of your breathing, still ragged echoed in the kitchen as you came down from that high.
"You okay?" He queried, fingers moving to turn your face to him. His eyes swept over you, making sure you were indeed fine.
You swallowed, breathing a little more stable now. You nodded with a loose grin. "More than fine. I’m actually pretty excited for this."
Max chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It's only the start."
You groaned at the feel of the warm water against your muscles. You were back in the spa again. A moment of recuperation for what you had been doing since you had woken up. The spa itself was loosely fenced. Yet no one was around like they had been ordered to stay away. Hence why you were stark naked, nightie thrown aside on a nearby chair.
"Why do you have to make things to difficult?" Max queried, referring to the sounds you had been making for the past fifteen minutes or so. You were sure if he stood up right now, you would be met with something quite big.
You grinned at him from across the water. "What? A wife can't relax after dealing with her husband?" You retorted.
His heart swelled at your slow emphasis of 'wife' and 'husband.' It was all so new yet so fitting. He cleared his throat, leaning back, blue eyes raking over you in a dangerous way. "It's a lot harder when the most beautiful woman in the world is sitting in front of you naked," he deadpanned.
You snorted, cheeks warming at his words. You swallowed lightly as a thought popped into your head. Max furrowed his brows, watching you lift yourself out of the spa, water cascading down your body in a sinful manner. God, you were going to ruin him by doing nothing. His breath caught when you sat all perched up on the edge of the spa, leaning on your hands while you stared at him.
He eyed you warily, lips parting momentarily. "Oh please don't," he murmured, heart beginning to pace. He could only mutter those feigned pleas under his breath because nevertheless, your legs began to part. "Oh Jesus," he sighed, watching your hands dip between your thighs. He shifted in the water, thin restrain beginning to wear out.
His ears perked at the soft moan falling from your lips, jaw clenched at the uncontrollable grind of your hips as your fingers began to rub yourself, water and slick all combined. He leaned forward to come closer but the tsk from your throat made him pause. "You stay and you watch. You don’t cum until I tell you to."
The disagreement from him was immediate. “Oh come on, schat. Please,” he mumbled, brows mending together, desperate already. The heat curled low in his stomach. "You know I can't do that with you."
This was not how he had envisioned this day. It was supposed to be a mutual fuckfest of some sorts, celebrating each other entirely. Not torture. But still, you shook your head. "I thought husbands were supposed to please their wives," you grinned with a raised brow.
He growled at your words. "Yeah, I can. I can eat you out till I die. And make you cum until you see stars. That's what I'm supposed to be doing," he retorted, hand begrudgingly falling below the water and around his shaft as his eyes fell back to your cunt.
You hummed at the promises he usually fulfilled, walls throbbing and quivering when you pressed against your clit and rubbed in slow circles. The whimper was caught between your throat and mouth, your eyes heavily watching the heat begin to crawl into Max's face, leaving him flushed. He could barely breathe watching you, fisting himself in the water, low grunts tipping from his lips one after the other.
He pressed his lips hard, watching you pull the hood of your clit up, revealing where he had just been not so long ago. It was so swollen, so red that he just wanted to put it in his mouth and ease the tingling burden you were facing. Instinctively, the thought made him squeeze himself, hips bucking on a whim. The splashes of the water worked to cover what would be the lewd wet sounds of his hand on his cock. His eyes fluttered, lidded with pleasure. "F-Fuck," he muttered, voice hoarse.
"Don't you dare," you quickly said, noticing that dazed expression on his face. You knew it far too well. Of course, he was close already. You both seemed to have that problem when it came to each other.
Max forced his hand to stop, curbing the bubbling pleasure, blue eyes lightly glaring at you. "Come on, lieverd. This is our honeymoon," he deadpanned, almost with a whine that made the arousal drip from your cunt.
You said nothing except for, "Keep going."
He swallowed, gently beginning to pump himself again. He hissed at the burning pleasure, cock sensitive to your denial. His lips parted at the sight of your fingers pushing into your wet hole and how your back arched, letting the sunlight scatter across your bare chest. God, how he wished he could take a picture of this.
The moans fell from his lips quickly, shaft beginning to feel heavy even under the water. He wanted to tip his head back, let himself become lost in this pleasure. But he couldn't keep his eyes off you. Not when you looked like art itself. His voice cracked. Fuck, he was close again. And the raised brow on your face knew too. His eyes rolled lightly as he stopped his hand once again. His body squirmed at the sounds of your sopping cunt. Oh my God, you sounded positively drenched.
His hand instinctively squeezed himself again when a gasp came from your lips. He could see why. Your curled fingers hooking into that spot. His favourite spot. He groaned in misery. He couldn’t believe you were edging him like this. On your honeymoon and his fantasy.
"Schat, please," he begged, voice barely recognisable to you. It was so desperate, so... whiny. If you had any inkling yourself, you were sure you had just made him submit to you in an entirely different way.
"You wanna cum, chéri?" You murmured, slowing your fingers down at the feel of your stomach tying itself into knots again.
Max wasn't sure when but at some point, he had been nodding like some sort of puppy. Frantic and needy. His hand on his shaft wasn't making it easy for him. He was throbbing with the desire to cum. And you weren't letting him.
"You wanna cum for your wife?"
His pupils dilated at your words. It had taken him all his strength to not just come right there and then. Face entirely reddened and maddened. How much longer were you going to tease him?
You smiled gently. Maybe you had done enough damage. You should tread lightly. You still had a whole day ahead of you. You didn't need to entirely be at a disadvantage. "Come on then," you laughed gently.
Max didn't need to be told twice. In seconds he was standing, wading through the spa. His hands were on you instantly, one around your jaw as he kissed you hard, the other on your thigh, keeping you ready for the ruin he was about to implore onto you. His lips bruised yours, not of anger but of the crazy searing desire in his chest. The animal you had created.
You moaned against his lips, feeling him shift your hips so you pressed against him in the right way. He didn't leave your mouth as he aligned himself with your cunt, giving just a small push forward before his large head tore through your entrance, stretching you out all over again. “Oh fuck,” you gasped, knowing almost immediately you wouldn’t last long. And you were sure you weren’t alone.
His hand flew your breast, groping the half-wet flesh like he needed to stabilise himself. His hips moved quickly in desperation, flushed against yours. Although fast and hurried with the desire, the drag of his cock hit you at an angle that had your eyes rolling. Your knuckles whitened as your fingers curled around the edge of the spa.
"M-Max—shit!" You stuttered, mouth falling open only for him to consume your gasps and moans. He fed you his grunts, letting you know you weren’t the only one entirely losing yourself. Fuck, you were so close you could feel his pubic bone just grazing your clit, enough to undo you entirely.
Max groaned as you spasmed around him, walls clamping down him hard. His eyes fell to your face, stomach tightening at the sight of your flushed skin and your swollen lips. His kissed you once again, hips beginning to stutter as he spilled into you, filling your cunt up once again while he whined into your mouth.
You breathed harshly, chest rising up and down as Max pulled away from your lips. A quiet laugh fell from your throat when you spotted the crazed look in his eyes. "That," you sighed, leaning in to lightly kiss his chest. "Was absolutely worth edging you."
After the spa, you had both decided to dry off on the lounge chairs, soaking up some of the sun. You were back in your nightie and Max had opted to remain naked. Although you were convinced it was just to tease you. A bit of revenge for what you had pulled. You could only assume that was the reason you were a chair apart and he hadn’t exactly reached out to touch you. He was testing you.
You sighed quietly, closing your eyes and letting your body rest a little more. You could feel Max's gaze on you. Hungry for someone who was trying to teach you a lesson. You smiled quietly, resting your hands on your covered stomach, basking in the warmth. Although you had the rest of the week to admire the island's beauty, it didn't hurt to cherish it now.
But the incessant pair of blue eyes on you made it a bit difficult. You turned your head, peeking an eye open, catching him by surprise. "Any problems, handsome?" You queried with a raised brow, trying not to grin at him.
Max huffed, falling back into the chair. "You're awful," he muttered, peeling his gaze from you reluctantly. It was beyond him how you could sit there and just look so wonderful. Even after all these years. Even more so now that you were his wife.
You chuckled softly, leaning up from your chair, taking the short trip to him. He watched you as you moved one leg over his hip and the same with the other, straddling him. His hands naturally came to your hips, a low curse falling from his mouth when he felt your bare cunt rub against him.
You smiled gently, staring into those blue eyes. "You're so pretty," you murmured, leaning in a little.
"Am I now?" He hummed with a grin, although his heart skipped an unhealthy number of beats. His thumbs rubbed smooth idle circles into your hips while lightly gazed at you.
You nodded earnestly. Your finger reached out to smooth over his brows. "Prettiest eyes, prettiest smile, prettiest dimple. No wonder I dream about them all the time," you mumbled, not particularly ashamed in anyway. Perhaps a few years ago you might have shied away the same way you did when he complimented you. But the truth was, you should've told these things as much as he told you.
Max swallowed your words, pressing his lips against yours and nestling your sweet words into the depths of his chest. Your mouth was warm, and your lips were smooth, making him lose all sense of time and place as usual. He pulled away from a brief movement, looking into your eyes as they opened, and kissed you again—this time deeper and even more meaningful.
The world around you seemed to twirl round and round on its own accord while you fell into each other, unable to stop. And ever so naturally, the small roll of your hips made both of you shudder against one another, a growing slick making it easier with every passing second.
Max lurched at the feel of your hand travelling down his chest, wrapping around his shaft to push yourself down onto him. His groan came out broken against your ears and lips, fingers digging into your hips at the feel of you. He already been inside you twice today but not once had he ever gotten used to it.
"Max," you gently called.
"Yeah?" He murmured, breath catching in his throat as you slowly rode him, unhurried. Taking all the time you could. Not wasting any second with him.
You smiled, pushing his hair out of his face. "I love you, chéri," you whispered against his lips before giving him a brief kiss.
Max blinked for a beat. He fought the sting in his eyes, opting to kiss you deep and hard, tasting your very being like he had been all these years. He had memorised you. Your flavour, your heat, your sound... and one thing he was sure of, he would never ever get bored of it.
His arms wrapped around your body, roaming over and under the silk fabric with the coldness of his ring against you, bringing you closer if possible. A strange warmth curled in his stomach. But he had felt it before. A pleasure that fell beyond the confines of sex but unified the reminder that together you were one. Each part of the heart that had kept your love going on for countless years and would continue to.
Your skin warmed with every soft clench around him, lungs burning to breathe while your heart blindly questioned—hadn't you learned to breathe him? Was he not the air your body lived to crave? Needed to survive? 'Yes' was what you could answer to every query. There would be no need to part from these lips that loved you so much. Nor the skin that called to you every second of the day.
Your shadow. Yes, that what he had become—the promise he had asked for in those vows just a few days ago.
Max shuddered at the feel of your wedding ring skimming past his jaw, breath soft and uneven. He nipped at your lips, letting just a few slips of air glide by. His groin simmered while your stuttered breath told him all he needed to know.
He didn't hurry. He let you continue your pace slow, deep, and close to him. He only pulled back a smidge, just in time to watch the profound pleasure strike your body, face contorting into what only looked like heaven itself, body trembling over him. It wasn't long before he did the same, fingers curling into your skin, pressing you so deeply into him while he finished with a strong shudder, breath shaky.
For a moment, you let the calming breeze around the island whirl around you, gently letting your wild heartbeat settle. You didn't say anything. You didn't really need to. Those eyes told you everything. You had become a scholar in his name.
I love you, schatje. More than every atom. More than you love me, which maybe you think isn’t possible. More than words could ever tell you.
You smiled warmly, grabbing his left hand, pressing your lips onto the half-warm gold band. "I do love you more," you pouted, amusement running through your eyes.
Max grinned widely, returning a kiss onto your ring. "Not a chance."
summary: oscar, after some convincing, decides to take on your challenge to abstain from any physical activity. or in which oscar intends to give a small bit of payback on day thirty one.
warnings: 18+ (minors dni), established relationship, fluff, unprotected sex (let's choose to be safe), blueballing, p in v, fingering, eating out, lots of teasing, pwp?, mutual orgasms, faint degradation, overstimulation (f. receiving) // poorly proof-read ♡︎
word count: 2.8k+
a/n: a longer version of the oscar headcanon.
🏎️ masterlist | ⚽️ masterlist
"You want to me to do what?" Oscar queried, brow raised as you both sat on the bed, cool breeze swirling through your open windows as you passed time with a new card game you had learnt.
You gave him a knowing smile, placing down another card. "You heard me."
Your suggestion had come from a video you had watched, naturally. The idea was to see if Oscar could last thirty days without touching himself or you. You thought it would be fun. However, your boyfriend's expression told you he wasn't too keen.
"Why?" He asked, utter confusion and bewilderment on his face. Even with all his rationale, he couldn't understand the reasoning behind this challenge. Why on earth would he put a pause on making you both feel good? Especially if he could just do it for thirty days instead of nothing. "I'm just not really seeing what I get out of this," he said, sifting through his cards.
You sighed, resting your cards in your lap face down so he wouldn't get a peek. "You'd get the pride and victory," you pointed out with a small grin.
Oscar gave you a dry look, quietly laughing to himself before shaking his head. "Yeah, I don't think so," he muttered, placing his card down on the pile.
You poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue; eyes narrowed at him. How on earth were you going to convince him? You blinked, tilting your head when you got an idea. "I think you're saying no because you're afraid you'll lose, Osc," you stated with a small shrug, confidently placing another card down, voice teasing.
He paused, brown eyes flickering up to you with disbelief. He looked at you blankly before speaking. "What?" He huffed, bunny teeth peeking out as he loosely grinned with amusement. "I'm not afraid I'll lose... I just think it’s stupid," he maintained, shoulders tugging up as if you weren't harming his indifference.
You shifted on the bed, leaning in closely with a sweet smile. "Then why don't you prove it?" You raised a brow.
Oscar said nothing for a beat, running a hand through his brown hair, small tresses falling back over his face. He ground his jaw, clearly internally debating whether to surrender to your trap. But you had set him off, challenging his ego because you obviously thought he couldn't complete it to some capacity.
"Fine," he breathed after some time, nodding slowly. "But you have to be fair."
"Fair?" You queried with interest.
He tipped his head again, confirming your question. "You can't tease me."
Ah... is that so?
You supressed the small laugh rumbling in your chest and agreed, "I'll try my best."
Now that you had questioned his entire dignity with this challenge, Oscar had planned to stick to it. And he had gotten you to agree to some fair play. This wasn't going to be hard at all.
A week had passed, and to be honest, he was breezing through it. Yes, he had been less handsy than usual, opting to find all the hugs and cuddles more romantic, if anything. But he couldn't just fold over something as simple as holding your hand. That would truly ruin him. Besides, he found it hard to believe there was only three weeks left of the challenge. With two races in the month, he was sure this would easily go by.
But one warm afternoon, Oscar returned home after training with Kim, finding you in the kitchen, watching something on your phone as he grabbed some freshly cold water from the fridge. "Hey, baby," he greeted, closing the fridge door, about to walk to you when something made him pause.
His brown eyes fell to the pink iceblock between your lips, plump skin wrapped around the tip, softly sucking the sweet juice out of it, sugary water slightly stuck around the edges. His fingers tightened around the cold bottle as you hummed, brows raising towards him, greeting him in return. He swallowed when your tongue darted out, taking a long stripe from the bottom of the iceblock to the tip.
Oh my God...
"Want one?" You queried, feigned innocence dripping from your voice, rubbing your sticky lips together, coating them a shine that made Oscar desperately want to taste you. "There's more in the freezer."
He cleared his throat, shaking his head, opening the bottle to take a large swig of cold water, praying it would push down the heart unfurling in his stomach. "I'm good. I... I think I'm going to take a shower. You know... to get rid of the sweat from training."
You kept your smile at bay, nodding slowly, removing your lips from the tip of the iceblock. "Okay," you simply said, coyly moving your eyes back to your screen, able to see him linger for a few more seconds before he put away the bottle in the fridge and quickly scrambled to the bathroom.
Oscar had told himself that the iceblock travesty was just the result of not doing anything for a week. That it was a small slip of his strength. He had still not folded, making a point to tell you throughout the next two weeks. An important feat considering you had consumed two more iceblocks, made pancakes with an excessive amount of whipped cream, and exaggeratedly moaned at the dinner he had made.
You were playing with him. And he could tell. But he wasn't going to lose.
Little did he know, all this teasing would be nothing when he found you one morning walking around in nothing but his shirt because it was damn laundry day. And by nothing, you truly meant nothing.
Oscar kept quiet, eyeing the way his shirt clung to your bare breasts, outline of your nipples teasing him through the fabric. Then his eyes fell rake down your body, thighs look particularly delectable as the curve of your ass made his shorts tighten. Fuck, he was a hundred percent sure you weren't wearing any underwear, and it was driving him crazy.
He let out a shaky breath, unaware of your small grin while you walked around the living room, picking up things to put into the wash. One week, he reminded himself. That's all that was left. Then he’d teach you.
That night he had genuinely contemplated getting himself off while you were sleeping next to him. Fingers teasing at his waistband, skin warm with need and desire, cock semi-hard. But he just couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to. You were hurting his pride. With this challenge and with your unfair games.
If Oscar did jerk himself off, you'd never let him hear the end of it. The constant reminder of how he had lost to something as stupid as a thirty-day abstinence.
So, he was going to stick through it.
Oscar had won. Fair and square. Even after you had put him through a month's worth of blueballing and sent him spiralling on more than one occasion.
To be honest, you had forgotten about it for a moment. The challenge was so long that you had woken up the next morning, resuming your normal routine, about to leave the bedroom to run some small errands outside when Oscar grabbed your hand, pulling you close to him, bodies flushed against one another.
"Oh no you don't," he murmured. Before you could even speak, his lips were on yours. His hands immediately wrap around your waist, pricking your skin with a familiar heat that made you burn under his touch. His fingers inched up the hem of your shirt, finding your bare skin to grab closer.
The gentle moans from your mouth set Oscar alight, a warm flare burning in his chest as goosebumps trickled over his nape. He nudged your lips open, tongue darting out to explore every warm crevice— unhurried yet desperate as thought he was trying to consume you.
A grunt slipped past your lips, thighs clenched at the heat rippling through your core. Your hands travelled his hair, tugging on his brown locks with brief movement, setting off a satisfied hum in your chest that boarded on making you combust.
"Missed these fucking lips," he rasped. And he had. He had been mindful, so mindful, to not kiss you a second longer than he needed to. Because that was all it took for him to stay stuck to you. No make outs because he knew the moment he had you on his lap and he felt you press up on him; he would be gone for.
His teeth grazed your lips, one hand moving to roam your bare back, slowly inching towards the curve of your ass as he felt his pants tighten with every passing second. It was a strange pain. One that he had been curbing for thirty days and now... now he could unleash it.
You weren't sure when you had arrived back to the bed, your legs hitting the sides of the mattress. A series of pants fell from your throat as Oscar's lips moved to your neck, hands removing your shirt while you did the same to him. He made it his mission to leave marks, lines of his desperation along your nape and chest, fingers unclasping your bra in one swift move. "Get it off," he pleaded, "Take it all off."
You couldn't help but laugh, shimming out of the leggings you know he had been eyeing you in. You barely removed your panties off your feet before he has you lying flat on the mattress, legs spread far out by his hands, bare cunt exposed to him and the cool air.
Oscar wasted no time, mouth delving into your folds. Your head fell back into the mattress, a moan deep from your chest flying from your lips as his tongue dug into your slick pussy, darting at every single crevice he could find. He was a starved animal in heat, lapping at you because for thirty days you had denied him your very being. And now he was going to savour you while making you regret even bringing it up.
"Fuck," he groaned against your cunt, sound vibrating through your core. "Taste so good, baby." He had missed this. The sweet, sharp taste of you on his tongue while his fingers clamped deeper into your thighs, shifting you closer to his tastebuds. The ghost of his smirk sprawled over your folds when your hands sifted through his brown locks, tugging when his nose knocked against your clit, tongue prodding into your hole.
"Holy–ngh!" You moaned, hips lifting up instinctively to grind against him, fighting his iron-clad grip around your thighs. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, breathing uneven, rushing to catch up with the sex-crazed air around you.
Oscar's tongue moved to your clit, moving in circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, switching between a fast and slow rhythm, fingers, fingers pushing into your cunt. He hummed at the way your warm walls clenched around him as he thrusted them in and out of you, speeding up at your moans began to build.
He grinned at the urgent grind of your hips. "You wanna come, baby?" He huffed, curling his fingers in that spot, making you gasp, big eyes falling to him—dazed and pleading. He chuckled, hot breath washing over your folds. And in one movement, he took out his fingers. "Not quite yet."
You groaned, hips falling back down as you panted heavily. "Osc, please."
"You don't get to beg," Oscar spat, almost mean. He grabbed your hips, pulling you closer to him, turning you on your stomach. His hand groped your bare ass, tilting you so your chin pushed down into the mattress, the prettiest view of your back facing him. He sighed, teasing while his thumb skimmed between your folds, now dripping with his touch and your slick.
His head leaned down, swollen lips pressed along the spine of your back, leaving a trail of kisses as he reached your ass, bunny teeth gently gnawing at the ample flesh, marking you with red bites. He gathered the warm saliva in his mouth, letting it dribble over your cunt.
Oscar groaned at the sight, aligning himself with your body. His hips leaned forward, hard cock rubbing up against the makeshift lube. "Fuck," he grunted, head falling back, teeth biting down on his swollen lip. He wanted to tease... to torture the way you had been for the past month. But he couldn’t. His restraint was falling thin.
The least he could do was remind you.
Your fingers reached for the bedsheets as you felt him push into you, broken grunt falling from your lips. "Shitttt," you whined, feeling his hands move to your hips, beginning to move against you with a new crafted rhythm. He rutted against you, pushing his aching cock into your walls that gripped him like a vice.
"Look at you," Oscar huffed, gripping you tightly as he thrusted from behind, obscene sounds of your skin slapping against one another echoing in the late morning. "Could've been fucked like this all month but no," he muttered with a small chuckle, grunting at the way you clenched around him.
You fisted the bedsheets tightly, knuckles going white as your whimpers matching the fast pace of his cock drilling into you. Your skin was hot, flushed, and completely bothered by his touch. "Fuckkk, Osc," you moaned, eyes closing shut. God, you felt so full. "Ngh— feels so good!"
"Just had to be a brat about it, didn't you?" Oscar growled, brown eyes rolling at the way his cock disappeared into your pussy like you were swallowing him whole, coating him in your arousal. And fuck, he wouldn't tell you because you’d poke fun afterwards, but he missed being inside you. "But you feel this, don't you? You feel my cock? Deep enough to make sure you don’t pull that shit ever again. Tell me. Tell me you won’t do something that stupid again."
You whimpered at his words, ass shifting up against him, trying to get closer to him if possible. You gasped for air, nodding profusely against the bedsheets. "Yes, yes, yes!" You cried out, biting down on the fabric when you felt one of his hands move from your hips to your clit, moving in quick circles.
He moaned, pulling you up against him, letting a new rush of cold air skim your burning body as your sweat clung to each other and your head fell against his shoulder. His chest roared at your flushed cheeks, reddened lips begging for his attention. He pressed his mouth to yours, swallowing your beautiful sounds, letting you taste yourself.
"Fuck, fuck, Oscar," you breathed out, knuckles turning white as you grabbed his hands around your stomach, walls clenched around his cock. The pleasure was dizzying. "Shit, I'm gonna..." you gasped, unable to complete your words, turning silent while the bedroom ceiling blurred, covered in stars as your orgasm hit you in sharp waves.
"Oh my God!" He cried out, hips fucking into you even faster, his touch on your clit even more brutal, ignoring your sensitivity. "Another," he panted "Gimme another, baby. It's least you can do after thirty days."
"Osc," you swallowed, breathing hard, still moaning. "I can't, fuck," you choked, writhing in his grasp. The pleasure was getting out of hand. Tints of pain hindered the heat curled low in your stomach; tears pricked at your eyes. But fuck, why did it feel so good?
"Yes, yes you can," he maintained, getting closer and closer to his release. "Fuck, make me proud, baby."
It hit you again, longer and sharper. You were shaking in his arms, body convulsing with a euphoria unlike any other, the effect of not having Oscar in so long. Your cries were consumed by his mouth, feeling his cock plunge into you faster and faster. His pace was almost inhumane, threatening to bring a third out of you.
"Fuckfuckfuck!" He moaned against your lips, sound desperate and weak as his hips stuttered against you, ropes of his hot cum spilling into your cunt, reaching every crevice, keeping you full and warm.
For a moment, you both laid there. Not saying a word, simply revelling in every breath and echo of his heartbeat against your back, trying to let the air back into your lungs. Your skin stuck together with thin sheets of sweat, a reminder of how much effort and turmoil you had put each other through.
Oscar breathed heavy, pulling you into him with a short tug, dragging you further into the mattress. He pressed a soft tired kiss against your neck, tucking his chin into your shoulder while he hugged you.
"Never again," he huffed, kissing your shoulder repeatedly.
"I think it was pretty fun," you teased, smile wide on your face.
He eyed you with a small glare. "Because you weren't the one going to bed with a boner every night."
You snorted, tilting your head to get a glimpse of him. Your hand moved to tap his nose, making him grin. "You should be glad I didn't touch myself next to you. Then you would've definitely lost."
summary: "you're too young for her." that's what everyone had told him when kimi laid eyes on mercedes' newest recruit. but a man that yearns is a man that earns.
warnings: fluff, poor humour, age gap (reader is assumed around 29-ish), kimi is slightly aged but unmentioned, angst, silverstone 2026, yearning, flirting, insecurity // poorly proof read as usual
word count: 5.7k
a/n: this was so cute aghhhh. made it more angsty by accident ngl. based on this request!
As young as he was, Andrea Kimi Antonelli was a patient man.
He had to be. Between the constant training, messed up strategies, various time zones, the crowds of fans, long work hours, invasive journalists, cumbersome plane rides—Kimi had to believe patience was the right answer. A virtue like so many had said before.
He had trained his patience the same way he had trained himself. With time and dedication. A fragile appreciation that couldn't easily be seen in any conversation or any race. Sure it thinned and yes, at times it broke. But Rome wasn't built in a day. Nor was he.
It led to a sense of obligation to time itself. The value in what history could provide. How rich experience truly was.
But that wasn't something Kimi had realised until he met you.
He could still remember it.
Pre-season. The sun was out despite the chilly weather and excitement thick with the new regulations in place. He was waltzing down the paddock with Isack and Arvid like had done many a time before. The whispers of a Mercedes domination with every step. He was talking, probably about something useless because nothing would ever compare to whatever you were talking about with Max and Charles just a few metres away.
It was like time itself had stopped, forcing Kimi to appreciate what was right in front of him. The glimpses of you were brief initially. Yet he could see it. How your hands moved animatedly. The way the sun seemed to hit your eyes in the perfect angle. The crinkles if your smile, wide and etched into your face. And your laugh... God, your laugh, it was as if it had been coated in honey and gold.
For a second, Kimi thought his heart would stop. He hadn't even met you and yet you had his brain scrambled. Nowhere near as functional as it should be. Severed neuronal links. Miscommunication between each lobe.
Suddenly it was Charles' voice in the air, signalling for them to come by. "You guys! Come meet ___."
Kimi braved the perfect smile onto his face, like his knees weren't turning into jelly with each step he took towards you. And the closer he got to you, the more beautiful you got. Was that even possible? Well it was now.
Charles smiled as the three young drivers reached. "Kimi, Arvid, Isack, this is ___,” he gestured towards you. "You guys don't know her but she used to work back in Red Bull a few years back. Best strategist ever. Went down to Indy though," he grumbled, faking an eye roll.
Max sighed, shaking his head at the big loss. "And now she's back for you."
Kimi blinked, chest leaping at the pair of eyes falling to his face. "For me?" He queried with surprised, finger pointing at himself innocently. His gaze dropped to the peak of turquoise and the familiar logo underneath your jacket. No freaking way...
You simply smiled at the wide brown eyes looking at you, head tipping in agreement. "Yup. Well, Mercedes anyways," you chuckled.
"You're in safe hands, Kimi," Max pointed out, still slightly bitter. "Serious to God, you'll have the best races this year."
You rolled your eyes before looking down at your watch. "Okay. That's enough fluffing my ego. I have a meeting to attend. But it was nice meeting you Kimi. I look forward to working with you."
Kimi watched as you stretched out your hand towards him. He swallowed tightly, fingers hesitantly reaching out to wrap around your hand. For a second, he almost pulled back at the light current passing through his palm. His eyes flickered up, curious as to whether you had felt it or not. But if you did, you didn't show it. He breathed in, smiling quietly. "Nice to meet you too, ___."
The seconds were far too short, your hand already leaving his as you took a step back. He could practically feel his heart frown while you bidded goodbye. He watched, frozen, while you walked further and further away and yet in his head, you were still right there in front of him.
Charles turned back, about to bring up how glad he was to have you back when he spotted the dazed look on Kimi's face. It was mystified and warm. Unable to peel away from you. His head shook almost instantly. "Oh no. No, no. Don't even think about it, Kimi."
Max mended his brows, eyes drifting to the Italian with curiosity. He almost sighed when he realised. "Oh God," he muttered.
"What?" Kimi said, a feigned innocence coating his voice as he shrugged as Arvid and Isack peeked their heads in confusion.
"You're too young for her, Kimi," Charles immediately said.
Max nodded in agreement. "Look, she loves her job. She'll never give you the time of day, okay? People have tried before and failed. She's a closed book. So just forget about whatever you're feeling before you get hurt."
"Is she single?"
Max's face fell flat. "Did you not hear what I just sai—"
"Well, is she?" Kimi queried pressingly. He hoped you were. God, he hoped. But a part of him thought it'd also be a tragedy if you were. Because how dare someone like you have no one to worship you?
Charles nodded vaguely. "I mean, yeah but—"
"Then that settles it," Kimi sighed decidedly with a small nod.
Max blinked, head shaking with disbelief as he took a moment register what was going on. "Do not say we didn't warn you," he grumbled.
Kimi only smiled quietly. Maybe people had tried before. But those people were not him. He was not raised a quitter. With the elegance of patience, for you, he would have all the time in the world.
It had all started off small. Seeing you in the garage and Brackley, Kimi had taken the time to learn you. Between every break and every breath, it was you his eyes travelled to, you who he found every excuse to talk to.
Even as he trained a few floors below you, it was you he thought of when the applied force was killing him. Wondering whether you liked tea or coffee. By the end of the day he had figured out your usual order was espresso with a bit of cream.
In a time where Kimi usually had his thoughts together, he had found himself overthinking every little thing he did. How he'd look when you entered the room (he had indeed practiced casual poses in the mirror). How he sounded when he spoke (hopefully not too eager).
And with all of it, he wanted your attention.
So Kimi laughed a little louder in the room you stood in. Tried a little too hard in every media duty is was assigned, hoping he'd find your eyes staring back. He didn't mind looking stupid if it made you laugh. All while the older drivers shook their heads at him.
Needless to say, you had found Kimi quite talkative. There always a mix of drivers in motorsports. The minimal talkers, the 'I'm-superior-to-you,' or the conversationalists. And then there was Kimi. His questions were endless and some meaningless.
As a strategist, do you think you'd survive well in an apocalypse? You'd like to think so.
Can we come up with a secret code for the radio? You queried what that would even look like. Apparently 'Kimi is handsome' was code for pitting in a lap's time.
In an apocalypse, if you could bring three things to entertain you, what would it be? What was it with this kid and apocalypses?
Besides being talkative, Kimi was also... touchy. Was that the right word? You had no idea. Apparently it was an Italian thing according to George. Still, you had almost lost your mind when you had walked into work one morning and found him with your coffee order in hand, running late for a meeting with Toto, inching towards you to leave a quick kiss on the side of your cheeks before leaving.
Yeah... apparently that was normal.
Even when the temperatures never seemed to rise, you never seemed to realise, too focused on your work. But Kimi did. He would appear in front of you, warm hands wordlessly grabbing yours.
"You're freezing," Kimi would exclaim, shaking his head like he was disappointed as he rubbed your hands to bring some heat back into them.
You swallowed tightly, turning away from your laptop. You shrugged awkwardly, bewildered with what you were experiencing. "Work hazard, I guess."
And then he'd frown. A day later, you had a pair of gloves all boxed up on your desk with a note saying 'Can't have my favourite strategist cold. - K.'
Then there was that other day. Where he had called you over to ask a question about the car but noticed how you kept shoving the fabric of your long sleeve up your arms as you tried to answer his query.
And all Kimi did was nod to your explanation, hands moving without a second thought, slowly folding the fabric over each arm, fingers tips grazing your wrist as did. His ears perked at the loss of your voice in the ear. "What? Why'd you stop?" He'd ask.
You bit your lip, rigidly pulling your hand away from him. "I can do that myself," you murmured, fingers tightening over where he had been just moments ago.
Kimi nodded. "I know. I just wanted to," he shrugged casually.
It was all sweet, you supposed. You couldn't exactly say you were weirded out. His intentions seemed good. Pure. But you had seen your fair share of Italians... were they all really like this?
If George said so... perhaps they were. So you had resumed your work without thinking about it too much. Kimi was just your overly nice co-worker. That was all.
But somewhere, somehow, things had changed.
You had known it the moment it had happened. Where you were sitting down in the Mercedes motorhome, after Kimi's first win. While the other's were celebrating, you were still working. Not because you particularly wanted to, but because a part of you still felt a little out of place. A new team, new people... even after all these years, the celebrating part never seemed to get any less awkward.
"What are you doing?"
You blinked, peeling your eyes away from your laptop as the voice that become familiar to you over the past few months. You eyed the heaving figure in front of you with curiosity. "Looking at telemetry data..." You trailed off, brow raising. "What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be celebrating?"
Kimi swallowed, inching closer towards you. His hand reached out, shutting the lid of your laptop gently. His eyes flitted to you, a depth of sadness to them. "How can I celebrate when you're not there?"
You snorted, not really registering the skip of your heart. "You don't need me to celebrate, Kimi," you said pointedly, looking over your messily jotted down notes, even worse to read as the sun set in China.
"I need you. I need you all the time."
And there it was. That sudden tightness in your chest as his words rung in your head.
You snapped your eyes to him, slightly wide. The look on his face was firm. Resolute. No regret lingering. And if you stared a little longer, you could see a warmth to it you had never felt before.
No. You were imagining it. That wasn't even possible!
"Well... what are you waiting for?"
You blinked again, shaking your head from those strange thoughts. "Sorry, what?" You asked, eyes falling to his outstretched hand. You swallowed tightly. God, had the temperature in this room increased? It was awfully hot all of a sudden.
"Come and celebrate with me," Kimi simply said, fingers dangling in a way that pleaded you.
You stared quietly. In the short time you had known Kimi, this was probably the first time he had kept some sort of distance between you. Any other day, any other moment you would put good money on the fact he would've just dragged you along. But here he stood, waiting with bated breath.
And you could hear him exhale with what you could only discern as relief when you slid your fingers onto his palm. You pressed your lips at the small grin on his face, boyish in every aspect.
"I promise you won't regret it," he breathed.
You raised your brows, unable to stop yourself from returning the grin. "I'm counting on it."
"Buongiorno!" Kimi greeted loudly as he usually did when he entered the garage, drifting through the mounds of team members working. All you knew that if he didn't say it, something was seriously wrong.
His eyes averted to you, another thing he usually did. Routine now to look at you first and then everyone else. You were sat as you usually were. Next to Bono, hyperfocused on your laptop, running numerous models of simulation data.
"Buongiorno, ___," Kimi announced, resting his elbows on the table, waiting for your response before he went on his merry way to start with some light training.
You barely moved your eyes off the screen, used to this small meet-and-greet with Kimi by now. "Morning, Kimi," you murmured, leaning in further into the screen.
He smiled quietly to himself, moving his eyes when he suddenly met Bono's gaze—cautious and reprimanding. He blinked though he kept his smile, undeterred. His race engineer was just one of the many who had been warning him, again and again.
Kimi breathed in quietly, about to move towards his driver's room when something made him stop in his footsteps. He snapped his back to you. Blinking once. And then twice more. But the sight never changed—marginally
"Did you cut your hair?"
You froze at the question, finally moving your eyes from your screen to him. "Um..." Your lips parted as he leaned closer across the table, brown eyes raking over your face carefully.
"You did," Kimi nodded slowly in approval. "It looks nice."
Your cheeks warmed, watching Kimi simply walk away without another word. Awkwardly, you flickered your gaze to the raised brows belonging to Bono. You cleared your throat, hands moving rigidly while you spoke, "It was just on the sides. Like a trim..."
Bono sucked in a sharp breath, opting to say nothing as he turned back to his work. You brows furrowed embarrassingly, hand reaching over to hide your face as you stared at your reflection in your laptop. Your heart paced in your chest, echoing in your ears louder than you could even think.
Oh my God.
You yawned tiredly at your screen. You had been at this for hours. The data seemed to pile up with Kimi and George at the forefront of the championship. Your calls had been mostly perfect. However, some had gotten you a strange glance. Mixed with a questionable power unit, things were looking bleak despite being all the wins in your favour.
Your eyes fluttered with the heavy beckon towards the dark abyss, head threatening to fall onto your laptop. You blinked suddenly, taking in a sharp breath. You patted your cheeks firmly. "Just a little more. One more sheet and I'll go home," you muttered, blinking once again.
Ideally, you should've done this on your desk. Not the bloody couch in your office. But your feet were sore and the chair had turned immensely uncomfortable. The sacrifice, however, was taking the risk to fall asleep.
Your ears perked at the abrupt knock on your doorframe, heart lurching out of your chest. You breathed out shakily, moving your eyes from your laptop. It was Kimi. Of course.
"What are you still doing here?" Kimi sighed, leaning on your doorframe, arms folded and face decorated with a disappointed frown as he peeked through your blinds, spotting the night sky easily. "You need to go home."
"I will," you maintained, unable to stop the small yawn from escaping your mouth. "I'm almost done," you said.
He narrowed his eyes at you. Liar. He drew a quiet breath in, steps gentle against the carpet as he bent down next to the couch. His arms reached out to take your laptop away from you.
"Hey—"
"Take a nap. Ten minutes and then you can work on it," he stated firmly, putting your laptop on the nearby coffee table, lightly shutting the screen.
"But—"
"You look tired," Kimi murmured, brushing his thumb under your eye, soft and gentle with all the worry in the world. As if he was tracing the shadows off of your skin, patient with your sudden silence.
"I'm not tired," you whispered though your eyes felt heavy and your chest warm. One blink away from falling asleep. Another from thinking this was all a dream.
It was a simple decision. Taking off his jacket and gently covering you with it, encasing you with a warmth only familiar to him. He smiled quietly, hand moving to pat your head with a fragility that made his own skin burn. "Liar," he murmured, brown eyes watching you tenderly. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up, belle."
It didn't take long. A minute or two where all your refusals had ceased and turned into soft breaths. Only the sound of your clock accompanied his heartbeats. Like a hushed roar in his chest.
An ache, really. Heavier as he quietly adjusted one of the couch's pillows underneath your head. He swallowed as you shifted, bringing yourself closer to the pillow and to him. He sighed to himself, moving the loose tresses from your face.
For the past few months, he had been ignoring everything everyone had said. The taunting reminders from Max. The looks from Charles. The raised brows from George. He thought that if he was undeterred, he wouldn't be affected. But as he sat here next to you, his fear grew at the thought of what he didn't have with you.
These days it was becoming impossible to detach you from anything. Every thought, every breath, every blink... all he had had become consumed by you. He wasn't sure when what he felt had become so deeply engrained. Far more than the world-stopping glimpse he had when he first saw you.
He had watched you grow with the team. Watched your guards break down with him. Seen you become nervous because of him. Slowly but surely choose yourself over your work.
You told stories. You laughed. You lived.
You were like a constant in his life. Wholeheartedly, you had become the subject of his prayers. The bare bones of his religion. Leaving his soul aching for yours.
And it wasn't that he was impatient. He could wait. Even if you had told him to come back in ten years, he would do it in a heartbeat. But the idea that this could also all disappear... that terrified him the most.
Things were beginning to get worse.
Because there was no part of you that had thought about this when you had signed your contract with Mercedes. That you would be standing here, in front of the bathroom mirror, convincing yourself that some kid was not making you blush and your chest tighten spontaneously throughout the day. No. Not a single part of you.
But you were.
It was sickening.
Something had to be wrong with you.
Becuase this was not happening. You definitely didn’t like Kimi Antonelli.
You were just... out of the practice. Yeah. That was it. All these many years dedicated to your work, you had ignored all opportunities of romance. So much you had now become delusional.
You had even done the maths. That gap... boy, it was more than five. But it didn't matter because this wasn't real. You were imagining things.
But what if you weren't?
You hadn't imagined that every time you heard your name come from Kimi's mouth, in a room full of people, it sounded like it was always only meant for you. It was soft yet heavy. Casual yet so intentional. And you had never heard your name spoken that way.
Or how he memorised every little thing about you. Screw your invisible two-inch trim. He knew your favourite songs, sneakily adding them to the queue in the garage. The sudden bouquet of your favourite flowers that had ended up next to your laptop could've only been done by him. He sat down with you during breaks to play your favourite board game. No one had ever done that for you.
But worse of all, you didn't know when you had let yourself become an open book.
And no matter how much your head spun, torn, you couldn't take back what you had spilled. Instead your heart seemed to had grown claws, desperate as it tried to tear out of your chest, reaching towards Kimi.
But he was so young.
You sighed so deeply it hurt as you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror. "Fuck," you grumbled with annoyance, rubbing your stinging eyes harshly. The longer you looked, the more your stomach churned. Perhaps this was better. The disgust rather than the want.
You nodded, hearing the bathroom door open, reminding you of the reality outside of these four walls. Right. Back to work.
"Buon—" Kimi paused, brows furrowing at the empty space where you usually sat. He blinked blankly, heart practically frowning at the sight. He turned his head as Bono walked past. "Where's ___?"
Bono sighed. Of course that was the first thing he'd ask in the morning. What else was he to expect? "In Brackley," he responded flatly, taking his seat next to your empty spot.
"What?" Kimi queried with disbelief, stepping towards his engineer. He might as well have said someone had died. "Why?"
Why the hell were you not here in Silverstone? With the team. With him. And why the hell didn't he know about it?
Bono looked down the bridge of his nose, through his glasses. "She said she wanted to work from there this weekend. Something about being closer to home."
Kimi narrowed his gaze. "This is Silverstone, Bono. This is home," he deadpanned, hands falling to his side. What the heck was going on?
"I don't know what to tell you, mate," Bono shrugged. "Now hurry up and get training."
Kimi pursed his lips, head shaking as he forced his feet to move towards his driver's room. This didn't feel right. Everything about this felt wrong. It was like someone had told him Santa didn't exist.
Without you, there was a void in the garage. Even the clouds were darkening in the peak of this heatwave. Rain... during a heatwave. Now that'd be the day.
Kimi shoved his bag in his room, opening his phone without a second thought. He pressed your name in his contacts, letting the call ring throughout the air. He was patient. Even when the ring had turned into voicemail.
"___... is everything okay? You're not here. But you're always here," he stated the obvious, voice sparse and bleak. "Can you call me back and tell me everything's okay? I just need to know you're fine," he murmured, fingers tightening around his phone.
Every race you ever strategised, you always gave it a percentage of how wrong it could go. A safeguard. Five percent. That was the maximum amount you allowed. One wrong call that wasn't deterimental. That wasn't race-destroying.
But as you sat from the Mercedes headquarters, you couldn't tell where the line between wrong and right started and finished.
Kimi's pole had been dismantled right from the start, dropping him to third position, leaving Charles to lead. And even when he had made it back to P1 once the Ferrari pitted and played the long game, things had begun to fall apart after you had called him in for a pit. Yellow flags and safety cars beyond your wildest imagination.
But it struck you the most when you heard it. Lap 41.
"I have something broken in the car."
It was like your heart had sunk and nausea had hit all at once. Even around you, the silence was thick. As if a single sound would disrupt this moment of hope. A pray that nothing was broken. That this was all a sick joke.
But it continued between Kimi and Bono while you frantically searched the data with the others. The data made no sense. Numbers slowing down like there was something wrong. Yet, everywhere you looked, there was not a damn thing wrong with the car itself.
It was a dreading call you had to make after you had rushed your exchanges with your co-workers. Between the car and track limits... "Just... Just tell him to retire the car."
The silence hit yet again. Even from Kimi. A bitter pill no one wanted to swallow.
"I can try! I can try to get a point! At least one point!"
You pursed your lips at the strained voice through the radio. You breathed in deeply, head shaking at the pang in your heart. "He's way past track limits. It’s a five-second penalty if he stays out. Just bring the the car back," you stated firmly.
But Kimi doesn't listen. Not to Bono. Not to your orders through him. Remaining out, he was desperate. You could almost see it over his car as he drove, rushing to keep his distance from Colapinto beyond five seconds.
One point. One point. One point.
You could've sworn you almost threw up with the yellow flags came out again as Max crashed. And with the safety car out and a five second penalty, Kimi's dreams of a single point had diminished just like that.
You had done almost everything you could have in your apartment. Cleaned, thrown the rubbish out, cleaned again, sorted everything like a maniac, and deep cleaned. But nothing had quite silenced the voices in your head post-race.
The post-race debrief was a heavy one. Even as you sat in on it from Brackley, the silence was unlike anything you had heard before. A hit to Kimi's championship all because of a mechanical failure. The apologies had been made from the team to Kimi as well. But it hadn't reduced the heavy blow of it all. It was too soon, too raw to accept.
You sighed as you shifted on your couch, closing your eyes for the umpteenth time in the past twenty minutes. You had tried to sleep it off. A quick mind-numbing nap. But with every minute that passed, you couldn't ignore the increasingly empty void. Like you were missing a certain presence near you.
Kimi's presence.
You grabbed the pillow underneath your head and smashed it over your face, groaning with annoyance. This was ridiculous. You were a grown woman upset and torn over some bloody kid.
What was wrong with you?
Why couldn't you just separate yourself from this? You had done it before, time and time again. Ignored the numbers slipped onto pieces of papers, brushed off the flirting comments, and shut down any attempts to take you out. What the hell made Kimi so different?
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
You leaned forward from your couch, eyeing your door curiously. You stood up with the second round of knocking, sighing tiredly as you walked over. Who on earth was disturbing your meltdown right no—
"Kimi," you breathed, eyes wide as you opened the door. Your words seemed to get lodged in your throat, stuck with every thought rushing to your head. Why was he here? How did he get here?
"I... um, I—" you paused at the reddened eyes staring back at you. Like he had been crying. You sighed deeply, shoulders slumping. "I'm so sorry, Kimi. That... That shouldn't have happened to you."
Kimi swallowed tightly, not saying anything for a moment. His eyes lingered like they always did, ensuring you were in front of him. That you hadn't disappeared like he thought you had.
"You never called me back."
You blinked, chest tightening at his words. "I... I silenced my phone when I got into work," you murmured, as though you hadn't watched his name sprawl onto your screen. Like you hadn't listened to his message twice. You sucked in a sharp breath. "Look,
"Why didn't you call me back?"
"Kimi—" You interjected with a sigh, stepping back as he took a step forward.
"I wouldn't have minded if you even said something on the radio," he exasperated, skin still flushed with exhaustion. "Just... something. Anything to say you were here. That you were fine."
"Kimi," you grumbled under your breath, mind beginning to ache. Your breath shook as he grabbed your hand, the action careful and controlled.
"___, I don't care if we do whatever this is for five years or ten. As long as you're here with me," he heaved, fingers tightening. The burden on his shoulders had finally begun taking its toll, patience thinner than usual today. He had to have it out today.
You shook your head, unable to take the weight of what you were able to hear. "Please, don't do this, Kimi," you breathed, hand aching to prick his fingers off of you.
"No, I have to say this. I... I want to be yours, and I’m trying to be deserving of it. And if you let me, I promise I'll be good," he lamented, brown eyes filled with tears for the second time today.
Your chest ached, heart skipping in ways that should've made you happy. Not fearful.
The hurt slashed across his face in a way that tore your heart as you pulled your hand out of his grasp. You chewed your lip nervously, head still shaking. "You're a kid, for crying out loud, Kimi!" You exclaimed, throat tightening. "You have no idea what you want. And I'm certain it's not me. You’re... You're too young for me."
Kimi blinked at the sentence he had heard again and again in the past few months. He hated it. He hated it with the same amount of passion he liked you.
"I'm might be young. But I'm not a kid. I'm not an idiot," he whispered sorely, voice cracking. "I know what I'm doing. I know what I want. And its you."
"You're not thinking this through," you swallowed thickly. "I mean, one day, I'll be like fifty. I don't know... old and used. And you'll be still be young," you murmured with a frown.
"At least you're thinking about our future. That's a start," Kimi weakly joked, breathing in.
"Kimi," you chided with a small glare. "I'm serious."
He sighed, stepping closer towards you, not leaving a gap as he rested his head on yours. His hand reached out to push your hair behind your ear, stopping at the curve of your jaw, fingertips tingling against your skin.
"I don't care," he whispered, brown eyes holding your gaze without faltering. "Old, young... I want you however you are. You're always beautiful in my eyes. And 'used?' Belle," he clicked his tongue, lips quirking almost with amusement. "I'm not letting you go. You're gonna be stuck with me forever."
You gave him a small grin, eyes rolling before you paused on the few stray tears that had fallen unbeknownst to you. You sighed, soft pads of your fingers wiping away the damp liquid gently. "Sorry, I made you cry," you murmured, guilt already beginning to fester.
Kimi grabbed the back of your hand with his and kissed the side of your palm deeply. "Its behind us now," he mumbled, looking back at you with slightly raised brows. "There is an 'us' right?"
You smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah. I want you too," you said quietly, barely even audible as the heat in your cheeks grew. God, this was strangely humiliating. Like you were a kid with a crush all over again. Except, you were admitting it to someone a lot younger than you.
"Sorry, what was that?" Kimi asked, teasing grin on his face. "I didn't quite catch that."
"Ugh, you're awful," you complained loudly, pushing him away from you. "I take it back. I don't like you. I hate you. Despise you in fact. Loathe y—"
Kimi grinned wider, pulling you by the hand before he pressed his lips against yours.
Time seemed to slow once again. The world stopping just for the both of you. Your hands fell to his waist, fisting the material of his shirt while his hands rested on your jaw. His nose knocked against yours, head tilting while you parted his mouth with a simple ease, much to your surprise.
Despite being out of practice, you supposed experience triumphed this one.
The air in Kimi's lungs seemed to burn, feverishly caught while any thought he once had had melted. Of course he couldn't think. Not when he could feel the tips of your fingers sear through his shirt. Or the smell of your perfume wrap around him so closely he could almost taste it on his tongue.
You shivered at soft noise falling from Kimi's throat, feeling his hand move to your waist to bring you closer against him. Your skin boiled with a heat unlike any other. Your chest soaring to heights you had never imagined.
You smiled quietly against his lips, feeling his urgency begin to take over. With a soft chuckle, you pulled away, returning his breath to him. You heaved, eyes grinning at him. "That's enough for now," you teased.
"Oh come on," Kimi murmured, skin positively flushed. "I could do that forever," he breathed.
You rolled your eyes, stepping back from him. "Now close the door. You've let all the cold air in," you huffed, turning back to your living room with a blank mind and giddy smile. Jesus Christ... something was definitely wrong with you.
He sighed, moving to do as you said as his brows furrowed. "What were you doing before I got here?" He queried, clicking the door shut.
You hummed, shifting on your feet as you turned back towards him. "I was trying to take a nap. But I couldn't," you shrugged. You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. "Speaking of that... how did you get here? You didn't pester Bono into giving you my address, did you?"
Kimi scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile as he took a step forward. "Let's just take a nap together, shall we?"
Maybe something with max/lando where they fight with reader and she goes out to unwind but has a crash/incident in the street, nothing major but angsty (they can both be in the car tho, do as u please) sorry for my english <3
the fondness of distance - MV33
pairing: max verstappen x gf!fem!reader
summary: max's recent distance from you finally reaches it's boiling point and it lands you in the hospital.
warnings: fluff, angst, arguing, miscommunication, reader gets into an accident, injuries, mentions of blood, indirect mentions of mental health, mentions of crashing/spinning cars, j*s mention // poorly proof-read ♡︎
word count: 2.7k+
a/n: hello anon! sorry it took so long to complete but here you go! it's hard to write max reqs without thinking of rd!max ARGHHH but i'm trying lol! lmk what you think ♡︎
tag list ♡︎: @moonvr @justaf1girl
🏎️ masterlist | ⚽️ masterlist
You supposed this fight had been a long time coming. Something that had been building up for a few weeks now.
The obnoxiously long hours Max had been spending on the simulator. The magic excuse he had before leaving for training, saying he couldn't help you with your task at the time. Heading straight to bed after you finished dinner to watch some old races. He joked less. He barely hugged you like he did before. His attention to your pets had been minimal—needless to say, Jimmy was not a happy cat.
Max wasn't angered easily. But with the mention of his fifth championship potentially being won, he had been neglecting you.
You had decided to play along with it. You didn't want to mess anything up. So, you thought pulling back was the best thing you could do. Maintaining a small distance, letting him leave when he wanted to, not choosing to pick at all the things that had been bothering you... but you just couldn't understand why he wouldn't communicate with you. This had never been a problem. You were in the healthiest relationship you had ever known. Yet every opportunity you gave him was shut down, saying he was fine.
But it took one thing to break your silence.
It was a Tuesday night after the very interesting Mexico GP. You were finishing dinner together as per usual. Max had been talking about the stream he had just done, laugh slowly coming to a stop when he realised you weren't responding as much. His hand reached over the table, resting on yours. "Hey, are you okay?" He asked.
You blinked, looking up from your empty plate and at him. You took in the concerned expression over his face. It was strange. You hadn't seen it recently. The deep look in his eyes nor the small frown on his face. You painted a tight smile on your face and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. You were saying?"
He furrowed his brows at your response. "Schat, you've been like this all week. Sitting far away from me, smiling less... you were even at the back of the podium on Sunday. What's going on?"
Your jaw clenched. You had done that. Standing at the back of the crowd in Mexico with his father because you had truly been at a loss. And with his father muttering some unkind words under his breath, you couldn't find the courage to go the front. But that wasn't the point. He had noticed. Just like you had. And he had waited a week to ask. A whole goddamn week. While you had been asking him what was wrong for weeks.
You breathed out slowly, grabbing your plate, and standing up from the table. "Can we not do this right now? I just want to go to bed."
Max watched you head towards the kitchen, standing up after you. "No. I want to talk about this. If something's wrong, I want to know so I can help," he exasperated, putting his plate into the sink before turning to you, hand resting on his hip. His brows were low as he tried to figure out what was going on.
The laugh falling from your lips was sharp yet dry. "Oh, so now you want to talk?" You hummed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He retorted, baffled at your snarky tone. You never sounded like this. So... mean. It was unusual. Unsettling.
You stared at him blankly. Max was smart. You knew that. He knew it. But God, he could be so dumb. And it made your blood boil. "What's that supposed to— I'm sorry, what do you call the past few weeks? All those hours on the simulator, training instead of resting and spending time with me or the pets. You have dinner, you go to bed, or you race. I mean God, you barely even look at me anymore!"
Max blinked, taken aback by your confessions, mind instantly trying to decipher the memories you had brought up. The look on his face was as if you had attempted to hurl a knife into his heart because that's exactly where your words had landed. He hadn't realised he had been doing all of that. He had just gotten so caught up and he didn't want to bring you into this mess...
"T-That's not true! It's just with the championship and everything—"
You chuckled sorely, dull eyes staring back at him. "Ah yes... the championship. I never thought that would be the thing to drive a wedge between us," you sighed bitterly, shaking your head with disbelief.
His championships had always been a source of happiness for the both of you. At least for the most part. It symbolised your celebration, his hard work and efforts, and your pride. It made all the difficulties through the year worth it. But you had gotten through it together. But this year... that wasn't the case.
"A wedge?" He queried with incredulity. He swallowed, shaking his head frantically. "There's no wedge. You know how my father is. He's been pestering me about this since those points came to me. I... I don't want to let him down. You know how it is."
You raised your hands in the air, looking at him puzzled. "How am I supposed to know that if you don't tell me?" You huffed, letting your hands fall to your side.
"I thought you'd know!"
You fell silent at his exclaim, watching a familiar flush of red take over his face. He was tired. You were tired. You chewed in the inside of your cheek before speaking. "I'm not a goddamn mind reader, Max," you hissed, swallowing at his small flinch when you mentioned his name. "This doesn't work if I'm the only one talking."
Max's heart ached at your words. His brain buffered as you stepped away, inching towards the front door, grabbing the keys from the hook next to it. He furrowed his brows. "Where are you going?"
"I need some air," you muttered.
"No, come on, schat. Let's talk about this. We can fix this," Max exasperated, already walking over to you but you had already closed the door. His feet stood still, planted on the cold marble floors of his penthouse. He sighed, blinking away the small sting in his eyes. He turned to the feel of fur curling up against his leg, Jimmy and Sassy peering up at him like they knew. "She'll be back," he whispered, half trying to assure them and himself.
You weren't sure where you were going. You just needed to be out of the house. Max was right. You could fix this. But you had to leave before you said something you'd regret. You weren't thinking straight. You couldn't when you were angry.
The cold air of Monaco blowing past you attempted to calm you down as you walked through the streets, arms folded and tucked into one another, brain busy mulling over what had already been said between you and Max.
To an extent, you understood Max. Jos... well he was Jos, surprise, surprise. Tough and happy to be cruel if it reaped its benefits. At the start of the year, a fifth championship was sort of out of the question. The car hadn't been great. Even with an encouraging win in Suzuka. But things had changed since then. The McLarens had fallen victim to the inevitable: fighting against one another. And with a garage that couldn't communicate with them, Max's name had suddenly entered the conversation. And his father was pressing him.
You knew he had his differences with his father. That's why he was able to talk to you about him. Someone who hadn't grown up with that man and he could just vent or complain to—anything to just reduce the stress. But this time he hadn't. No, instead he had let it hurt your relationship. And that pained you the most.
It had been a few weeks, but it was enough to miss Max even when he was right in front of you. It was like living with a stranger or an assigned roommate. Alive with the most minimal presence to show for his beating heart.
Had you not asked enough? Should you have gone beyond his "I'm fine" and pushed him a little bit more? Maybe it had been your fault as well... for not trying hard enough. For giving him too much space.
You sighed to yourself, shaking your head. Maybe you should just go and talk to him like he said. Perhaps this was enough air.
About to turn on your feet, a sharp, echoing beep erupted into the air. Not a beep. A honk that set the hairs on your body straight up and the adrenaline spiking through the roof. You only caught a glimpse of the silver car, flashing by your eyes in an instance. And in seconds, you were on the floors of Monaco.
Max's chest fell gently, relief pouring into him when he saw your name sprawl across the screen of his phone. You had been gone for almost an hour; the evening sky was darkening. The panic had been settling within him. But here he was, sliding right, already lightly smiling. He breathed out, rushing his words, "Schat, thank God, I'm so glad you called. I was getting worried—"
"Is this Max?"
He paused, brows furrowing at the unfamiliar voice on the phone. An odd flare in his chest began to gnaw away at him. "Yes? Who is this?"
"Bonsoir Monsieur, I'm calling from the Princess Grace Hospital Centre. You were listed as Miss ___'s emergency contact."
Max could feel his heart lurch in his chest, brain instantly stuttering as his fingers tightened around the phone. Even his pets inched towards him like they knew something was wrong. "W-What's going on? I-Is she okay?" He queried, arm already extending to grab his jacket while panic flooded into his voice.
"She's fine," the stranger quickly reassured, though it did nothing to calm him. "She accidently came in contact with my car and has a few injuries."
He breathed harshly, grabbing his own keys from the key hook. He swallowed thickly, swinging the door open as he muttered, "I'm on the way."
Max's eyes darted rapidly around the various rooms and corridors, the bleak white daunting him with every movement he made. The lady at the front had said you were technically discharged which was absolutely ridiculous in his opinion. So, apparently, you were roaming around, injured to God knows what extent. Or as you'd probably like to say, "I'm just keeping you on your toes, Max."
But he had found you, sitting down on a chair next to some other patients, casually watching the show they had put on like he hadn't been stressing out for the past fifteen minutes. He breathed slowly, blue eyes cautiously raking over your body. His heart clenched at the bandages. They were sporadic. On your arm, leg, hand, and a few thin strips on your cheek.
You could feel those eyes lingering on you, capturing your attention away from the screen. A tight smile sprawled onto your face as you stood up from your chair, legs already automatically moving towards him despite the ever-present wince on your face. Christ, you had rolled your ankle real good.
Max was already darting towards you, hand out to stabilise you against him before he curled his arm around your waist, keeping you close. He could see your eyes hesitant flicker to him, questioning and wondering. But he said nothing except for, "Let's go."
The walk to the car was silent. Perhaps good for the both of you, giving you the time to think about what to say. You knew the quietness of Max was nothing compared to the simmering worry settled behind those eyes.
He got you into the car first, gently tucking you in and putting your seatbelt on for you. His face was stern, not slipping just yet. Once he was satisfied, he was walking around the car, opening the door, taking a seat before he closed it shut—the echoes screaming in this thick silence.
You chewed your lip while you rubbed your fingers together. You took your small glances at him, debating on whether to speak first. You wondered if he'd scold you first or not. To be honest, you couldn't tell. You often reprimanded him each time he crashed or spun out in the car. But only out of fear. Because the worry had been eating you alive. And you were sure that's exactly how he was feeling.
So, you opted for the root of humour. "Hey, at least I'm not like dead," you murmured with a small shrug, teetering smile on your face.
Max stilled, turning his head so slowly, you could see every micromovement; the furrow of brows, the disbelief in his eyes, and his parted lips. "That's so not even funny," he retorted firmly. He sighed, grabbing your arm gently, pads of his fingers lightly grazing over the bandages.
"Max, I'm fine. Seriou—"
"Shut up," he huffed, chest aching at the peeks of drying scabs underneath the white fabric. He sucked in a sharp breath, biting down on his lip. He flitted his eyes back to you. "I was so worried," he whispered, voice cracking. "With how you left. I told myself it was fine. You'd come back. And then you didn't."
You blinked, feeling your eyes grow hot. You pressed your lips together, trying not to fully break down.
"I thought.... I thought..." Max rasped, voice becoming raw by the second.
"Stop. Just don't complete that sentence," you heaved, sniffling as you curled your fingers around his, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. You had been in his position before. Too many times, for your liking. With every crash or collision, your reaction never differed. You only seemed to breathe when you watched him come out of the car.
Max stayed silent for a moment, breathing in deeply. He brought your hand to his lips, grazing your knuckles with his mouth as he thought about what to say. "I'm sorry," he said after some time, still quiet but firm. "I should've told you about my dad. You asked me and I shut you out. I didn't want to worry you—and that's not an excuse. But you're right. It's created a wedge. And I'm sorry."
You smiled gently, feeling the small press of his lips against your knuckles. "I think I was just concerned because you aren't normally like this. You usually tell me everything," you laughed softly.
"I know," he nodded, regretful frown on his face. "Just don't leave like that again, schat. Please. I don't ever want my last words to you to be 'We can fix this.' They should always be 'I love you,'" he pleaded.
You swallowed thickly, nodding in return. "Promise," you whispered, reassuring him with a firm smile. You flickered your eyes at the dark sky, trying to think of a solution. "I just don't get why your dad is being like this. So... invasive."
He raised a brow at you, gently resting your hand in his lap, thumb slowly rubbing circles into your skin. "You have met him, right?" He queried, making you roll your eyes. He heaved soon after. "I don't know. Things are just different this time, I guess," he shrugged.
You hummed to yourself, narrowing your eyes as an idea came to mind. "Should I talk to him?" You suggested, turning back to him.
Max gave you a pointed look. "Not that I'm against it... but are you sure you're up for that?" He chuckled.
You grinned, "You know he loves me more than you right?"
"Okay..." He pursed his lips, a smile still threatening to sprawl onto his face. "I feel like that's bit of a stretch. But since you're hurt, I'll let it go," he compromised.
You gasped so hard that it had you instantly wincing, small scrapes on your cheeks stinging. "That's it! I could guilt trip him!" You exclaimed, eyes wide in a way that borderline made your boyfriend worry.
"Did they give you any medication? Because I think you need them," Max muttered.
